Work Text:
“Louis James Moriarty,
You will be the new face of ‘M' ”
--
Dear Brother William,
It has been one month since the MI6 was reformed. While both you and Brother Albert have taught me plenty, every day I realize that there are many, many things that I have yet still to know and to learn.
Please do not worry though, for I am committed to this role. I have promised the both of you that I will carry on with what you started, and I shall take care of this world that you two have left behind, for us, for me…. I shall take it upon myself to see it through that it will not be stained again.
I hope that one day, the both of you will be here to see its beauty with me, with us.
Yours truly,
Louis James Moriarty.
--
“You can take your leave now, Miss Moneypenny, I’m sorry for keeping you so late.”
It was about half past one in the morning, and all the lights in the Universal Exports building had been put out, safe for the few ones in his office. Despite the order and the apology, his eyes continued to dart across pages after pages of papers and notes scattered across his desk- looking for clues, connections- trying to make the pieces make sense.
Moneypenny however, did not move from her spot right next to his desk, where she had been standing almost completely still for the last twenty minutes, assisting him with the documents and potential queries that may arise.
Realizing this, Louis finally looked up, his eyes meeting hers. It didn’t take a second for him to notice the look she was giving him, if only because it was the same look she had been giving him the past couple of days.
“... I am fine, Miss Moneypenny.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I have to disagree, sir. This will be the sixth day in a row you haven’t left the office.”
“I will have to report to Director Holmes first thing in the morning on our progress in this mission.”
“With all due respect, Director Holmes is the strictest man I know, but I doubt that it’s his intention for you to sacrifice your health for the purpose of this mission.”
To this, Louis threw his glance from her back at the paper. And he knew she had noticed, because the tone of her voice softened significantly.
“At least, please allow me to assist you a little longer. Then perhaps we can call it a night, if that is alright.”
He looked like he was about to protest, yet he bit back whatever remark he wanted to say, and a little nod accompanied his gesture when he started digging back into the pile of documents.
Moneypenny smiled.
--
Dear Brother William,
How is the weather over there? It’s been very chilly here, as you know, but the townspeople have been very excited to welcome the Christmas celebrations. We are starting to see decorations and trees being put out, and children on the streets have been singing carols all day long.
Do you remember the times back at the orphanage? During this time of the year, you would always fret for me, because it was cold, and the place did not have heating. In the end you would always let me play outside with the other kids, though, and we would all sing together, even if you were a little abashed at first. Sister would always compliment your singing voice.
Are there Christmas celebrations where you are? Please always remember to stay warm.
Wishing you well,
Louis James Moriarty.
--
The moment the carriage came to a halt, he was already running, running as fast as his legs could take him.
He was in his office, pacing back and forth as he awaited news regarding the current mission assigned to their division. They had spent weeks coming up with the perfect plan, and he was certain that everything would be carried out without a hitch.
Until a telegram came from Von Herder, informing him that they had lost all contact with James Bond on the field.
James was supposed to report via telegrams every three hours. However, it had been almost seven hours since any of them had heard from him. Louis had sent two more of their agents to the field to go fetch Bond; dead or alive (and Louis’ heart thumped harder at the thought. God, o God, please let it be the latter, despite his face remaining unchanged. Facade was something he had learned since he was barely able to read).
Then, forty five minutes ago, another telegram arrived. They had found James Bond, injured but alive, thank heavens, and they had taken him to the hospital to receive treatment.
Louis spent not a second longer to dash out of his office.
--
When he arrived at the hospital, he felt relief washing over his body, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt emotions that intensely (positive ones, at least).
James was awake and he was coherent, despite the few painkillers they had prescribed him, and there was an uncomfortable tug in Louis’ heart when James had noticed him walk in the room. The younger man simply threw him a wink, and attempted to one up that with his signature peace sign (attempted was the keyword, as, Louis assumed, James had either sprained or broke his wrist, from the way he was instantly grumbling in pain following the attempt).
“Please take it easy, Bond.” Louis sighed as he took a seat next to James’ bed.
James rested his hand back against his lap, giving Louis a light-hearted chuckle (Louis wished he didn’t try so hard to make this all look like nothing, but then again, he wasn’t one to talk).
“I’m fine, I’m fine, Lou.”
