The American Fire that Melted the Ice Man (Mycroft Holmes x OC - BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 17: Reminders

Mycroft Holmes sat uncomfortably in a wooden chair, staring at the fire that he was currently facing, and he waited. The crackling of the fire was drowned out by the sound of Mrs. Hudson vacuuming her apartment below them. His mind briefly went back to a moment that seemed both ages past and not long ago—when he, his brother, and John Watson had been in similar positions in this apartment, trying to deduce how to not die from a bomb blast. His grip on the handle of his umbrella repetitively loosened and tightened as he waited.

The rustle of paper brought him from his revelry as his brother flipped another page. Mycroft watched as a deep frown suddenly crossed his brow. "You've included The Woman on this list?"

Mycroft scowled back. "Indeed, I have. Do us all a favor, Sherlock, and use your brain instead of another body part to consider this one? Then, keep reading. You still have another page to go."

John sighed. "You're sure that's all of them?" His question was more sarcastic than sincere, and Mycroft only raised an eyebrow in answer and gave an adequate glare before turning back to the fireplace.

Sherlock finished moments later. "Alright then, I suppose it's time we start tracking them down and narrowing down the list," Sherlock said as he began ripping pages out of the book. Mycroft started to scoff but then Sherlock handed the first two pages to John. "These are yours." He then ripped the next two pages out. "These are mine." Then he handed the rest of the book, with the two remaining pages of names, to Mycroft. "And those are yours."

Mycroft looked down at what he'd been given back, glanced at John, then back to Sherlock. "I notice, dear brother, that you kept her page."

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because you cannot discount her as a possible suspect," Mycroft said, his voice rising as he did from his chair. "If something happens to Sophia and it's because you were too busy thinking with your—"

"I care about her too, you know!" Sherlock shouted as he stood, effectively silencing Mycroft. "I don't want anything to happen to Sophia any more than you do, Mycroft. She may not be my wife, but she is my sister-in-law, my friend, and I—I care."

The Holmes brothers stared each other down. Slowly, John Watson arose from his chair. "I think that's just about enough, don't you two? How about we stop wasting time with your sibling arguments and get to work?

Mycroft clenched his jaw, and his gripped his umbrella even tighter. "I will handle my part from my office," and with that, he spun around to leave. But he just as quickly froze when he reached the door and sighed. Both Sherlock and John stared at his back, waiting on him to speak. "You will both be at dinner tonight? Christopher's, at 7."

"I won't miss her birthday just because her husband is a—" Sherlock started, but was cut off by John's throat clearing.

"I wouldn't miss it," John said in interruption. "We'll be there."

Mycroft nodded and left quickly. John sat down at the desk with his laptop, phone, and two pieces of torn off notepad paper. Slowly Sherlock sat back down in his chair, pulled out his phone, and began working. There was quiet for a few moments before John spoke up. "Please, Sherlock. Tell me you are going to check into her current whereabouts. Tell me you're taking this seriously."

"John, when no one else could understand, you of all people should—my family is of the utmost importance to me. You were there, at Sherrinford. You know what we went through. You know how important Sophia has become—to all of us. I was there, John. I was there the first time they met. I was the one who saw his whole life change when he didn't even realize it yet. He's happy, John. I never thought I would see Mycroft—happy. At least not any happier than he is messing about in my business. It's why we bicker the way we do—if we didn't, neither of us would know what to do with ourselves. You know that John."

"Yes, I do Sherlock. But I've also seen what you would do for Irene Adler."

"It's not her."

"But what if it is?"

"It's not."

"Sherlock—you promised your brother. This is for Sophia."

Sherlock didn't respond. He was lost in thought, staring out the window of his apartment.

*****

That evening, Mycroft and Sophia sat around a table with Sherlock and John at Christopher's, one of the best American fine dining locations in London. Sophia was fond of it, as the menu gave her a taste of home, but met Mycroft's rather high expectations as well.

"Well, my dear, we've finished dinner and dessert is on its way. Would you like to open your gifts?"

Sophia's eyes lit up. "You really didn't have to—"

"You hear that, brother? We didn't have to. Does that mean we can take them back?" Sherlock said dryly, before smiling at her.

"You're evil," she said as she rolled her eyes.

"Ignore him, my dear—I wouldn't dream of your birthday being anything less than exceptional." He said as he pulled a long blue box from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

Her eyes went wide, recognizing the color of the jewelry box. "Mycroft, you didn't—"

"I most certainly did," he said rather matter-of-factly.

"I've only ever dreamed of owning something from Tiffany's," she said as she held the box carefully. "I never thought I'd hold one of the boxes in my hands."

"The box isn't the present, my dear—perhaps you could open it and get to the real gift."

She gasped as she opened it to find a silver charm bracelet. On it were three charms already—a heart, an infinity symbol, and an umbrella. "Oh Mycroft, I love it!"

"I thought you'd enjoy finding other charms as we travel."

"It will be wonderful! I shall fill it with reminders of all the things I love and care about." she spoke quietly as she stared down at it in awe.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I do believe we might be able to aid in the start of your effort."

He and John both held up small boxes and slid them over to her. Her eyes lit up even further, though Mycroft thought it not possible till then.

First, she opened John's, removing the ribbon as he spoke. "Really, it's from Rosie and I. Mainly from her—she insisted on picking it out. You'll see why soon enough."

Sophia smiled wide as she opened the box to reveal a small silver rose. She giggled. "Perfect. A reminder of my sweet Rosie, and her dear father. Thank you, John."

"Happy Birthday, Sophia."

Sherlock pushed his closer now, and she raised her eyebrow at him. "This should be quite interesting."

"John insisted a skull charm would be too dark, though I thought it would be an appropriate reminder of me, as fond as you are of the one that I keep on my mantle."

She giggled and he smiled as she opened the box. Then she let out an even fuller laugh. "Oh Sherlock, it's perfect."

"A reminder of how we all first met."

"A teeny tiny mobile phone, I love it!" she giggled, then looked around at all three men, beaming as she did. "Thank you all so much. These, and this evening, mean so much to me." She took her husband's hand in hers and squeezed. "After such a terrible day yesterday, I can't begin to tell you how nice it is to be reminded of the wonderful gifts of friendship and love I've been given since coming to London two years ago."