To The Inevitable Dusk

Our brothers and sisters are there with us from the dawn of our personal stories to the inevitable dusk. - Susan Scarf Merrell


Violet was inconsolable the first few days. Despite the presence of two additional sons and a husband who did his best to be a comfort, the sight of Mycroft's empty room was enough to flood the hallway carpet.

"I hate to see Mum like this," John solemnly commented to his brother, running a hand through his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes. "She's a wreck."

"There's nothing to be done for it, though. You know her, she won't come out of this for weeks, but she'll be alright after a while."

John narrowed his eyes in disapproval, and drew no small satisfaction from the sight of his surly brother withering under his gaze. "Sherlock, we must do something for her."

"You write her something then," Sherlock snapped in retort, averting his eyes from John's hazel-colored instruments of torture. "She likes your romantic yarns. Surely that will life here spirits."

John colored deeply before rising to leave his brother to his sour black musings, struggling to keep his rising temper smothered. He stopped at the door frame, watching Sherlock's irritated features before sighing deeply.

"You miss him too, don't you Sherlock?"

"Go to blazes, John."

"I thought as much."