Memories In The Attic (BBC Sherlock, post season 4)

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

So once again a drabble got a way from me. *sigh* Anyway it is post season 4 so there could be spoilers. Nothing obvious to me, unless you've been under a rock since January 1, 2017. It's Mystrade, of course. But there is a bit of Mummy Holmes and a bit of back story explanation and... you know what, just read it.  If you like it leave a comment.  

Flashbacks are in italics.

Memories in the Attic

 

            “So how long do you think this will take?” Greg asked as he surveyed the pile of boxes and clutter in Mr. and Mrs. Holmes’s attic. He could see motes of dust floating lazily through the air, backlit by the sunshine coming through the small windows. “More importantly how long are you going to last?” He looked over at Mycroft.

            Mycroft gently scratched his head and considered. “We aren’t responsible for all of it, only my things, which are all on that far wall. The rest is Sherlock’s and a few boxes belong to Eurus. Though, I can’t imagine there is anything there she would want.” He paused a moment. “I estimate four, maybe five, hours.” Mycroft declined to answer the second question. What could he say? He would last as long as he would last. He’d taken everything available in preparation for this task.

            The journey to Sherrinford was long and arduous for his elderly parents. They wanted to move to a town closer to an airport that could shuttle them to Sherrinford. That meant cleaning out the attic of what remained of his childhood things. He didn’t have much. Most burned in the fire and he was sent off to boarding school not long after Eurus was sent away. He hadn’t time or the inclination to accumulate much before he had his own home.

            “We might as well get started.” Greg gazed at Mycroft who absently unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeves. He smiled at the sight remembering their good-natured tiff they had this morning as they dressed.

 

                                                ~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

 

            “You aren’t wearing that to clean an attic.”

            “It is my oldest suit. I do not mind if it becomes dirty.”

            Greg rolled his eyes. “It isn’t about dirt. It’s about comfort. It is going to get warm up there and you will need sturdier clothes and shoes if you are going to be lifting and shifting boxes.”

            “I thought that was what you were for.” Mycroft’s blue eyes twinkled.

            “Prat. Put on your jeans and trainers or at least an old pair of brogues.”

            “I do not feel comfortable wearing blue jeans to my parents.”

            “Why ever not?”

            “It seems… indecent.”

            “Is this about how good your arse looks in them?” Mycroft blushed. “Believe me, I’m going to need reminding as to how good your arse looks if I’m going to help you clean out your stuff from your parent’s attic.” Greg reached into Mycroft’s closet. “Here, we’ll compromise. Wear the jeans on the bottom and an old button down and suit jacket on top.”

 

                                                ~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

 

 

            “Let’s start in that corner.” Mycroft pointed as he finished rolling up his cuffs.

            “Right.” Greg walked over to the area under the eaves and lifted the first box from the stack. “Jesus, what’s in here? Bricks?” He brought the box out to the clear area at the center of the room.

            Mycroft pulled out his pocketknife, opened it and slit the tape on the box. “No, books,” he replied as he revealed the contents.

            Greg eyed the stacked boxes. “Of course.”

 

                                                ~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

 

 

            “Read more, Mikey.”

            “I have read three chapters.”

            “But I want to know what happens next.”

            Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You know what happens next, Sherlock. We have read Treasure Island before.”

            “Boring,” came a soft voice from the floor at Mycroft’s feet.

            The eldest child looked down at his little sister, who sat coloring nearby. “Would you like to choose a book?” He asked without hope.

            “No. You are boring. You read too slowly. I want to play with Sherlock.”

            “Mikey’s not boring.” Sherlock defended his older brother. “He does voices.”

            “Voices are boring.” Eurus insisted. “Play with me.”

            Sherlock slid off the sofa where he had been sitting next to Mycroft. “Fine. What are we playing?”

            The little girl stood. “Teacher. I’m going to teach you to play the violin.” She looked at Mycroft. “You are going to draw us, so you will remember.”

            “Remember what, sister-mine?”

            “That you are boring.”

 

                                                ~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

 

 

            “Woolgathering, love?” Greg squatted next to Mycroft as he sat on the floor.

            “Hmm?” Mycroft looked up from a sketchbook he was paging through.

            “What did you find?” Greg wiped his forehead with his arm.

            “An old sketchbook of mine.”

            “Not full of cock and ball sketches, is it?”

            Mycroft huffed a laugh. “No, not this one.” He paused and turned aside to stifle three rapid sneezes against his wrist.

            “Bless you.”

            “Thank you.” Mycroft sniffed. “They are mostly sketches of Sherlock and Eurus, and a few of Victor Trevor.” He considered the book seriously and laid it in the small pile of items he wished to keep. “Perhaps Sherlock would like to see it. It may help him remember.”

Greg rested a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Mycroft tipped his head to lay his cheek against Greg’s hand. He sniffled and quickly ducked his face into his arm.  “Hih’tsCHH, tschh, tschh, Tih’schoo!”

“Bless. I think it’s a good thing we’re almost done.” The older man stood using his partner’s shoulder as leverage. His knees creaked alarmingly. “My knees and back are about done in.”

