Chapter Text
Mycroft Holmes was unable to sleep tonight, so she had to do something about it. As he laid on his bed, she burst out an idea. "Can I read you something? Perhaps one of my journal entry?"
"I'm not very fond of stories," Mycroft replied rather coldly.
"But I am," she reached her notebook and looking for a particular page. "I wrote it myself."
"As you always do. Is that your diary?"
"No. It's a journal. I'm not that good at keeping one," she smirked. She cleared her throat before starting;
"Sometimes She's Wishing for an Armageddon Day."
Mycroft frowned. "That is your opening line?" He asked.
"It's the title," she told him and continued,
"Nothing is going well with the cafe singer at the moment because she's a real person.
And our Earth despises a real person. The Earth does not appear to taking a good care for their children, especially the firstborns.
She was the combination of the three of them; a woman, a real person and a firstborn.
She always taking care of the others affectionately yet no one ever take care of her in the same way. She hates her obligations as a firstborn, but she could not run from it.
Sometimes, she felt the inadequacy Mycroft Holmes got as an elder sibling.
Sometimes she whispers a wish upon the stars; she wants nothing but an end of the world.
The Earth is evil, she says,
and we shall not grieve for it."
After that, she glanced at Mycroft. She worried that she made him bored.
"You said, you wrote it yourself," Mycroft asked.
She nodded.
"I would like to hear more."