Hold the Umbrella (Mycroft Holmes Fanfic)

Aftershocks

Mycroft returned home after the meeting with Anne.

Now he would sit down, finish his pamphlet, enjoy his dinner and lastly, go to bed. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he would soon be getting married. He didn't like Anne, and certainly didn't love Anne, but he knew that she was a suitable option. 

No marriage is perfect. 

Not even his mother and father were perfect for one another, and Anne certainly wasn't perfect for him. However, Mycroft did like the fact she was young and beautiful and wasn't a complete idiot. She had a spark of madness, he felt, that would be able to put up with Mycroft and his unconventional lifestyle. 

Amidst all his thinking, Mycroft began his evening activities. The pamphlet was on India and Great Britain's involvement in the country. Mycroft thought the author was naive. Only if they knew the true riches of India, he thought. Did he enjoy it? No, but it kept him distracted.

Then, Mycroft sat down for dinner: more like dessert. He enjoyed a dish of pudding and some candies sent from Sweden. Mycroft had a sweet tooth and he enjoyed every lavish candy he could get his hands on. 

As he enjoyed his meal his mind returned to Anne. Why did it keep doing that, he thought? He was most likely subconsciously trying to find a way out of this marriage, but in reality, he knew that he didn't have that kind of individual strength to walk out on the deal. Besides, Lord Chapman was destitute and if he didn't marry Anne she might as well become a lady of the night, whoring herself on every corner throughout London for no more than tuppence. 

Besides,  she was a delicate creature who believed she was strong, and she most certainly wouldn't last a day in the real world. Her hands had never seen a day of hard work, nor had she had a bead of sweat drip upon her brow. 

Perhaps he was judging too harshly, but in truth maybe not.

He could see it now. She was probably head over heels with him like a silly young girl. She was foolish enough, he felt, to believe in things like love at first site.

Now, she wasn't completely dull, but she was certainly a goldfish. Just a rarer, a more refined species. At least that's is what he was able to deduce.

And here, Mycroft was having another problem. He did leave some of who she was a mystery out of fancy, but now he was regretting his decision. Very much so.

He was going to marry this child. Well, she wasn't a child but she might as well be. Mycroft could, in theory, be her father. And that, Mycroft admitted, was unsettling. 

However, he liked the idea of a young woman as his companion. 

He had courted women in his age group only to find they had withered spiritually with age. They were boring. Very boring.

Younger women are different. They are young, they were free, and they were fertile. 

Now, Mycroft was getting somewhere. 

That what was bothering him. That was what was causing all this. He had forgotten what marriage entailed, what marriage would essentially lead to.

Children. 

Mycroft may become the family man, the type of man he despises. He may have a handful of children to feed, to clothe, and to send off to school on his payroll. That made him feel nauseous.

He wouldn't have children with Anne. He just wouldn't do it. He could see it now. Not just because of his natural dislike towards children, but he wouldn't do that to her. He would never consummate the marriage, putting children out of the question.

Now, Mycroft was a man. And it is well known that men are lustful beings. 

It's hard to believe Mycroft Holmes would have such desires, however, he does. 

And for the sake of not having children, not having that responsibility or an heir to the Holmes Estate, he would ignore his desires. After all, he has been ignoring then since he was a teenager. How hard could it be now?

Right as Mycroft was through with his introspection and about to head to bed, who would show up at his home other than his brother, Sherlock Holmes, at nearly ten minutes to midnight.

If anyone wanted the scoop on this marriage, it was Sherlock. Sherlock was convinced this was one big prank, one giant scheme to play a trick on him. However, as the wedding date got close, Sherlock was starting to come to terms that his older brother would no longer be a bachelor.

As usual, Sherlock came in his long coat and his deerstalker. Either he liked the fashion he was known by, or he was just keeping up appearances. 

Mycroft's butler Bunbury opened the door, and as if on cue, Sherlock lit his pipe as he entered. Mycroft stood on the steps, frowning at his brother's unexpected arrival.

A grin appeared on Sherlock's face.

"Interesting woman is she?" he asked.

"Better than most." Mycroft retorted.

Sherlock glided into the parlor making himself right at home. Mycroft knew he was getting into the brandy. Mycroft came down the stairs and joined him. 

Sherlock was already pouring a glass for the both of them. Mycroft cleared his throat.

"May I ask what brings you here, brother?" Mycroft took his glass and held it to his lips. He didn't really care for brandy, but he would humor his brother.

"A matter of business." Sherlock took his brandy and sat in his Mycroft's favorite chair. Despite the fact they were adults, they still got on each other's nerves like they were still children. Of course, Sherlock would sit in Mycroft's chair.

"What kind of business?" Mycroft asked as he sat down in the opposite chair. He took a small sip of brandy. 

" As far as I know, this marriage business is happening. Therefore, I have a proposal. I shall be at your wedding, and I shall be your best man. And as usual, my plus one will be Dr. John Watson."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair.

"And I have a proposal for you, dear brother. No."

Sherlock appeared stunned.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked.

"Exactly as I have said. Now, if you please, go. I'm exhausted and has a busy day tomorrow. Bunbury will show you out."

With that, Mycroft sat his glass of brandy down and retreated to his chambers.

Sherlock, however, remained in the parlor until he finished his brandy. And was escorted out no other than Mycroft's humble servant Bunbury.

As he lay in bed that night, Mycroft chuckled to himself. If only he could recapture the look on his face when he declined Sherlock's offer or rather a command. 

The wedding would be simple. A simple church, a simple ceremony, a simple couple. He didn't need anything elaborate, and if Sherlock was on the guest list, all types of unwanted people would show up. The last thing he needed was Sherlock finding a criminal at his wedding. That would be a fiasco. 

Then, Mycroft finally found peace and quiet and rested. It would be one of the last few time he would get to fall asleep as a bachelor.