“I agree.” Mycroft pulled out his handkerchief and found a dry corner to blow his nose. “I think my sinuses are at their limit as well.”

“It looks like those are the last two things.” Greg gestured at another cardboard box and a large trunk. “You take a look while I take these down to the donate pile.” Mycroft nodded and sneezed again. “Bless you love.” Greg picked up the box the younger man had just finished and headed downstairs.

Mycroft stood and rubbing at his itchy nose and face went over to the last two items. He knew what was likely in the trunk. The box though was a bit of a mystery to him. He slit open the tape and pulled back the flaps. Mycroft took a sharp breath of surprise. Neatly stacked in the box were his journals. Some had signs of heat damage indicating they had been salvaged from Musgrave after the fire. Others were from the time after they had moved to the cottage and when he was in school. He counted them quickly and found they were all present. He had believed them to be gone, but his mother had saved them, every one.

 

                                    ~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

 

“Mikey? What are you doing?”

“Sherlock, why are you up?”

“Can’t sleep.” The boy came further into his brother’s room. Mycroft closed his journal and capped his pen. “What are you writing?” Sherlock asked.

“Just thoughts. Why can’t you sleep?”

Sherlock approached Mycroft’s bed and looked hopefully at the older boy. Mycroft rolled his eyes and scooted over, pulling back the blankets as he did. Clambering up, Sherlock answered. “I keep hearing Redbeard calling my name.” He curled against his brother’s soft body, sighing softly.

Mycroft froze. “Calling your name?”

“He keeps barking and barking. Every time I close my eyes.”

“I see,” Mycroft relaxed and stroked Sherlock’s curls.

“Why did he go away?”

“I do not know.” Mycroft replied gently.

“You won’t go away, will you?”

“I’ll always be there for you. Always.”

Sherlock yawned. “Tell me a story, Mikey. Tell me about the East Wind.”

 

                                    ~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

 

Mycroft sniffed and wiped his eyes. The dust was simply overwhelming he thought. He closed the box and set the entire thing with the items he wished to keep. He heard Greg coming back up the stairs. The persistent itch in his nose chose to flare the moment Greg appeared at the door.

“Hih…Hihh’TSCHoo, TSCHOO! …Hih…heh’TSCHOO!” Mycroft emerged from his handkerchief blinking blearily.

“Bless you, My. You look a mess. Your eyes are so red, it looks like you have been crying.”

Mycroft grimaced. “Just the trunk is left. I think you will enjoy this.”

“Yeah?”

Mycroft flipped the lock and lifted the lid. Greg came to stand next to his partner and peered into the trunk. “It was my trunk from boarding school.” Greg gave a low whistle. Mycroft carefully lifted out several uniform blazers and sweaters. A few scarves in school colors were also there.

“Your polo kit!” Greg exclaimed. He pulled out the boots, still in good shape and the white trousers. Holding the clothing up Greg chuckled. “I don’t think these will still fit.” They were clearly meant for a much heavier Mycroft. “Oi, what’s this?” Laying the polo kit aside, Greg reached in and gently lifted a long maroon silk dress with a high collar and plenty of lace. The gown appeared to be from the Edwardian Era.

“My costume from The Importance Of Being Earnest. I was Lady Bracknell.” Greg looked into the trunk and spied a corset, a crinoline, and stockings with garters, gloves and a pair of large kid boots.

“Whoa, every thing is here, including the stockings.”

“Yes, Uncle Rudy was very adamant that I be accurately costumed.” Greg looked at Mycroft who merely shrugged.

“Is there a hat too?” Greg leaned into the trunk. “Boy, everything smells so fresh.”

“Mummy likely packed it with…” Mycroft stopped and looked at Greg. “Oh dear.”

Greg backed out of the trunk with a dazed look on his face. “Heh…Ahh…” His breath hitched as he turned away pulling the neck of his t-shirt over the lower half of his face. “HehRRUDSCHSHOO!” He swayed slightly with the force of his sneeze.

“Bless you.”

Eyes, still closed, squeezed tight again. Greg kept the fabric pulled over his nose and mouth. “Hehh…HUH’rrrdDSHZCHOO! Whew!” Greg lowered his shirt grinning. “That was brilliant. The dust was even starting to get to me.”

Mycroft looked at his partner bemused and shook his head. “Bless you, again.” He reached into the trunk and moved a few things aside. “Yes, there is a hat.” Out came a sizable hatbox. “As I said Uncle Rudy insisted the costume be authentic.”

“Let’s see it.” Greg said excitedly.

Mycroft opened the box revealing an elaborate wide brimmed hat with huge ostrich feathers. The feathers were slightly crushed from being the box so long. Greg carefully lifted out the hat. “Oh this is magnificent! I bet you looked amazing.”

Mycroft smiled. “I hardly recognized myself once I had everything on.”

Greg put the hat on and mugged for his lover, tilting and turning his head. Dust and bits of feather flew about in the air. Mycroft wrinkled his nose and rubbed at it as he chuckled at Greg’s antics.

Greg took the hat off and put it back in the box. “Right. We’re keeping this, the whole trunk.” He stepped up to Mycroft and pulled the younger man into his arms. “I can’t wait to see you in that get up,” he whispered gruffly.

