Work Text:
Sherlock takes a long drag and leans further back against the wall.
“Anything particular reason for this smoke break?” His sister asks and he shrugs before answering, “It's been getting worse again”. She jerks her head around, eyes narrowing into something analytical as if she wasn’t already profiling his every move.
Mycroft takes a small puff of the cigarette, smoke leaving her lips in a steady small stream, “Want to talk through it?”
It now seems to childish, but nonetheless Sherlock does, “The roads have corroded, the trains go a bit too fast for the rickety rails a crash is imminent”
“How imminent?” she has pulled her coat a bit tighter the weather has really gotten cold as of late, Sherlock savours the smoke for a moment before answering, “Very”
“Do your friends know?” The tone she carries sounds a bit judgemental, fairly so maybe.
“Of course not they have so much on their own plates at the moment, I should at this point be able to handle it”
“Lock” her tone is a little warning, Sherlock of course understands why — it’s an old argument. They take a pause to extinguish the remnants and Mycroft pulls out two more, handing one over lighting Sherlocks first and then her own.
With a little sigh and ring of smoke Mycroft says, “Little brother, I do not care how old you’ve gotten; you should have never been excepted to handle it on your own, and that is true now as ever”
“If you say so” Sherlock resigns, fully just to appease. It’s not as if he can win an argument with his sister, so lying to her seems a better option.
“Call me anytime day or night, no dying of misadventure or otherwise on my watch”
He laughs a little, “Right, you’re a workaholic, and I’m your pet project”
Mycroft just rolls her eyes and looks back out over the balcony, the still remaining Christmas lights twinkling across the buildings where they’re strung. A small cold shudder runs through Mycroft while Sherlock takes a drag looking down as she leans up against him resting her head against his temple. The smoke leaving his lips drawn in by Mycroft and vice versa. A lot has happened between them during the years, a lot of things they both resent and regret, but this remains. That’s what always felt safe, that tethered bond. No questions would be asked and she would understand if he did just show up at her place at four in the morning. Back then when he called from school or a&e. Here now if he calls too alive or too dead.
“Do you have someone for Christmas this year?” He asks rather out of nowhere, maybe the sentiment was getting to him.
“I do, would you like to come along?”
“Perhaps, it depends on my own plans”
She nods and taps the cigarette small glowing ash flying off from it. Sherlock still feels quite on edge to be fair. With a lot of years now of experience he understands the maddening nature of his own mind. At once something that causes him great distress and is what makes him worth a spot in the universe. It gives him purpose. He knows exactly this feeling, a bit too elated, a bit too heavy, a dangerous need for more.
Staring down at the half smoke cigarette Sherlock leans further into his sister and sighs, “I promise you I’ll come if it comes to it”
Mycroft holds out her pinky finger and he rolls his eyes but does interlock with his own, “Good, god knows what I’d do without you to keep in line, I’d probably go mad with boredom”
“Har-har” Sherlock deadpans yet smiles nonetheless, just enough that she knows he understands, of course he does. They share more than blood.