Stille, stille, stille- a Mycroft Playlist for the Dark of the Year
Bell Peal
Mycroft, though one would never suspect it, loves Advent. He and Sherlock may have fallen far from the religious tree, but their mother had been a devout Catholic, just as her mother before her, and Advent, when Mycroft was little, was candles and hymns and chants. Incense burning in the chapel, and daily devotions.
Ritual has always spoken to him.
Invitatory Of Christmas And Venite (Psalm 94)
Victoria: O Magnum Mysterium
Ave Maria, Virgo Serena
Sherlock may choose to retain only what is "necessary", but Mycroft considers no thing trivial. The old hymns speak to him of humanity in a different time; less sophisticated, perhaps, but human all the same. He holds these forebears close to his heart, beneath his pocket-square, behind the occasional Kevlar.
Adam Lay Ybounden
Quem Pastores Laudavere
Personent Hodie :trad.German~13cent.
Perhaps it is a sentimental weakness, but he keeps a small candelabra in his private rooms, and lights it every day at dusk, beginning on the first Sunday of Advent. He kneels, but does not pray. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, he is alone, and still.
Gabriel's Message
Un Flambeau, Jeannette, Isabella
Hodie Christus Natus Est
Ave Maria
He was fourteen when Grand-mere died; Sherlock was only seven. He knows Sherlock remembers her fondly, but for the seven years before Sherlock existed, Grand-mere was his, and his only. Her cookies were for him, her spices sprinkled out for him to smell. Her thin voice raised to lilt the french carols. They are both fluent speakers of their maternal tongue, but where the carols are tunes only to Sherlock, Mycroft knows them as songs.
The Lamb
Stille Nacht
Personent Hodie/Cantus
Anthea knows, but she says nothing. No one else will ever suspect. Dark has fallen, and snow is half-heartedly sprinkling from the black bowl of the heavens. He goes into his private rooms, and shuts the door.
Ambrosian Hymn: Te Deum Laudamus
Bells of the Bergkirchlein in Arosa