“Who says I will put that costume on?” Mycroft retorted playfully.

“After this day of hauling your bits out of your parents attic I think I’m owed one.” Greg’s gaze traveled from Mycroft’s eyes to Mycroft’s mouth and caught a glimpse of his lover’s nose. The pink tinged nostrils were flickering and flaring. He heard a quick inhale. “Uh-oh, incoming.” Greg relaxed his hold and moved back slightly.

Mycroft twisted in Greg’s arms and pressed his wrist to his nose. “Hihnnchhx, hihnnchhx…”

“Bless…”

“Hih’TSCHOO!” Mycroft moved to cover his face with his arm.

“Bless you.”

Mycroft stood for a moment blinking and breath still hitching. “Hih…heh… Hetch’SSHOO! Heh’tchOO! Hih’SCHOO! …HihshCHAAH!” Greg waited. “Hih’tsh, tish, tish, tish…” Sliding his hand up and down his allergic partner’s arm, Greg offered wordless sympathy as the fit continued. Mycroft tipped his head back, eyes closed, nares wide open and lips pulled back. “Heh…Haht’SCHOO! Hahh’CHOO! Hahh’SCHZOO!” He swayed and Greg gripped his elbow.

“Good gracious, Mikey!” Exclaimed his mother from the attic door. “God bless you. Such a racket.”

            Mycroft sniffled and found his handkerchief. “Apologies, Mummy,” he mumbled from behind the cloth as he wiped his nose. Greg frowned but held his peace.

            “I came up to tell you boys that tea is ready. If you are done you are welcome to join us.”

            “Thank you Mrs. H. We’ll be down in tick.” Greg answered.

            Mrs. Holmes looked around the attic. “You’ve made good progress,” she commented as she left the room.

            “Hihschmmpft, hihshmmppfft, hihmmpft.” Mycroft muffled the latest outburst in his handkerchief.

            “Bless you love.” Greg kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “Go on down. I’ll get the rest of this downstairs and join you.”

            Mycroft nodded. “I will take this box.” He bent to pick up the box of journals. As he did he spied a picture in the small stack of saved items. “What is this picture?” He picked up the photo instead of the box.

            “Oh.” Greg flushed slightly. “I liked it and snuck it in your pile. I thought you might want to make a copy and give it to your sister.”

            Mycroft looked at Greg questioningly, “Why?”

            “Well, look at it.” It was a picture taken by the water. A youthful Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were sitting on a blanket laughing as young Mycroft and Sherlock sparred with wooden swords in the sand. “She took it, didn’t she?”

            Mycroft looked again at the photo. “Of course,” he murmured.

            “Now go on, before you start up again.” Greg picked up the box and handed it to Mycroft.

            “Yes dear.” Mycroft smirked and headed downstairs.

 

FIN

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Oh god the Lady Bracknell outfit I can totally see him in it. Very cute, you nailed Eurus.

[cally]

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“Not full of cock and ball sketches, is it?”

 

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“Mummy likely packed it with…” Mycroft stopped and looked at Greg. “Oh dear.”

I was expecting lavender.  

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Mycroft opened the box revealing an elaborate wide brimmed hat with huge ostrich feathers

Hmmm, that just seems like a bad idea, tbh.  For someone.  Their name may begin with M.  And if not, well, you never know how Greg might fare . . . . well that's something for another story.

10 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Greg frowned but held his peace.

I wish he told her where she could go, tbh. 

I was so glad I was able to stay awake last night to read it the second you posted it.  Too bad I was long past coherency to make any rational comments.  I think this was brilliant and there's lots of material here that can be expanded upon in other pieces.  

[Shamaël]

16 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“More importantly how long are you going to last?”

Hehehe. Wicked.

16 hours ago, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“My costume from The Importance Of Being Earnest. I was Lady Bracknell.”

Mwahahahaha I had almost forgotten...

I love the memories of their childhood with Eurus. In fact, I didn't really like season 4 BUT I like everything that's Eurus-related. Strange, is it not?

And maybe what I loved more is the title (but I often like your titles...). Thanks for sharing!

[AngelEyes]

This is wonderful! I love the variety of items you've included as memories. All very fitting.

On 5/1/2017 at 6:55 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“More importantly how long are you going to last?” He looked over at Mycroft.

Indeed

 

On 5/1/2017 at 6:55 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

“Not full of cock and ball sketches, is it?”

 

 

            Mycroft huffed a laugh. “No, not this one.”

Ah, but there are others...

 

On 5/1/2017 at 6:55 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

His breath hitched as he turned away pulling the neck of his t-shirt over the lower half of his face.

Sexy.

 

On 5/1/2017 at 6:55 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Greg put the hat on and mugged for his lover, tilting and turning his head.

This reminded me of the behind the scenes photo of Rupert wearing Una's hat during the wedding dinner scene. LOL!

 

On 5/1/2017 at 6:55 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

He heard a quick inhale. “Uh-oh, incoming.” Greg relaxed his hold and moved back slightly.

Mmmm. Lovely fit.