“Clearly not. Von Herder informed me that you jumped off a cliff and the other agents had to pull you out of the sea.”
“There was a little miscalculation in the plan. But hey, it all worked out in the end, right?”
“A misstep and you could’ve broken more bones than just the ones on your arm.”
The shift in tone was barely there, yet James Bond had enough experience and training not to miss it. ‘M’ , no, Louis was upset. And it wasn’t necessarily with him.
Yet his face once again remained unchanging, safe for the tiniest tug in the corners of his lips.
Ah. He’s just like that person, after all.
“Hey, Lou…”
He felt James’ uninjured hand on his shoulder, and the gesture surprised him more than it should.
“I’m fine,” James smiled. “We did good, didn’t we?”
As much as he wanted to grace the honest question with an answer, he couldn’t.
--
Dear Brother William,
As embarrassing as it is to admit, it seems that I have made an error in my calculations. I have gone over the plan for the last mission over and over again, yet so far I am not able to figure out where we went wrong.
This simply will not do, will it? After all, this single error almost caused us the life of our friend.
I will have to find it, even if I have to spend nights after nights going over everything again. I have to, else, how will I ever learn not to repeat the same mistake?
……
…
..
How did you do it? How did you always make this so easy? It always seemed like you could come up with a perfect plan in a matter of seconds, solutions to even the trickiest, most unpredictable surprises within a blink of the eye. Just how---
--
Louis put down his quill when he heard the knock on the door. He gazed upon the clock hanging on the wall- alerting him that it was almost two in the morning. He hadn’t noticed it was already so late (then again even if he did, he would’ve continued working, either way).
He tugged on the collar of his coat, and tucked the loose strands of his hair back behind his ear, ensuring he looked presentable, despite the odd hours.
“Come in,” he then said, just loud enough to be heard from outside the door.
He had expected Moneypenny, once again concerned over him overworking and lacking of rest, or either Jack or Fred, with updates on the missions they were each assigned to.
But instead, Mycroft Holmes was standing on his doorway.
“Director Holmes!”
He was on his feet before he finished his words, surprise apparent in his face. Mycroft Holmes was practically married to his job, that much Louis knew, and he dropped by at late hours every now and then to discuss ongoing missions. He was not expecting him this time, though, and he was confident that he was not due to submit any reports. So why was he there?
Unless…
“I heard about Mr. Bond,” he said, though there was a glint of relief in his eyes despite the monotone, “I’m glad that he’s doing alright.”
“Indeed…” Louis replied, and there was the tiniest waver in his voice, tiny enough to be missed by most. “Ah, please sit down, Director, it is a little late, but I can brew us a pot of tea, if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary, ‘M’ .” Mycroft replied, as he took off his overcoat and slung it over the coat rack.
“In fact,” he continued, fingers running over his necktie expertly, loosening it just slightly. “Why don’t I do the brewing this time?”
Louis blinked.
Despite having been assigned as ‘M ’, doing day-to-day chores such as serving tea and cooking dinner and making sure the place was prim and tidy still felt like second nature to him. While he had gotten slightly more used to being referred to and treated as a higher up, and occasionally would allow others to serve him those little conveniences, never did he expect Mycroft out of all people to be one making that offer. Was it because he was his boss? Was it because he was a Holmes? Or…
“Please,” the older man’s voice then put his thoughts into a pause. “Allow me.”
Louis gave him a look, and uncertain as he may be, he finally obliged and responded with a nod.
Mycroft smiled (though it looked more like a lopsided grin- a small tug on one corner of his lips), and turned to start with the tea, while Louis took a seat on one of the sofas adorning the office.
It didn’t take long until he could smell the very familiar scent of chamomile, gracing the air that otherwise felt a little too thick to breathe.
“Now, I am aware that I am most probably the last person who should be saying this,” Mycroft said, breaking the silence. Louis looked up towards him, finding that his back was still against him. “But I believe some rest is in order, don’t you think, ‘M’ ? Even your colleagues have expressed their concern over you, especially recently.”
“I am aware of the mishaps that happened in the last mission, and I fully take responsibility over them,” the response coming out of Louis was almost immediate, as if it was scripted, as if he had expected this was why Mycroft Holmes was in his office at bloody two in the morning. Of course, such blunders wouldn’t have escaped the Director. “But I can assure you it was not caused by my lack of sleep, despite the others’ concerns. Although I do appreciate them.”
