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turanteAnd posting here my contribution to TGIO for March, where the theme was OLDER/YOUNGER.
This story is not exactly original as it is inspired by what happened between my father and his baby brother a long time ago.
If you have already read the entries over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
thegameison_sh, you might remember it as #25.
Rating: Pg
Characters: Sherlock, Mycroft, Mummy, Lestrade (a wink to Mycroft/Lestrade too)
Word Count: 750
Summary: Only few people are aware of that tiny scar on Mycroft's thigh; fewer still have asked how he got it, and Mycroft never told anyone.
Title: Old Memories
Sherlock is three, smart, and a little spoiled. He’s picky with his food, he’s not scared of the dark anymore and now has his own room. When his brother is with him, Sherlock is Mycroft's shadow.
Now Sherlock is scared and crying, because he doesn't like hospitals; he knows that people, good people like his Nana, go there and don't come back. He knows what the words “she's in heaven” really mean that he's never going to see her again. Mycroft explained it to him, and now it's him in the hospital. If Mycroft doesn't come out Sherlock will never forgive him.
Mycroft is in his hospital bed when their mother takes Sherlock to visit his older brother. Mycroft doesn’t look sick like their Nana. Mycroft isn't even mad at him.
Sherlock starts crying again. "I don't want to murder you," he sobs, and his mother kneels down to wipe his little face with her handkerchief. Sherlock likes it because it smells like her. She lets him keep it.
"You didn't kill me, Sherlock." Mycroft is almost eleven, and so much taller than Sherlock. He's kind and protects him and shows him interesting things. Sherlock really likes his brother.
Mummy helps Sherlock sit on the bed beside his brother's stretched legs. One of them has a bandage on it, and Sherlock looks at it guiltily. He knows what’s under the bandage, too.
"Do you want to see the stitches?" Mycroft asks, and his mother shoots him warning look, but it’s a harmless thing, and she relents.
Sherlock nods, he's always been curious and this is the first time he's had the chance to see a stitched wound. Mycroft pulls back the bandage and shows him. His mother inspects it too, and is pleased at how it's healing. "Does it hurt?" Sherlock inquires, little fingers stopping short of touching the abused skin.
"Very little," Mycroft replies, then he ruffles his brother's hair and their mother smiles approvingly.
"Would you like a hot chocolate, boys?" she asks. The cafeteria is not very far and she knows she can leave them alone for a little while. She’ll have the nurse keep an eye on them from the door. They both answer yes and after giving a kiss on the forehead to each child she leaves the room.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," Sherlock confesses, voice trembling a bit under the pressure of more incoming tears.
"I know you didn't mean to," Mycroft replies with a ready smile, "at least I'm going to have something to remind me of you when I go to boarding school."
Sherlock knows that the new boarding school is far away, and that he won’t see Mycroft as often as he wants, but he says nothing. He hugs his older brother and vows to be strong and not cry when he misses him.
More than three decades later, only few people are aware of that tiny scar on Mycroft's thigh; fewer still have asked how he got it, and Mycroft never told anyone.
Mycroft barely remembers it’s there unless he catches the short ridge of the scar in the mirror or under his fingers, and then he replays it in his mind. He sees the terrified expression on Sherlock’s face as he noticed that the knife he was playing with was sticking out of his brother’s thigh, the tears running down his little cheeks, the burn of the wound and the strange sense of detachment due to the shock. He clearly remembers worrying that his mother would be upset about the blood staining his trousers.
Lestrade never asks about it, even if sometimes he strokes it when they’re in bed and he’s lost in thoughts. He acknowledges it without asking questions, knowing that a physical scar is often linked to an emotional one. He doesn’t press the issue because when Mycroft is reminded about it he doesn’t look haunted; he smiles sadly to his memories and moves on.
That night Mycroft makes coffee for the two of them and takes it to bed. “Greg,” he starts, giving himself time to turn back and change the subject if his courage fails. “I want to tell you an old story.”
Lestrade makes himself comfortable against the pillows and holds Mycroft close to his chest. His heart is beating steadily and he knows Mycroft finds it soothing. “Sure.”
“It’s the story of how I got the scar.”
This story is not exactly original as it is inspired by what happened between my father and his baby brother a long time ago.
If you have already read the entries over at
thegameison_sh, you might remember it as #25.Rating: Pg
Characters: Sherlock, Mycroft, Mummy, Lestrade (a wink to Mycroft/Lestrade too)
Word Count: 750
Summary: Only few people are aware of that tiny scar on Mycroft's thigh; fewer still have asked how he got it, and Mycroft never told anyone.
