"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 20

"Playing the Hero."

It was then, as they sat pondering over the new information, when it hit him.

A thought so horrible and terrifying that it nearly threw the detective to his knees.

"Sherlock?" John's voice asked from beyond the fog that suddenly clouded his vision.

"John…" He manages to grunt out, entire body shaking.

"Sherlock what's happening? What's wrong?" He can feel warm hands on his shoulders steadying him.

"John… what if Mycroft doesn't want to be saved?"

A pregnant silence spread between them, suffocating and thick like a tsunami wave, and no less devastating.

It was funny really… how one question could change everything.

What if he doesn't want to be saved?

This question hung over their heads like a sword of Damocles, threatening to strike at any moment.

"Sherlock that's…" the doctor swallowed thickly. "That's ridiculous, why wouldn't he want to be brought back to normal?"

"Because his 'normal' hurts."

Sherlock said, eyes distant and voice small and fragile. "Mycroft was smothered by hate…" he blinks. "His work gradually ebbed away at his soul… his sense of responsibility constantly cost him more and more; first his childhood: his passion for art, his gentle spirit… all taken, then the unconditional love of my parents, and lastly my… my admiration. The list is never ending. We all did it. We all took and took, until there was nothing left for him to give and yet… and yet..."

"He continued to give more, never backing away." John finished the sentence for his best friend. "Because that's what Mycroft does." The doctor whispered. "He provides ...until he is no longer able to."

"He gave and gave and gave…" Sherlock continued as if this was some sick mantra.

"Is this really so surprising that he gave himself up in the end?"

In silence they contemplated what told Sherlock's parents when they met.

'There is nothing left to save.'

It hurt to admit she might be right.

'It was ironic in a way,' Siger Holmes thought quietly to himself as he sat in his armchair, 'that we had recovered one child lost to lies and deceit… only to lose both her and her brother to the truth.'

He gazed at the sun setting beyond the window, hand absentmindedly reaching for a glass of wine on the table.

The events occurring these past few days were twisted and convoluted like a rose bush vine clawing at his throat.

But one thing remained crystal clear...

'Mycroft was a good boy.'

Regardless of what he did, at heart, his intentions were pure and selfless. Constantly doing what he believed was best for all parties involved.

All parties… but himself it seemed.

Siger sighed and pulled out a bottle of Scotch from the hidden compartment within the armchair.

It was a good year, probably a birthday present from people he no longer remembered, at a time where things were much simpler and much less painful.

'It was so like him,' the old man mused, 'to put the happiness of others above his own.'

Siger frowned as he poured the liquor into a clear glass.

'Hmmm… but was it really?' He pondered watching the Amber liquid slid across the smooth crystal glass. 'Was it Mycroft's conscious choice?' Holmes breathed in the scent of the liquor and felt the addicted cells in him sing. 'Or was this part of Rudy's perfect little tool?'

The conversation with Ms. Anders got him thinking.

About life... about family…

About his children.

Mycroft especially, as he seems to be in the epicenter of the Holmes apocalypse.

The general cause, really.

Though not by his own fault, no…

That honor belongs to Rudolph Holmes, the man behind the might chessboard of his life.

Oh how that man toyed with them all... moving them all like pawns on the board so that his perceived "greater good" could be achieved.

"Greater good." Siger snorted shaking his silver head. "A heck of a lot of good that got us in the end, didn't it, Rudy?" He asked the empty air, as his wife was crying in their eldest son's room for over an hour now.

It had no answer for him, he snorted again, if only to fill the empty air with something.

As if the man would answer, even if the mastermind had been here.

Rudy was never good with confrontations.

Yet another trait he passed on to poor Mycroft.

"Mycroft…" Siger muttered, voice broken as his son's happy face flashing before his eyes.

"Our little hero in a villain's cape…"

With those words a memory suddenly resurfaced, forcing its way up to the forefront of the old man's mind.

Of a very special day a long long time ago…

It was midnight, Siger was drinking himself rotten in the kitchen.

He was much younger then, his tolerance at its peak.

It took a lot for him to feel any sort of effect.

He supposed he should be proud of possessing such a strong head.

Yet there is no pride to be found in a man who drank until he couldn't remember what drove him to the bottle in the first place.

A bad day it had been, with the pay getting cut and baby Sherlock filling the entire house with ear-piercing screams for hours on end.

He swayed on his feet as he made his way to the fridge again. The room was completely dark but Siger has done this so many times his body was practically on autopilot.

But, as he reached his shaky hand to the door handle…

The front door opened.

Siger paused, still swaying back and forth, and frowned.

'What's this?' he mused, eyes lazily moving to the door. 'There's… no one left to come… home... is this… a burglar?'