Mycroft turned around, two cups of perfectly brewed chamomile tea in hand. He walked over and put one of them in front Louis, to which the latter responded with another nod and a hushed gratitude.
Seating himself opposite Louis, he then took the other cup, taking his time to take a few sips off it, humming to himself. It was rare to see the Director looking that… relaxed, if he had to put it into a word.
“I did not come here to scold you, Louis.” He said, before taking another sip of his tea. Louis wasn’t sure if he should be alert or relax that the other was referring to him with his name now.
“I came here to ask how you are doing.”
Mycroft put down the teacup, and was now looking at him. Despite his face that was hard to read, Louis could see the familiar concern written all over it.
It was all familiar, oh so familiar, that sometimes he felt like he was choking in it. He saw it in the way everyone looked at him, ever since that night, the overwhelming concern, the way it felt as if everyone was trying to walk on eggshells around him, as if he would crumble and break if anyone so much as brought up what happened that fateful evening… If anyone so much as mentioned his name….. Their names…
“I am fine, Mr. Holmes.”
“Hm,” Mycroft threw a glance at the stack of documents laid open across Louis’ desk. “Yet, those say otherwise.”
“What happened today could have been avoided.” The waver in his voice was there again, ever so slightly, like a ghost made of regrets. “This cannot happen again, hence I am looking over everything again to make sure of it.”
“You are aware that what happened was not your fault,” the reply came as firm as it was immediate, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Nor was it Mr. Bond’s. Or anyone’s. One should always expect the unexpected in our line of work.”
“Be that as it may,” Louis interjected, “He did not have to get hurt.”
“You cannot expect every plan to go exactly the way you predict it,” Mycroft continued, “There is no such thing as a perfect plan.”
“He would’ve come up with one.”
The silence in the room came so, so abruptly, and it hung in the air so thickly that it was suffocating as much as it was awkward.
He immediately wished he could take it back. Saying it out loud only felt like affirming everyone’s concerns for him- that he hadn’t, in fact gotten over what happened, and that he, in fact, missed his dear brother everyday, and that no matter how much he seemed to have grown or how many additional responsibilities he had accepted to carry over his shoulders, he still felt small and helpless and lost without his brother around, as if he was still that little boy shivering, coughing, all shriveled up in one corner of the building because it was winter and it was cold and the place had no heating.
He didn’t want to admit to it. He had to stay strong, for everyone’s sake, for William’s sake. He didn’t want to admit how difficult it had been without his brother with him.
But somewhere in his mind he knew that he was right. William wouldn’t have let such a pointless mistake happen. William wouldn’t have let any of his friends and family get hurt. William wouldn’t have…
William wouldn’t have…..
What would William do in this situation?
“You could’ve lost a friend today…” Mycroft said, once again breaking the silence, albeit a little more careful this time. “You are allowed to feel upset, Louis.”
Was he?
“This, after what you went through…”
The pause between his words felt a little more apparent this time, and Louis dared himself to look up to meet Mycroft in the eyes. He didn’t know if it was surprising at all that he found doubt- no, it was something more sentimental, if he had to gauge- in the older man’s eyes.
“Especially after all you went through… it is just natural for you to feel that way.”
He was right. Louis knew Mycroft was right, but of course. He himself would’ve said the same thing, had the roles been reversed and he was the one trying to offer comfort to someone who had just lost a loved one. Yet, admitting it felt like defeat, as if he was giving in to hopelessness.
It was the last thing he needed.
Louis stood up, felt he needed to move, to do anything , else he was sure he would start crumbling in place.
He quietly walked across the room, only stopped to look out of the window, to the night skies outside that were pitch black, save for the few lights dimly illuminating the streets.
“Do you lie in bed at night wondering if there was anything you could’ve done differently…?”
Mycroft pondered for a moment.
“Every now and then…” A pause. He could hear him taking another sip of his tea. “But every time I always arrive at the same conclusion.”
Louis listened.
“My brother is extremely intelligent, yet he does very, very stupid things at times.”
