"A Man Lost In The Desert" - Part 6
A Man Lost In The Desert
Part 6
The room provided by the funeral home is beige, mostly, with a creamy white carpet and light brown in places as well, adding a bit of light to the somberness of the event. In the front of the room sits a chestnut coffin, and inside of that coffin lies the still body of Mycroft Holmes.
Not once during the wake does Sherlock leave John’s side, about which John has no complaints. As they stand together in the front row, one of Sherlock’s hands grasps one of John’s tightly, and the other has its fingers curled around the handle of the umbrella that John doesn’t believe is ever going to leave Sherlock’s grip.
They’d had a conversation, earlier in the morning, about whether Sherlock should give Mycroft the umbrella back, or whether he should keep it as a reminder. Sherlock had been quite distraught over the decision, until John had told him that Mycroft would probably much rather give his brother something to remember him by than keep anything himself.
As the funeral goers line up to pay their respects, John stands by Sherlock on that line. When Sherlock’s turn comes, he seems at a loss for breath and words as well, but he steps up to the coffin all the same. John watches as Sherlock stares down at the body, the first time Sherlock has seen it for more than a few seconds, and it’s good that Sherlock is able to see Mycroft now, in one of his suits, looking so tremendously normal for himself.
Sherlock bends down slowly, with one hand gripping the edge of the open coffin what seems hard enough to shatter the wood. With lips that still shake, he presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead, to the unmoving skin that Sherlock cherishes with all of his soul, clearly, and that Sherlock drinks in the feel and sight of like a man lost in the desert drinks in water.
John thinks for a moment that he hears a whispered “I love you,” coming from the space around the coffin, but perhaps it was only the wind.
Part 6
The room provided by the funeral home is beige, mostly, with a creamy white carpet and light brown in places as well, adding a bit of light to the somberness of the event. In the front of the room sits a chestnut coffin, and inside of that coffin lies the still body of Mycroft Holmes.
Not once during the wake does Sherlock leave John’s side, about which John has no complaints. As they stand together in the front row, one of Sherlock’s hands grasps one of John’s tightly, and the other has its fingers curled around the handle of the umbrella that John doesn’t believe is ever going to leave Sherlock’s grip.
They’d had a conversation, earlier in the morning, about whether Sherlock should give Mycroft the umbrella back, or whether he should keep it as a reminder. Sherlock had been quite distraught over the decision, until John had told him that Mycroft would probably much rather give his brother something to remember him by than keep anything himself.
As the funeral goers line up to pay their respects, John stands by Sherlock on that line. When Sherlock’s turn comes, he seems at a loss for breath and words as well, but he steps up to the coffin all the same. John watches as Sherlock stares down at the body, the first time Sherlock has seen it for more than a few seconds, and it’s good that Sherlock is able to see Mycroft now, in one of his suits, looking so tremendously normal for himself.
Sherlock bends down slowly, with one hand gripping the edge of the open coffin what seems hard enough to shatter the wood. With lips that still shake, he presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead, to the unmoving skin that Sherlock cherishes with all of his soul, clearly, and that Sherlock drinks in the feel and sight of like a man lost in the desert drinks in water.
John thinks for a moment that he hears a whispered “I love you,” coming from the space around the coffin, but perhaps it was only the wind.