Hold the Umbrella (Mycroft Holmes Fanfic)

Father and Son

Both father and son were situated in the parlor. Sir Holmes had just finished his pipe, the smoke from its hot embers still billowing through the room, and soaking it with the dreadful smell of tobacco. With a small gesture, the elder Holmes, slightly beveled his pipe, and tapped the ashes into the ornate ashtray beside his beloved armchair, in which he now sat. At last, Sir Holmes was truly comfortable, and in his nicotine daze sank into the velvet cushions, legs sprawled outward, and arms gently resting at his sides. 

In Sir Holmes' lax position, anyone, absolutely anyone,  who knew of the great detective Sherlock Holmes', and his shared love of the pipe, could understand that in a smoking sense, that the apple didn't fall far from the tree. However, it was uncertain what habit Mycroft Holmes had obtained from his father. And maybe it was this uncertainty of the relationship between the two that always created the uncomfortable aura that existed between them. Whatever it may be, the tension today in the Holmes's estate was altogether unbalanced. Mother Nature herself was unbalanced.  

Despite a call for sunny weather throughout the week, rain was coming down in sheets, creating a watery illusion as Mycroft looked down at the grounds. Part of Mycroft knew that you could never trust a forecaster, but the weather outside was truly an unexpected spectacle. The dreary weather was surely an omen, a statement of the things to come. However, Mycroft tossed the idea out of his mind, realizing he didn't, and had never believed in such nonsense.

The discussion between them had taken a pause when Sir Holmes had decided to take to his pipe, but now that he was finished, it would certainly, and much to Mycroft's dread continue. 

The tension in Mycroft's shoulders caused the fabric of his suit jacket to tighten. He was gripping his walking cane with so much strength that his knuckles were turning white. It was difficult to say exactly how these emotions were taking control over him physically, but it was surely unrelenting.

Mycroft still hadn't turned to look at his father, but rather kept his eyes focused on the window panes, being irregularly splashed with rain.  However, he could somehow feel his father's eyes pierce though his back. Mycroft was waiting for his father to continue, and he'd be damned if Sir Holmes was under the impression he was going to speak first. 

Luckily, much to Mycroft's delight Sir Holmes cleared his throat. Mycroft had one this little battle, even if Sir Holmes didn't know he was participating. 

"Look at me, Mycroft." 

Mycroft slowly closed his eyes in anger, and took a deep breath through his nose. 

"No, thank you, Father. I'm quite enjoying this weather," Mycroft retorted sarcastically. 

"Oh, damn you, Mycroft! Be a man about the situation! Consider it a business transaction, because that is what it truly is! Yes, it's a little more involved than maybe you're used to, but in plain sense, that is all that marriage is."

Mycroft clenched his jaw, "So, the affection you show towards Mother, is that just to keep up a reputation, is that just to keep good business? Surely, you must know marriage is more than a business transaction, Father."

Mycroft had finally turned around to face his father. His brow furrowed in anger.

"No scowl, no indignant response can change what has already been done. Mycroft, if you had made attempts in the past to marry, we would not be in the predicament that we are in now. I'm only thinking of the continuation of the Holmes name as well as the Holmes' fortune. It is my understanding, and it has always been my understanding, that you care about this family as much as I do." Sir Holmes leaned forward in his chair, and began to drum his fingers on the arm rest in agitation.

"This may seem as the obvious question, but why not Sherlock?"

Sir Holmes chuckled. "And the obvious question it is! As you know, your brother has an unsteady, and extremely unprofessional job. Not to mention, his horrifying habits, from nights spent in opium dens to galavanting through London with a gaggle of whores! He continually shames this family with his hermit-like and overall unordinary lifestyle. While I adore your brother, I see much of my younger self in him, I cannot picture him with something as delicate as a wife. He'd experiment on her like he did with Dr. Watson's dog, and surely treat her with the same disrespect he has for everyone else. Besides, you are the eldest, Mycroft, and you will become the proprietor of the Holmes' Estate. You have a responsibility to this family, and to your name. I am not budging on this, Mycroft!"

No matter what Mycroft said, no matter how much he pleaded, begged, prayed that he didn't have to follow through with his father's wishes, he knew that he must. He did care about his family, and he knew he had a responsibility to himself, and his predecessors. And with that, he conceded.

"When is the wedding?" Mycroft asked. 

"No dates are agreed on, but expect it by the end of this season." 

Sir Holmes, pleased with Mycroft's surrender, rose from his chair and walked over to the liquor cabinet. He then proceeded to pour himself a scotch, a sort of victory drink for himself. "It's all for the best, you know."

Again, Mycroft veered his gaze to the window. Under his breath, he whispered, "Yes, of course you'd say it's all for the best."

Sir Holmes took a swig from his prized scotch. "Well, aren't you curious about your bride to be?"

"No, not in the slightest. Women are all very similar creatures. Items of pleasure, and items of pain."