He wondered what Mycroft thought of his brother’s decision to jump. Did he wish he hadn’t? Did he wish his brother had come up with a different solution? Or… did he blame William, and him and Albert by extension, for his brother’s demise?
“But Sherlock isn’t like most people. He doesn’t live to fulfill anyone’s expectations. He answers only to himself.”
When Mycroft chuckled, Louis could hear the fondness behind it.
“Inconvenient? Oh, yes. Ridiculous? Definitely. But I have to admit that it is quite the admirable way to live.”
‘Admirable’ was certainly an unusual word to describe Sherlock Holmes… at least, that was what Louis would have thought, just a couple of months ago. The him now, though, thought that there was some truth in that.
“He has done many things that I don’t agree with. But that is who he is, he makes his own decisions, and he owns whatever consequences that come with them.”
Louis narrowed his eyes, and his mind involuntarily wandered back to that night, back to the carriage he shared with Fred, into which they had selfishly summoned Sherlock Holmes, with one, just one- the first and the last- favor they could ask nobody else but him…
“This as well, was his own decision.”
He thought back to the darkness enveloping them that night, the darkness that didn’t seem to drown the glint of hope and determination in Sherlock Holmes’ eyes. Truthfully, Louis had known; perhaps they didn’t even have to approach him, perhaps they didn’t even have to ask him for the favor.
Perhaps Sherlock Holmes had known all along, and perhaps, by the time they met that night, he had long made his decision.
“And while there are times I do wish things had come out differently… I know that wherever he is, he has no ounce of regret over what he did.”
He wouldn’t, would he?
He was starting to see why to his brother, Sherlock Holmes was that light in the endless sea of dark; his salvation; a single speck of hope in his heart that was ready to break.
“That, at least… helps me sleep at night.”
And if Sherlock Holmes truly succeeded in giving William the salvation he desperately needed, perhaps one day it would help Louis sleep better at night, too.
One day, perhaps.
--
Dear Brother William,
We are approaching spring here. I hope it is also past the coldest days of the year where you are. We are thinking of turning the small plot of land next to our office into a garden. We may not have the old mansion anymore, but it would still be nice to have some colors around after the harsh winter. Fred is considering getting some marigolds and petunias this year. I think they will turn out lovely.
We have been involved in a lot more missions, and thankfully, no one has gotten hurt since then. I think it is safe to say that we are all getting used to functioning as a more coherent team, and we are constantly learning from each other. I too, while aware that I still have many shortcomings, believe that I am handling this role a little better, day by day.
I also have been consulting Brother Albert’s old files whenever I get stuck with something, and so far it has been really helpful. There are so many things about his work that I didn’t know before, and it feels as if I get to understand him more as a person through his work, even if he isn’t physically here.
….
There are so many things I wish I could take his advice on right now, if only he was here. Yours too, of course.
I miss both of you everyday, but I will stay on my word, and keep my promise to you, to take care of this new world you left for us. So please, watch over me.
With love,
Louis James Moriarty
--
When Mycroft Holmes arrived at Universal Exports that morning, the first thing he saw was red.
Louis James Moriarty was fetching a whole vase of fresh red roses at the reception area, and, from the size of the vase, he reckoned there were at least a large bouquet worth of roses in that vase.
The younger man seemed to notice his arrival. Carefully, he put the vase on the table, the centerpiece of the room, now adorning it beautifully right next to another vase of an equal size, however that one hosted a bouquet worth of pure, white lilies instead.
Seemingly satisfied with how they looked right next to each other, Louis then turned his attention to the guest, stepping up closer to him as he rolled his shirt sleeves back down.
“I’m sorry for the wait, Director Holmes.”
“Please, don’t be.” Mycroft replied, his eyes never leaving the vases on the desk. They certainly looked gorgeous, and they emanated a scent that was heavenly, but he knew there was another, stronger reason as to why those vases, with those two specific flowers, were present that day. Louis James Moriarty liked keeping things clean and tidy, but he didn’t usually -if not never- bother to beautify his workplace, out of all places, with ornaments such as flowers.
The reception area of Universal Exports was usually left dull and unwelcoming, for good reasons, of course.
It wasn’t a place for two giant bouquets of flowers to be proudly displayed as if they were expecting some grand guests.
Of course not, but that day was special.
It had been exactly one year since that fateful evening.
