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MYCROFT HOLMES supposed it was time to kill your darlings.
Everything good must come to an end someday, whether it would be a bed time story or the young woman that has come into his little brother's life.
Under different circumstances he would be thrilled to see Sherlock wrapped around a woman's fingers, yet not this time.
He leveled the younger Holmes' glare as they sat inside the dimly lit room. If he could talk it out in another place he would, he doesn't like the idea of interrogating his own brother like one of his prisoners inside a steel room, yet this information was delicate, it was sensitive enough to cause a national uprising.
The older Holmes had been surprised by the news, actually, surprised was an understatement, he had been mortified.
Mycroft Holmes doesn't know what to do with the girl name Annabel Lee, as harsh as it sounds he wished she didn't exist. He ironically wished that she'd stay a fictional character ; just a name from one of Edgar Allan Poe's tragic and twisted stories. However, there was no denying that she was real.
He has to swallow the fact that she was coincidentally named after a woman who died terribly, that she was named after a sad and broken story where it ends in tears.
There was something about her that unsettled him, perhaps it transcended her existence and was more on the influence she had over people, in this case, she had managed to get inside the head of the immovable Sherlock Holmes,s the last person he'd thought to have fallen for her tricks.
What made it even worse was that it wasn't a trick at all, the woman was just as clueless as they were and this almost made him pity her as it wasn't her fault.
He still couldn't understand why Sherlock had bothered to even accompany her at all, he had stayed with her for a year now, consoling and accompanying the poor woman. He never once failed to direct his attention to her, his mind thinking and solving the mysterious case of Annabel Lee.
Mycroft knew it was more than a case, he knew this was more than a thrill-seeking puzzle to solve, no, she meant so much more to Sherlock. He could smell the sentiment all over him and he frowned, itching to know his reaction once he opens the cream-colored file and witness for himself what he had discovered.
" You do know why you're here, don't you, brother of mine?" Mycroft sighed, shifting in the metal seat across him.
" Of course," The detective scoffed, " It's always about her."
" Yes," Mycroft agreed, " It always is, isn't it? What makes you so fond of her, tell me Sherlock, why Annabel Lee?"
" Oh figure it out yourself Mycroft," Sherlock rolled his eyes, " Maybe because she's a woman who's running around the streets when she's supposed to be dead."