Title: Old Memories
Sherlock is three, smart, and a little spoiled. He’s picky with his food, he’s not scared of the dark anymore and now has his own room. When his brother is with him, Sherlock is Mycroft's shadow.
Now Sherlock is scared and crying, because he doesn't like hospitals; he knows that people, good people like his Nana, go there and don't come back. He knows what the words “she's in heaven” really mean that he's never going to see her again. Mycroft explained it to him, and now it's him in the hospital. If Mycroft doesn't come out Sherlock will never forgive him.
Mycroft is in his hospital bed when their mother takes Sherlock to visit his older brother. Mycroft doesn’t look sick like their Nana. Mycroft isn't even mad at him.
Sherlock starts crying again. "I don't want to murder you," he sobs, and his mother kneels down to wipe his little face with her handkerchief. Sherlock likes it because it smells like her. She lets him keep it.
"You didn't kill me, Sherlock." Mycroft is almost eleven, and so much taller than Sherlock. He's kind and protects him and shows him interesting things. Sherlock really likes his brother.
Mummy helps Sherlock sit on the bed beside his brother's stretched legs. One of them has a bandage on it, and Sherlock looks at it guiltily. He knows what’s under the bandage, too.
"Do you want to see the stitches?" Mycroft asks, and his mother shoots him warning look, but it’s a harmless thing, and she relents.
Sherlock nods, he's always been curious and this is the first time he's had the chance to see a stitched wound. Mycroft pulls back the bandage and shows him. His mother inspects it too, and is pleased at how it's healing. "Does it hurt?" Sherlock inquires, little fingers stopping short of touching the abused skin.
"Very little," Mycroft replies, then he ruffles his brother's hair and their mother smiles approvingly.
"Would you like a hot chocolate, boys?" she asks. The cafeteria is not very far and she knows she can leave them alone for a little while. She’ll have the nurse keep an eye on them from the door. They both answer yes and after giving a kiss on the forehead to each child she leaves the room.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," Sherlock confesses, voice trembling a bit under the pressure of more incoming tears.
"I know you didn't mean to," Mycroft replies with a ready smile, "at least I'm going to have something to remind me of you when I go to boarding school."
Sherlock knows that the new boarding school is far away, and that he won’t see Mycroft as often as he wants, but he says nothing. He hugs his older brother and vows to be strong and not cry when he misses him.
More than three decades later, only few people are aware of that tiny scar on Mycroft's thigh; fewer still have asked how he got it, and Mycroft never told anyone.
Mycroft barely remembers it’s there unless he catches the short ridge of the scar in the mirror or under his fingers, and then he replays it in his mind. He sees the terrified expression on Sherlock’s face as he noticed that the knife he was playing with was sticking out of his brother’s thigh, the tears running down his little cheeks, the burn of the wound and the strange sense of detachment due to the shock. He clearly remembers worrying that his mother would be upset about the blood staining his trousers.
Lestrade never asks about it, even if sometimes he strokes it when they’re in bed and he’s lost in thoughts. He acknowledges it without asking questions, knowing that a physical scar is often linked to an emotional one. He doesn’t press the issue because when Mycroft is reminded about it he doesn’t look haunted; he smiles sadly to his memories and moves on.
That night Mycroft makes coffee for the two of them and takes it to bed. “Greg,” he starts, giving himself time to turn back and change the subject if his courage fails. “I want to tell you an old story.”
Lestrade makes himself comfortable against the pillows and holds Mycroft close to his chest. His heart is beating steadily and he knows Mycroft finds it soothing. “Sure.”
“It’s the story of how I got the scar.”
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no subject
Date: 01/04/2011 01:20 (UTC)I was 11.
no subject
Date: 01/04/2011 01:23 (UTC)*checks* I voted for yours, I really liked seeing that side of Lestrade.
no subject
Date: 01/04/2011 07:41 (UTC)no subject
Date: 01/04/2011 16:45 (UTC)no subject
Date: 01/04/2011 17:04 (UTC)I'm sure there would be much protesting against the squishing, but eventually they'd give up. ;)
It was either Lestrade or John, but I feared it was going to turn into a 'I show you mine if you show me yours' kind of situation... :P
no subject
Date: 02/04/2011 20:57 (UTC)