“I must say this is a thoughtful way to remember him,” Mycroft continued, as he turned to inspect the lovely petals closer. “His favorites, I assume?”
Louis nodded.
“The roses were, at least…” he paused, his attention shifting back to the flowers once again. “The lilies… well, it’s a funny story with that one, I suppose.”
Mycroft looked at him, an eyebrow perking up, interested. “Oh?”
“He mentioned something once, in passing…” The blond took a step closer, taking one pure white petal between his fingers, his lips tugging into almost a smile, despite dressed in something akin to melancholy. “In flower language, white lilies represent purity….. They also symbolize rebirth…”
The older man nodded.
“With all the crimes we committed, we’re far past the point of return… ‘Purity’ is no longer in sight for us, when we’re all already drenched in blood…”
Louis pulled his hand away, though his gaze was still fixed at the white petals.
“However I would like to believe… that wherever Brother William is right now… he is no longer bound by the blood stained chains…. Or at least, they’ve loosened just enough that he is able to breathe again.”
He closed his eyes, then gingerly let go of the petal.
“I wasn’t able to do anything to help him,” he said, and Mycroft would have offered words of comfort, if it wasn’t because Louis said it so as-a-matter-of-factly, that Mycroft knew there was no changing his mind.
“But I hope my wishes reach him,” he opened his eyes, the same determined look on his face, the same look adorning his fiery orbs Mycroft remembered from that day he took over all responsibilities and some more on his shoulders. “And I truly hope time allows him to heal… both him, and your brother.”
Mycroft remained quiet for a moment. There were no doubts in his mind that if there was anyone, anyone at all who could possibly succeed at such a feat, it was Sherlock.
Yet there were times, rarely, every now and then, where doubt crept up his brilliant mind and his confidence faltered. The probability of anyone surviving a fall from that height was almost nil, and even though he knew Sherlock really well, that his brother would’ve switched their positions, and angled their bodies as strategically as one could in that situation, to maximize that probability, it was still wishful thinking to believe they had survived.
Was there truly nothing he could have done to help his brother? Was he in the right, that he knew about the Moriarties’ plan all along, and how his own brother was involved, yet let it unfold right under his nose? If he had done something, anything at all, would Sherlock still be there with them?
… Would he be happy?
….. Would he have been consumed by regrets?
Louis’ hand landed on his shoulder, and he must’ve let his thoughts carry on for a little too long, because the little gesture surprised him enough to earn himself a little twitch.
The younger man didn’t say anything however, and he looked in the eyes, all-knowing.
But of course, you could never hide your thoughts from a Moriarty. The siblings seemed to have an all-natural talent to read one’s mind, for the better or for the worse.
“... Thank you, Louis, that makes two of us.” He nodded once more, and at least graced the thoughtfulness with a thin smile. Louis didn’t push further, and pulled back his hand, darting his eyes back towards the roses.
Silence followed, and Louis thought it was perhaps high time to offer his guest to come sit down in the office. It was too early for lunch, but perhaps he could offer some scones with tea.
He didn’t get to it, though, when Mycroft spoke again.
“He likes them too, you know?”
Louis turned his gaze to the older man once again, finding Mycroft’s eyes hadn’t left the sea of red blooming from the rose bouquet.
The blond had a guess on who the ‘he’ he was referring to was, yet asked anyway.
“Excuse me?”
“Albert,” he said, his name rolling over his tongue so easily, and there was something else in the look he was giving him when their eyes met once again. “He has a certain fondness for roses too, red ones, in fact.”
Louis couldn’t exactly put that ‘something else’ into words, just yet.
So instead he nodded along, and focused his attention back at the vases. “You’re right… I would love to send some of these to Brother Albert too…. If only there was a way.”
Even when he wasn’t facing him, he could feel Mycroft’s eyes drilling into him. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the reason for the almost too sudden change in demeanor. Had he perhaps said something wrong about Sherlock Holmes?
No, he didn’t think so.
“Entertain me for a bit, if you will.”
“What is it?” While concerned, Louis couldn’t help but feel curiosity rising up his chest. Through all the time he had known him, Mycroft had never asked anything from him that was not related to work or the Moriarty plan.
“Both you and Albert clearly hold William in the highest of regards, it is both admirable and heart-warming.”
