Short Story! He walked into his room late at night. Or rather, early in the morning. He stood in the corner of his room, hiding in the shadows, watching the covers rise and fall with his ever breath. He could see that precious mop of black, disobedient curls lying on the white pillow. He loved his child. His Sherlock. And he regretted not being able to spend more time with him. But he was needed on a constant basis. His profession was not in anyway, flexible. He was at the beck and call of the British Government, and he had to obey. He must have looked at him for an hour at least. His perfect little boy. Father? A voice from the hall floated in. Quickly, he slipped out the door, and shut it behind him. Have you any idea what time it is Mycroft? He said gruffly. Mycroft rubbed his eyes. Forgive my body for its irresponsible and inconvenient piss schedule. Mycroft yawned. What are you doing home? Mycroft made his way slowly to the bathroom door across the hall. I had an extra three hours to myself and decided I would come visit. I need to leave soon actually. Mycroft entered the doorway and paused, his back to his father. You werent even going to wake up Sherlock and tell him hello? He hasnt seen you for seven months. He began to close the door. And I myself hadnt seen you for a solid sixteen. Nice to know you were planning on watching Sherlock sleep the whole visit rather then speak a word to me. Mycroft shut the door, then locked it. He was not offended. Mycroft was a big boy, and could handle it. He didnt care in all honesty. He turned on his heal, and left. -221B
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 23:09:40 +0000
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