No, that is not it, he decided.

A burglar would have no key, and the door was opened without incident.

A friend then.

Or distant family member that had a late plane.

Josephine liked to visit them like this occasionally ever since Sherlock was born.

The boy is quite the favourite.

Deciding it is not, in fact, a threat to his family, Siger returned to his previous engagement of finding another bottle to empty.

But then the supposed "Josephine", actually showed up in the kitchen, turning the lights on and subsequently blinding poor Siger.

"Ack." A hand flew to his face to shield his burning eyes. "T-Turn it off, won't you?"

That's what he wished to say, thought in all honesty it came out like an unintelligible gargle worthy of his infant son.

"I've brought your son back, Siger." The shadow outline with a voice, deep and commanding, spoke from the door frame.

Siger sluggishly recognized his sister's brother, Rudy, in it.

"Son?" Violet's husband frowned, head tilting in confusion. What son? Sherlock was upstairs with Vee.

Rudy didn't answer, just walked up to him and pushed a small shaking figure into his arms with such force, he nearly fell to his bum.

"I'll be back for him in a week's time." The shadow growled walking away before Siger could ask who in the world he is holding. "I'm placing him in your capable hands, Siger."

And then he was gone.

And Holmes could feel the tiny form taking shallow breaths in his arms.

'Who in the world-'

"D-Daddy?" The form squeaked, and Siger remembered.

That's his eldest.

Mycroft.

And he was… shaking, Siger could feel the sweat on the shirt the boy was clad in, and quietly cursed.

He was bloody terrified, is what he was.

'What have you done to him, Rudy?'

"Y-Yes, my boy." Siger slurred and hated himself for it. His child needed reassurance, not a drunk father to guide to bed! "It's… daddy. Don't be frightened... everything is... alright now, Papa's here."

He forced himself to be coherent, even though it made his head pound, and hoped those words will do the trick.

It always worked back when he was but a wee lad.

He prayed they did not lose their magic.

When Mycroft's breath calmed down a little, Siger hugged him close to his chest, cursing himself for forgetting his entire existence.

'What kind of father-'

"I-It won't come off, Papa." The right year old sobbed into his chest. "I-I-It won't… come… off."

"W-What w-won't?" The elder Holmes felt foolish for feeling so utterly frightened by whatever answer was about to come.

'It's an eighth-year-old boy, Holmes.' He scolded himself. 'What could he possibly get dirty from?' "Don't… worry, child. Your mommy… will surely… wash it off."

"N-No." Mycroft shook his head violently. "I-It won't c-come off. It won't!"

"What won't?!" Siger never meant to yell. But he was beginning to get just as scared as his charge. "Tell me what won't come off, Mycroft!"

The boy flinched in his arms, a momentary pause from his relentless shaking.

"T-T-The bad man's b-b-blood." He whispered after a long long pause, his usually so eloquent a tongue reduced to that of a normal child. A true sign of the enormous trauma he faced today. "I-I-It j-just w-won't c-come o-off m-my f-face."

Blood

That one word…

Was enough to throw Siger's mind into a frenzy, immediately making him sober.

Blood

Mycroft had someone's blood on him.

'Dear God.' He shook his head, wishing this to be nothing more than an alcohol-induced nightmare.

"I-I s-scrubbed a-and s-scrubbed." Mycroft explained brokenly. "A-And u-uncle s-said i-it w-will p-pass. T-That i-I w-won't s-see it... anymore... soon."

Rudy…

That name brought nothing but white-hot rage now.

Rudy most have done something horrible… in front of his son tonight.

'Rudy… Rudy what have you done?!'

"What did he do, Mycroft?" Siger asked, voice steady as a rock. "What did you see?"

"H-He s-shot h-him, daddy." The child shook evermore in his arms. "R-Right i-in T-The h-h-h-head. B-Because h-he w-was a f-fool a t-t-traitor."

"..." Siger had nothing to say. He just tightened his hug on Mycroft and wished Violet came downstairs for a glass of water.

The boy needed her. Needed them.

"Why did it happen, Mycroft?" The older Holmes aksed, needing to know why his son was exposed to such a sight. "Why not a prison or... exile or... anything?"

"B-B-Because that way… h-he m-might d-do i-it again." The boy's wasn't sobbing anymore. "U-Uncle h-had to… p-prevent i-it."

"But why take his life?" Siger had to know. Why the radical thinking?

Why the violence?

Why did Mycroft have to watch?

"B-Because that's… what h-heroes d-do." The boy said, voice muffled by Siger's shirt.

"W-We b-behead T-The d-dragon."

"Oh Mycroft…" The old man shook his head, hand wiping away tears.

"Why did you have to play the hero?"