Louis wasn’t expecting that, but once again he nodded along.
“Of course. Not only Brother William orchestrated the plan, he has also helped us in many more ways in our personal lives. We both admire him dearly.”
“Indeed, both you and Albert talk about him on many occasions, and you always do so in the most endearing manner.”
At that, Louis felt a little flustered. Had he truly talked about William that much in front of the older Holmes? But it seemed Albert had done exactly the same, so perhaps it wasn’t at all surprising. William was not only smart beyond his times, he was also the kindest soul he knew. There were simply too many things to praise him over.
“And yet,” there was that look from Mycroft again, “I couldn’t help but notice neither of you have really talked about each other that often.”
Louis was not one to be caught off guard, and he could probably count with one hand the number of times he had been his whole life. But this one; this one really caught him off guard.
Mycroft clearly noticed, and it was obvious from the way he remained still, eyes focusing only on him, awaiting response.
Silence spoke the most words, they said.
“I--” he cleared his throat, he didn’t notice when his throat had become so dry. “Of course I hold brother Albert in the highest regards as well. He gave us a home, a new family, a place to belong, and the chance to start this whole scheme of ours. None of it would’ve been possible without his help.”
“Funny, that is what he said about you too.”
Louis looked up.
“He praised your skills and determination, and he pointed out multiple times that you were an irreplaceable part of the plan, and yet…”
He knew where it was going, and he didn’t like it.
“I couldn’t help but notice the gap between you and him, one that is much different from the comfortable one between you and William, as well as him and Albert.”
He didn’t like it because Mycroft was right .
Was there any point trying to deny that? It really was no trade secret that William had always been Albert’s favorite brother. In fact, there were days where Louis thought that if given the choice, Albert would’ve opted to adopt only William, and left Louis be back at the orphanage. It was because of William’s insistence that they both were taken in together that he was there, and perhaps, probably, possibly, it was never Albert’s choice to begin with.
He was just an extra, plus one, additional baggage that Albert didn’t need, didn’t want.
And that was alright. So long he could prove himself to be useful in William’s schemes, so long he could show Albert that he wasn’t just deadweight. So long he had some use. It was alright.
He knew that. He had come to terms with that. And he was fine with that.
…
Was he?
Mycroft Holmes was not deft, however, perhaps fortunately for Louis, as he seemed to notice the tiny bite on the younger man’s lips, and his hands that had crumpled up into fists involuntarily.
Whatever it was that Mycroft wanted to say, he seemed to let go.
Instead, he picked out one of the roses from the vase, bringing it up to his eye level, as if admiring it from close. Louis still hadn’t met his eyes.
“Well… I’m certainly not one to talk,” he then said, a small grin surfacing on his lips, somehow. “Whatever relationship I have with Sherlock is perhaps even further away than ideal.”
Louis didn’t know how much truth there was in that statement. He had only ever heard Mycroft talk about his brother in a positive light, while truly, he had never talked to Sherlock at all, save for that one evening.
“But you are each other’s brothers,” he said, while placing the aforementioned rose into his breast pocket. He then tugged on the collars of his coat. “At times like these… perhaps you only have each other to rely on.”
Louis continued to watch the other man’s gesture, understanding his intention to leave. He couldn’t help but wonder why he bothered to pick up the rose, however. Mycroft Holmes didn’t seem to be the kind of man who liked to adorn his suits with flowers, even at formal occasions.
“Even so…” Louis heard himself respond, voice a little too low to his liking. “What shall I say to him…? And with him being locked up, there isn’t much I can do to contact him…”
Mycroft hummed.
“Unfortunately I have another appointment I have to attend to right now,” he threw a glance at Louis, once more, yet instead of the intense look he was giving him, one that Louis still could not put his finger on, there was a vague playfulness in those dark pupils, and if Louis squinted, perhaps he caught a sight of an accompanying smirk across his lips- for a moment, just for a short, fleeting moment.
It really reminded him of Sherlock Holmes.
“However, contact me any time when you have made up your mind.”
With another polite nod, Mycroft took his leave. Louis bowed him a farewell in return, yet, with more questions in his mind than what he started off with.
--
‘Dear Brother Albert,
I am writing to you on the suggestion of Director Holmes.’
