Deductions

CHAPTER V

It was evident how much the detective wanted to stall the visit to his brother when he chose the cab with the youngest driver. True enough, he wasn't well versed in the maze that is London and drove ever so slowly. Sherlock did his part by choosing the longest route to the hospital and purposely made the cabbie go through all the wrong turns.

While directing the driver, he watched John. He fell asleep once he got into the cab. He watched as his eyebrows scrunched together as if in concentration. He guessed that the man was dreaming. Guessed. It was rare for Sherlock to guess. Admitting that he does would make it seem as if he weren't the same man. The prideful, arrogant, sharp-tongued bastard and many more words could be a synonym to to the being which is Sherlock Holmes. He watched as the ex-army surgeon steadily breathed. One would think he was counting his breaths. Each one; a candidate for his last. It looked as if he were still at war. Like he was still at the army camp. Sharing bunkers, praying before meals, and awaiting an attack that might never come. This went on for another thirty minutes until the now hot headed cabbie stopped at the hospital's drop off zone. Sherlock hated to mar his moment but he had to wake John from his light slumber.

*********

"Why isn't it my little brother just dying to visit me."

Mycroft Holmes was lying in the ICU, barely able to move from all the tubes stuck inside him. The hoarseness of his voice made John wince but Sherlock looked on at his brother with no evident emotion. He had felt just a slight pity for him. It was hopelessly overcome with the retribution and malevolence he had for his brother. The flame where these feelings have brooded were in too deep for anyone to quench.

"I would've put you on speed dial but to the most unfortunate of circumstances, there was a wall on top of me."

"A wall!? How on earth--" John was cut off by Holmes the younger,

"Screw it Mycroft, the day you decide to put me on speed dial will be the same day--"

The atmosphere around the two was so acidic, John was sure that the floor would give way. He sat on the couch and tried to push away the childish bickering. He could never understand how the pair of brothers would agree with something for a minute and return to despising each other with a passion in the next. Sure, he and Harry had had their own individual moments of pride, but the two men in front of him were either undeniably funny or unreasonably annoying.

"He would agree with me." Mycroft said in the most dragging manner.

"I'm sorry who?"

"Oh, Mycroft here says that you would abandon me in a heated political argument regardless if you knew I was right."

The stare of the two brothers were burning holes through what was left of his last batch of brain cells. He resisted the urge to walk out and crash in the next hospital room regardless if it were empty or not.

"If you don't mind, we would really vie for an honest answer." Added Mycroft

"And I am half tempted not to give you one."

"Pardon me, but I need to speak with the relative." A nurse had just entered the ICU, unconcerned with the arising argument. Sherlock fixed his coat, lifted his chin, and followed the nurse out.

The silence after that was thick enough for a knife to cut through with much difficulty until John couldn't anymore wait for the other man to bring up a topic.

"Mycroft, just to clarify things, why do you hate him so much?"

The man on the bed didn't even change expression when he shot back,

"And you, why do you love him so much?"

The heavy silence came back for only a little while before Mycroft painfully shifted his position.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

"There was nothing to notice."

"it's been between the both of you all this time. I can practically smell it from my future grave."

"I'm married Mycroft" They stared at the door for about ten seconds before he continued in his usual tone.

"I'm married. Can't anyone see that? Married men don't have conversations like this with their best friend's brother. Married men are not perceived to be gay."

The older Holmes chuckled lightly.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

He changed position again.

"Just so you know, I don't hate him. I can never get myself to hate him although it would have been easier if I did."

John buried his head in his hands, "I don't understand--"

"As the older brother, I realized that it was easier to be nice to people when you hate them. Pretend to anyway."

"Mycroft, what is this for?"

"Attachment to my brother became strictly professional. Professional enough for me to decide to spend the rest if my life in a government seat."

"What is the point of this?"

"The point, doctor Watson, Is that I lost the chance to be my brother's hero. All his life I was his sworn enemy enemy until Jim Moriarty came up.

"As the 'queen of England' to him, I was the order of archangels while he was the opposing demon. A barrier between two quite similar worlds I myself had created.

"What neither of us expected was your sudden appearance. Suddenly, he didn't see himself as the demon. He wasn't quite the angel either. He was something no one ever thought could be associated with Sherlock Holmes. No one other than you apparently."

This interested John for some reason.

"And that association would be?"

Mycroft closed his eyes, waiting for exhaustion to take over.

"You saw him as a human, John."