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

Chapter 20: Reconciliation

Sherlock had been near mute since they left the warehouse. John had checked over Sophia and sent her home with Mycroft. A team was called in to clean up after the mess left, this time of the real Irene Adler.

As soon as Sherlock had gotten home, he sat in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his face, his eyes remained open, staring off into nothing. John had stayed as late as he could before leaving to relieve Molly from watching after Rosie. The next morning, Sherlock sat in the same exact position when John opened and came through the door. As soon as he entered and gave a brief look at Sherlock and left the door open as he went to pull two kitchen chairs into place across from their own seats.

"Mycroft called. He and Sophia are on their way over. I'm to warn you."

Sherlock blinked. John figured it was as much acknowledgment as he'd receive.

"Sherlock," John said gently as he sat down in his chair across from his friend. "The entire time?"

Sherlock blinked again and looked up to his best friend. He knew precisely what he was referring to. He gave no acknowledgment, which was enough of an answer.

"That had to be incredibly difficult."

Finally, Sherlock inhaled a deep breath and spoke. "My brother was happy. Sophia was—happy." He swallowed hard. "What more could I ask than that?"

"Well, you could have asked for your own happiness. You could have done something about it. But you didn't."

Sherlock shook his head. "They were meant to be together."

John looked at his friend carefully as he asked the next question. "And... The Woman?"

Sherlock reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and retrieved a sealed storage bag. In it were the remaining contents of The Woman's phone. It must have happened sometime in the middle of the night. Suddenly every ounce of rage within him and burst forth and he'd taken a hammer to it. "A gift—for Mycroft. If he'll take it. She's taken away two of the things I hold most dear in my life."

"Not taken away, Sherlock—" a voice—possibly the sweetest voice he'd ever heard—called out from the doorway. He gasped as his gaze shot to the doorway where he saw Sophia and Mycroft standing, hands held tightly together. Briefly, Sherlock wondered who was offering who comfort and stability. Perhaps it was equally given between the two. Sophia entered and Mycroft followed, allowing her to sit first before sitting himself beside her. She took his hand again and smiled at him before turning to Sherlock. Mycroft's face remained emotionless as she spoke, "Nothing has been taken from you, Sherlock. Perhaps made a bit awkward, yes, for now. But not taken away."

"You came in with John, didn't you?" It wasn't a question. But he'd been so lost in his thoughts at the time he hadn't noticed. But he was fairly certain now.

"Yes."

Sherlock sighed and was about to speak when Mycroft held his hand up to stop him. Sherlock stopped, mouth open. Mycroft began. "I wanted to hate you," he said, his voice trembling with the amount of deep restrained emotion held within it. "I wanted to hate you so much. The number of thoughts that have gone through my mind have been countless, and that was the chief among them. How much, how desperately I wanted to hate you, Sherlock. To hate you for ever getting involved with... with her... in the first place. To hate you for your own feelings. Yes, I've had so many thoughts spinning in my head I barely can catch my breath. But there is one—one thought—one image that I cannot get out of my mind. One action of yours that has made the way forward perfectly clear. Do you know what it was, Sherlock?"

'I lied to you."

Mycroft scoffed. "I can't count the number of times you've lied to me, brother. No, this is not so much about the—deception—that you carried out so well over the past year and a half." Mycroft stopped to consider his next words, eventually shaking his head and letting out a deep sigh as he considered it. "When did you become so damned noble, Sherlock?"