He immediately struck down the line, causing ink droplets to splatter across the paper when he moved his quill a little too aggressively.
‘Dear Brother Albert,
I write to you because I seek your advice on a case we are currently working on.’
Another strike.
‘Dear Brother Albert,
How are you doing?’
Louis huffed and put the quill down. Following the talk with Mycroft Holmes, he had been considering writing to his oldest brother. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Perhaps it was just a measly attempt to communicate, or some kind of (kind of pathetic, really) attempt to check on his brother. Perhaps he wanted to express sympathy, and to let Albert know that he thought of him as much he thought about William. Or perhaps he wanted someone he could relate to- it was just past the first anniversary of the Fall, after all.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned further back against his seat.
Be it as it may, he never realized he almost never had a one-to-one, heart-to-heart conversation with Albert. The few times they did, Louis was still very young, and he needed a lot of guidance that Albert James Moriarty was certainly more than happy to provide. But as they grew up, the talks became sparse, and the times they saw eye to eye were mostly when they discussed the plan.
He never realized it, because William was always there. William was always standing between them, each hand holding one of his brothers’. He never truly had to face the suffocating awkwardness between him and Albert because William was there to bridge their thoughts, their words, their minds; and everything always felt like it made sense.
Nothing certainly made sense right now. Nothing at all.
Even with that, he had always relied on William, didn’t he?
He took a deep breath, gazing his eyes upon the many crumpled papers splattered with ink on his desk again. He grabbed them, throwing them aside to the bin, before fetching a fresh, blank one, taking the quill once again in his hand.
‘Dear Brother Albert,’
--
Albert woke up to the same, dull scene that morning; the ceiling that always felt a little too tall and the bricks of many shades of gray and brown that felt nothing short of entrapping.
The bed under him creaked especially loud when he tried to get up- one that was very lousily made with the thinnest mattress he had probably laid his eyes on, that he was sure was responsible for the ache on his back that just felt to grow more and more unbearable each day.
He could handle it though, no, he should.
Because he was the one who chose that punishment for himself; the unforgiving solitude and the cold in his bones that prevented him from sleeping at night. He chose it, because it was what he deserved, and it was certainly nothing compared to the suffering his brother had to go through- the suffering Albert made his brother go through.
It was what he deserved.
His hair was getting into an awkward length again, signing that it was high time to give himself yet another clumsy trim. Yet for now, he shrugged it off, as he walked across to the small chest that had been so generously provided to him, housing only a humble number of shirts and a couple of ties.
He didn’t feel like getting dressed up that morning.
And with that swift change of mind, he opted to turn back and grab the wooden chair that stood right by the window- if one could call it that- it was more like an opening amidst the dark bricks.It was also the only source of light- his only source of light- for the past year.
Sluggishly, he pulled the chair and sat down. He felt soreness in his muscles that he had learned to ignore, and he felt a familiar pang in his chest as he looked up at the sky outside.
It had been over a year…
He wasn’t sure if the past year felt like a blur, or if it had gone by so painfully slow.
Regardless, his mind rushed back to images of his beloved brother, to the last moment he had seen him, to the despair and helplessness he could oh so clearly see in the younger’s crimson eyes, the scream for help that he had ignored, no matter how much he wished to reach out and hold onto him, lest he fell into darkness and never return.
And yet, William fell. And the nights had never felt so dark.
He looked up at the sky again. It was a little more bearable during the day, where the ghosts of his past were quieter, and their whispers didn’t make his head feel like it was about to combust on itself.
He took a deep breath.
It had been over a year…
The flap of wings across the sky echoed, and it thankfully broke the silence that had been haunting the room for too long to his liking.
He stood up from his chair, and gazed across the horizon to find the source of the sound. When he finally noticed a pigeon gracefully flapping its wings, flying towards his direction, a small tug on his lips threatened to show.
He waited patiently until the said pigeon landed against the window. Albert smiled at the newly arrived guest, gingerly stroking it just under its beak, earning a happy coo from the bird.
“Good morning, Mr. Charles Dickens.”
As if it understood the greeting, it cooed lovingly once again.
“I believe you have something for me today?”
