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weel 80: Jello
Oct. 24th, 2012 01:01 pmPrompt: Jello (Week 80)
PG-13 for some implied possible child abuse (nothing ACTUALLY happens)
Character: Mycroft Holmes, BBC
Word count 360
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit by writing this.
Sherlock never could quite learn to leave well enough alone.
Father was furious when his dessert jello for his important guest mistress was discovered to have been made with borax instead of the usual bone meal. Of course, he rightly ascertained which son would have both motive and opportunity to do so, and called Mycroft in, pale with rage.
“I want you to go find your brother,” he said, standing behind his desk (because it made him seem powerful, a trick Mycroft would employ later in life), “and bring him here.”
Mycroft obeyed, of course, Father had asked him to.
He opened the door to the cupboard in the back kitchen and met Sherlock’s tearful eyes. He caught his breath in the suddenness of it – the realization striking him between the shoulder blades like a blow.
He was more intelligent than their father was.
He, and only he, could be used against Sherlock.
He closed the cupboard again, murmuring, “It’s all right, Sherlock.”
Father had more power than Mycroft (for now) but he wasn’t as clever or as cunning and now Mycroft knew it, too.
That was a sort of power, too.
Mother would be back by morning.
Father wouldn’t dare punish Sherlock when she was home.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered, his breath cold in his lungs, “You need to sleep in the stable tonight.” His brother wouldn’t mind, and Father would never look there, imagining that his younger son feared the dark.
“Why, My?”
“Because if you do not, Father is eventually going to find you and you shan’t like it if he does!” Mycroft reopened the cupboard.
“…you’re not going to tell? I know he sent you,” Sherlock said rebelliously.
Mycroft could hear his father call him – his voice was coming quite close, actually, “Just do as I say!” he said, his voice still soft but far more desperate than he had ever heard it in his life, “Sherlock!” he shut the cupboard again and poked his head into the hallway, speaking calmly to his father, his face set, “He’s not here. I’ve no idea where he could have gotten to, father. Damned little rascal.”
His Father believed him.
