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Oh good God, I'dve written another. LOL.

Title: Prompt #2: Love
Author: mrwubbles aka Yuma
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: G
Words: 651 words (wheeze, gasp, barely made it! LOL)
Genre: Gen
Warnings/Triggers: I'm not Brit, can't even play one on TV (telly?) but I thoroughly enjoy Hob Nobs. Does that help? :)
Spoilers: Minor references to S1X01 "A Study In Pink"
Summary: Mycroft considered his motives could perhaps be regarded as selfish.




At four, Sherlock fell off the tree in their gardens. He had clamored up to observe the habits of a Sphodromantis viridis. Had it not been for the timely intervention of Mycroft's body, Sherlock would have broken a bone. That would have been most undesirable. Mycroft didn’t notice the pain in wrist until he lifted Sherlock to his arms, but then Sherlock pressed his face to Mycroft’s neck and chubby short fingers clutched his shirt.

It wasn't too long of a walk home and Mycroft’s wrist was mostly likely only sprained, not broken.



Mycroft understood the importance of delegation from an early age. Brian Striker was as thick as he was huge, but even the less intellectually gifted had their uses. And when Striker had a few words with his younger cousins—or whatever passed for communication in that family—about the certain evils of bullying, there would be no evidence leading back to Mycroft.

But even in primary school, Sherlock proved to be a nonbeliever of coincidence. He returned from class the next day unscathed for once, but mute. He glared at Mycroft over the dinner table and did not speak to him for a week.

Mycroft still considered it money well spent.



Sebastian was a man who boasted too much. He mocked, he preyed, he collected jeering followers and took delight in throwing out verbal barbs and vicious rumors. He had a natural instinct for capitalizing on the weakness of others. He would have been quite at home in Whitehall.

It was unfortunate that every application Sebastian submitted for a political internship was turned down.

The experience could have possibly net him contacts for an ambitious career after uni. Sebastian's lofty aspirations fell to the private sector instead. Sherlock said nothing but he did not come home from uni that summer.



Next Christmas found Mycroft staring across the dining table at a hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed, twenty-year-old Sherlock. He looked utterly depleted. Mycroft reluctantly resolved to inquire after Sherlock. After all, another holiday like this would upset Mummy.

But the interviews with Sherlock's professors, his classmates, his former flatmates, the vendor across the street from his flat, the cabbie who picked him up from class, the woman who jogged by him yesterday morning, and the receptionist in the uni library Sherlock frequently visited bore no useful information, only vague misgivings. Then Mycroft lost him entirely.

Mycroft found it irritating, wasting time locating the newest hovel Sherlock had fled to; especially when there were delicate situations in certain parts of the world requiring his full attention. But the blank area on Sherlock's latest surveillance reports distracted him; he didn't like incomplete work. Mycroft stalked streets, tunnels, decrepit buildings. A week later, he found himself brushing a numb hand across clammy skin on a body curled, passed out on a poor excuse of a mattress, checking for a pulse.

He did not climb into the ambulance as it drove away with Sherlock. Nor was he in the vehicle that took Sherlock to an undisclosed country home. He was needed elsewhere. Besides, reports were sent daily for Mycroft to read, should he be interested.



DI Lestrade proved to be harmless as Mycroft’s research suggested. Nevertheless, when he started allowing Sherlock into his crime scenes with SOCO, Mycroft ordered surveillance for the detective inspector.

The next week, a shattered mobile, its GPS tracker conspicuously absent, was sent to his office. That it was sent to his office at a supposedly unknown location did not surprise him. Minutes later, Mycroft received a text from an undisclosed number with just the word 'Stop'.

Mycroft simply upped the surveillance to level two.



The man—military, psychosomatic limp, insomniac—gazed back unflinching, unafraid, demanding to know why. Bravery like that deserved a reward. Mycroft answered.

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"Well that's nice of you."

Nice, Mycroft thought.

Nice. As nice as keeping one’s own heart whole, Mycroft supposed.




`fin`



Author's Note:
This was originally a fic prompt posted for the thegameison_sh in February. My beta (aka Mycroft channeler)penfold_x has convinced me to post this de-anon. Blame her…LOL.


| master fic list |(should you be interested)


Comments

( 14 comments — comment )
weefreethings
Apr. 26th, 2011 03:10 am (UTC)
Nicely done!
Wow, love hurts! John will be learning this too, when it comes to Sherlock.

Delighted to see Lestrade not being harmless! Perhaps Mycroft needs a distraction from Sherlock?

The angst and tension here build very nicely.
mrwubbles
Apr. 28th, 2011 03:07 pm (UTC)
Re: Nicely done!
Thank you! I struggled with this prompt. I was nearly the end of SH....fic that is. LOL.

Thank you for your comments! :)
darthhellokitty
Apr. 26th, 2011 04:09 am (UTC)
Oh, I like this very much.
mrwubbles
Apr. 28th, 2011 03:08 pm (UTC)
Tee hee, thank you!
nuetronorange
Apr. 26th, 2011 06:00 am (UTC)
I loved this, Mycroft just can't help himself, he loves his brother but detaches himself from it. Nicely written. Thank you.
mrwubbles
Apr. 28th, 2011 03:09 pm (UTC)
I loved this, Mycroft just can't help himself, he loves his brother but detaches himself from it.

Exactly how I see Mycroft too! Thank you for reading abd reviewing!
brate7
Apr. 26th, 2011 09:35 pm (UTC)
OMG, finally! I was wondering if Pen would be able to wear you down. [Yay Pen!]

As for this story, it's so amazing for so little words. The brilliantly twisted relationship between the brothers, and so in character. Make you smile and hurt at the same time. Just lovely. Protective!Mycroft for the win!

Yay you for writing, and yay you for posting!

mrwubbles
Apr. 28th, 2011 03:11 pm (UTC)
OMG, finally! I was wondering if Pen would be able to wear you down. [Yay Pen!]

Ya know, lol, this was still one of (I thought), the hardest prompts. While glad it worked out, I really really really was going to let it retire anon.

Well, Pen had something to say about that.

And Cathy.

Oi.

LOL
deej1957
Apr. 27th, 2011 02:04 am (UTC)
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! STOP IT!!!!!!!

::Sniffles::
mrwubbles
Apr. 28th, 2011 03:12 pm (UTC)
Aw, oki, no more Sherlock. That's what you meant, yes? LOL.
penfold_x
Apr. 28th, 2011 02:54 am (UTC)
aka Mycroft channeler

I'm going to put that on my business card.

I love, love Mycroft's hyperreserved and conflicted inner voice, and how you use his minimization and deflection to give us a sense of just how deeply he cares. This is a nice bookend to Sherlock, who, IMO, experiences deep emotions but doesn't process them well and intellectualizes everything to distance himself from them.

Edited at 2011-04-28 02:54 am (UTC)
mrwubbles
Apr. 28th, 2011 03:13 pm (UTC)
Ya know, I think a good portion of this fic was you, though. Me'thinks I should add a name to the 'written by'....
litlover12
May. 11th, 2011 12:39 pm (UTC)
Awww, very nice!
mrwubbles
May. 11th, 2011 02:15 pm (UTC)
Thank you!
( 14 comments — comment )

TV Quote of the Day

Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?

~ Gandalf "The Hobbit"

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