The pigeon bobbed its head, and nudged its head towards the direction of its feet. On one of its legs, a small parchment paper was neatly rolled and tied around it. Albert gave Mr. Dickens another stroke under the beak before he expertly untied the piece of paper.
Once the paper was freed, the bird then took its leave, but not before nudging its head against Albert’s hand with one last coo.
He sat back down on the seat as he started to unroll the paper. Mr. Dickens didn’t visit all that often, so he reckoned what was in the paper should be important enough to inform him.
He had a couple of guesses of what it might be, but to his surprise, none of them were correct.
There was only one short sentence written neatly on the parchment.
“ Expect a delivery under your door soon - MH.”
As if like clockwork, there was a knock on his door almost immediately, so unexpected that it was almost enough to make Albert jump off his seat.
He stood back up and approached the door, halfway wondering if whoever it was outside would soon open it, and a million different scenarios were already playing in his head.
Before he could come up with anything solid though, he noticed that the person had slid something under his door, indeed, just as the letter said.
It was a letter, perfectly encased in a pristine looking envelope. There was no seal on it, however, as a noble would normally expect to see on anything addressed to them. He picked it up, turned it in his hands, and his emerald eyes perked up when they caught sight on one corner of the envelope.
A tiny ‘M’ was written in neat cursive.
--
“And that is all for today’s report.”
It was yet another evening at the Universal Exports office. Mycroft Holmes had come for another visit and Louis had just finished debriefing him on the week’s progress. The director hummed, seemingly satisfied with what was presented.
“Another job well done, ‘M’.”
“Of course.” Louis nodded. He was about to put away the teacups on the table when Mycroft politely interrupted him.
“Your letter made it to him safely.”
The younger man stopped in his tracks, as if it was surprising at all. Yet he was as quick to regain his usual calm.
“I see. Thank you for helping me reach him.”
Mycroft shook his head.
“Perhaps I should be the one to thank you.”
“Oh?”
“Whatever it is that you wrote to him, it seemed to have made him feel a little better. I had the feeling that he had been quite under the weather seeing that, it had just passed the first anniversary.”
“I see…”
Louis looked down. Strangely enough, he could not picture Albert out of all people being under the weather. He had faced his fair share of problems, of course, with his work, as a nobleman and also as a brother. Yet he had always handled them with such natural poise that Louis found himself wondering in certain days if there was anything, anything at all that would ever faze his oldest brother.
He supposed this was an exception. William was as important to Albert as much as he was to Louis, after all. He supposed it was enough to make even Albert James Moriarty shed a tear. Supposedly.
“I regret that I could not offer anything more to comfort brother Albert…However I’m glad if it helped, in some way.”
Mycroft patted him on the shoulder, a look in his face that Louis could only describe as knowing. Perhaps. Maybe. He decided not to look too deeply into it.
“Go home and get some rest, Louis.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Take care.”
He saw Mycroft off, watching over the office window to make sure the older man had safely gotten into the carriage that was specifically waiting for him outside the building.
Louis sighed, glad to be alone again, somehow. It was uncommon, seeing that he actually quite enjoyed the older Holmes’ company.
Perhaps it was because of the letter. Perhaps it was because he could never completely guess just how much Mycroft Holmes was able to deduce from the miniscule amount of things he had taken notice of.
Another sigh.
Damn these Holmeses.
He looked down at his desk. Now that the night was silent and he was once again left with his own thoughts, slowly, he pulled the drawer, revealing all sorts of documents and stationary inside. From among them, he easily pulled out an envelope- so easily as if he knew exactly where it was hidden amidst stacks of other items.
On one corner of the envelope, a tiny ‘M’ was written in neat cursive.
His eyes narrowed.
Would it have made Albert feel a little better, still, if he had sent him that letter instead? Would it have upset him even more? Would it have given him hope, or more despair like no other?
….
Would he have cared, truly?
He shut his eyes.
For now, those weren’t questions he should entertain, or questions he was dying to answer. Instead, he placed the envelope back into the drawer, burying it under multiple other files as it was before, and shut the drawer back in place.
For now, those weren’t words that he needed Albert to hear. Perhaps it was a little too soon. Perhaps in the near future. Perhaps never.
He took his coat and top hat from the rack, putting them on before quietly leaving the room.
For now, he just needed to go home and get some rest.
--