Observational Analysis (The Even Bastards Have Brothers Remix)
Remix Author: Professor Pangaea
Original Story: The Other Brother by serenissima
Summary: "All emotions ... were abhorrent to his cold, precise but
admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen."
Rating: G
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
It was a cold, drizzly and altogether unappealing morning early in the January of 1891 when Mr. Mycroft Holmes had called unexpectedly at Baker
Street.
Mrs. Hudson led Mr. Mycroft -- this was how she thought of him, as having another Mr. Holmes about could be a rather confusing, as well as daunting, proposition -- up the stairs, for once hoping that he did not bring with him any problems for Mr. Holmes to look into. Her tenant had, in her own opinion, been working entirely too much of late; even his clothes were beginning to look a bit weary.
"Mr. Mycroft Holmes to see you, sir," Mrs. Hudson announced as she opened the door. Mr. Holmes turned his head from the fire at which he had been gazing, narrowing his eyes a bit at this announcement. "Shall I prepare some tea, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, as Mr. Mycroft began the doubtlessly tiresome task of divesting his bulk of its overcoat.
"I don't --"
"Why, yes, I believe that would be a most excellent idea, my dear," interrupted Mr. Mycroft with a huff, hanging his coat on a peg next to the door. "I can always do with a bit of tea on a cold day, as I am sure you may have gathered, and it does appear as though a little nourishment would do my brother no great harm." Mr. Holmes glowered but offered no other contradiction. Mrs. Hudson only hesitated for a moment before responding
"Very good, sirs. It will be just a few minutes."
She was piling the tray high with biscuits and small sandwiches when the water began to boil, and it wasn't long before she was walking carefully back up the stairs towards the sitting room, arms precariously full. As she neared the landing she could hear the sounds of sharp, impatient voices. She sighed. It was always so hard to know the right time to knock at a door during a quarrel.
" -- further pestering shall not change my mind, Mycroft. I am quite in the middle of important work at present."
"Yes, yes, I do know all about your 'important work', Sherlock. My proposal is certainly of a higher order than dashing about the country in pursuit of some blind chance at restitution for past sins. Think of the Empire, if nothing else."
"What should I care about the Empire? Good God, Mycroft, if all you have after four decades of existence on this sad plane is 'Cry England, Harry, and St. George' then you are in even worse straits than I."
"Do you really think so, Sherlock? Slowly killing yourself over an old mistake in order to forget a present one? When was the last time you even saw the good doctor?"
"Enough, Mycroft." Mr. Holmes' voice was sharp as shattered glass. "If you would be so kind as to vacate the premises."
"Think of how useful you could be to so many, while you squander your mind on these petty criminal matters --"
"Leave."
Mrs. Hudson stood frozen upon the landing, unsure of what to do -- she could never reach the bottom of the stairs before the door opened, laden down as she was, but to remain in her present location was would reveal that she had certainly heard something of her tenant's conversation, which would never do. A sudden thought that she could position herself so as to give the impression that she was just coming to the top of the stairs leapt to mind, goodness knows where from, but before she could put it to practise the sitting room door opened and a cool faced Mycroft walked through, ignoring Mrs. Hudson and her tray as he calmly descended the stairs.
Mr. Holmes stood in the doorway, his face bloodless and cold as he watched his brother. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch once, twice, before he glanced over at her and said, "We shan't be needing that tea, Mrs. Hudson."
Two days later Mr. Holmes left for France, and after that Mrs. Hudson saw him only twice more before receiving that terrible telegram from Dr. Watson (I wanted to tell you before you read it in the papers...); the day of Mr. Holmes' fateful discussion with Professor Moriarty, and early the morning after, as he stood on the dark street, laughing quietly as flames licked at the windows of his rooms.
In the years since, Mrs. Hudson had often thought of Mr. Mycroft's visit and wondered how things might have changed had Mr. Holmes accepted his offer, whatever it had been.
She thinks of that visit now, as Mr. Holmes stands in front of her, expressionless, staring at the room surrounding them. Every piece of furniture sitting just as he had left it three years before, all remnants of the fire purged and cleaned away; every picture, curio, notebook, photograph, chemical implement in its accustomed place, with the exception of the jack knife, which is lying placidly on its side. Everything just as it had been, dusted and ready as though Mr. Holmes had only been away for three days, instead of years.
Mr. Holmes moves through the room slowly, uncertainly, as though he is returning to the house of a friend who has recently died, and does not like to disturb the grieving family. As though it is as strange for him to see these rooms as it is for Mrs. Hudson to see him in them, which, she considers, is fairly likely. To see him so, in a place where he had always been so masterful, so assured, makes it all seem even more unlikely that it is really Mr. Holmes looking at the old scratches round the lock in the corner desk, though there is no denying that it is.
"Why --" He hesitates for a moment, running a finger over the back of his old chair. "How can you afford to let such valuable rooms sit without tenants?"
She is taken aback, thinking it must be obvious.
"Mr. Mycroft, sir."
His face darkens slightly.
"Ah." There follows a long silence. Then, Mr. Holmes clears his throat, and walks over to the mantle and the collection of unused pipes neatly arranged over its surface. "Where is my old cherrywood? Perhaps Mycroft displayed a touch of sentimentality and kept it for himself?"
"No, sir, it was Dr. Watson who took that."
"Ah," he says again, but softly. He stands there, his back to her, for such a long time that Mrs. Hudson begins to feel as though she is intruding upon something private, and so she turns to leave.
"Mrs. Hudson," he says, and she turns back to see his grey eyes trained upon her. "I should very much appreciate your help tonight."
"Of course, sir," she says, smiling at him. "Was there ever any doubt? And of course it all sounds so very exciting, I could never pass up such an opportunity. The past three years have been rather on the dull side, after having you as a tenant." She is happy to see him smile at that, and it gives her the courage to continue. "While you're out I shall arrange everything, and of course I will make up your room. Should I... perhaps, also make up Dr. Watson's old room? I should like to know if I'm to have both of my gentlemen back for the night, at least, so I can make sure everything is presentable."
"You will have to ask him that yourself," he says, and she cannot help the smile that spreads across her face, even when Mr. Holmes adds, "If he'll come tonight."
"When shall you ask him?"
"Presently. I should leave now, actually."
"Oh, then you must be on your way, sir! Let me fetch you the doctor's new address --"
"I know it," he says, and she thinks again of Mycroft Holmes, standing near the door, and Dr. Watson, collapsed in his old chair, his head in his hands; Mr. Mycroft saying to her, "Let him take anything he wishes, it doesn't matter to me."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," and Mr. Holmes lays his hand briefly upon her small shoulder. "I shall be counting on you tonight."
"He'll come, Mr. Holmes. He couldn't do anything else, I know it."
Mr. Holmes looks at her for a few moments, then slips through the door and is gone.
Send Feedback to the Author of
Observational Analysis (The Even Bastards Have Brothers Remix)
|
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters
belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written
fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.