Chapter Text
"We had nothing to lose and lost it anyway…"
- Joy Harjo
(three weeks later)
February
The sun had set hours ago, but Mycroft still sat hunched over the desk in his study, pen flying over the paper, filling it with his neat handwriting. Just behind the double doors at the end of the hallway outside his study, his rooms tempted him, but he didn't dare retire for bed just yet. He would be greeted by his already packed luggage, ready to accompany him to Edinburgh tomorrow morning – a prominent reminder that his business trip would keep him from London for an indefinite time. It took all his willpower not to seek out a certain flat tonight, knowing he wouldn't be able to return in the morning or during the night without getting spotted by servants and guards preparing the mansion for the imminent departure of his father and himself. The call to Scotland had come on short notice – just this morning – and had immediately received high priority. Thus the entire Holmes household had been in a bit of a rush to reorganise their schedules for the time of absence of the two heads of the house.
Mycroft especially had been surprised. The sudden turn of events had only given him enough time to send a short encrypted note to Gregory telling him not to expect a visit in the near future. It had been short and too formal for Mycroft's taste, but safety came before his heart's desires. Gregory hadn't replied, firstly because a day was little time to form a proper response, and secondly, because having Mycroft receive said reply without drawing attention demanded long and cautious preparation. The silence lay heavy on his heart, though. Thus Mycroft worked and completed tasks that weren't due any time soon, but that distracted his mind from other, darker thoughts.
His attempt at distraction seemed to have worked, if not scarcely, as he only became aware of another presence in the room when the door shut with a soft click. The familiar perfume preceded its owner, and Mycroft knew whom it belonged to without turning. After all, the chances his mother would let him go without bringing up their conversation in the library four weeks ago had been very slim from the start.
“I thought a lot about what you told me at the library,” Violet spoke up softly from behind him. She had yet to cross the distance to his desk, therefore purposefully giving her son a bit of room to gather his thoughts.
Mycroft sighed, silently preparing himself for the fierce lecture or pitiful speech to come. He wasn't sure what would be worse; her telling him to refrain from whatever he was engaging in or offering empty words of encouragement. His mother was no doubt a very gentle and caring mother, and a good woman, but Mycroft wouldn't hold it against her if she decided to do the former. His moment of weakness had proved most unfortunate and now he greatly regretted having lost his control back at the ball. The burden he carried wasn't his to share, least of all with his mother. She already worried enough about her two sons' well-being without having to shoulder the knowledge of Mycroft's unfortunate love-life.
Caught up in pondering her motives, Mycroft failed to notice her step up to his desk, and looked up in confusion when she held out her hand before his face. Nestled in her palm was a delicate ring that sparkled in the dim candlelight. It was made out of three entwined threads of gold with one round sapphire and two emeralds nestled between. Why she held it out to him, however, was beyond him.
He looked up at her, bewildered. “What are you doing?”
“It's my engagement ring,” Violet answered nonchalantly. She twirled it between her fingers twice before placing it on top of Mycroft's desk, successfully preventing him from ignoring her in favour of continuing his work.
“I know,” Mycroft said, still confused. His eyes were fixed on the ring on his desk, as if looking at it long enough would cause it to spill its secrets. Or disappear. “But why?”
“Your father offered it to me in exchange many years ago.”
“In exchange for what?”
“Well, my heart of course,” Violet said cheerfully, taking note of and purposefully ignoring Mycroft's growing puzzlement. “Take it, I have no use for it now. I prefer knowing it in your hands than doomed to gather dust in my drawer, nestled between forgotten jewellery.”
“But...” Mycroft hesitated, uncertain what the gesture meant. “Surely, it is of sentimental value to you.”
Violet smiled knowingly. “Of course it is. That's why I'm handing it over to you, Mycroft.”
She picked the ring up once more, inspected it with a wistful smile and passed it on to her son. Mycroft took it hesitantly, hands moving with the greatest care, fearful that he might drop or break it. Unsure how to proceed, he held it on his outstretched hand and simply admired the elegant delicacy and skilled handicraft. The ring was doubtlessly worth a fortune and unique in its appearance, but not too conspicuous and opulent to draw too much attention. Instead it showed taste and a fondness for simple beauty. The perfect ring for his mother and thereby a thoughtful gift from his father. No doubt Siger Holmes had spent many sleepless nights in search for this perfect token of love and affection.
Pondering the purpose of it, Mycroft realised with growing discomfort what it implied.
“Mother, I...” His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. “Thank you for this generous gift, I appreciate it greatly and am honoured that you trust me with its keeping. But I cannot accept it.”
Violet's smile didn't falter. “Why not?”
Mycroft swallowed. “Considering our recent conversation, I am afraid your motivation for handing me your engagement ring is sadly misplaced. I believe your faith might be better placed in Sherlock and he should therefore be the one to receive this gift.”
“I do not believe that to be true.” Confident in her decision, Violet ventured on. “The last four weeks have given me enough time to contemplate my offer.”
“Then you are mistaken,” Mycroft objected resolutely. He was sure she'd drawn the wrong conclusion and would be bitterly disappointed to find him unable to fulfil her request. “I do not intend to use this ring for its original purpose in the near future, no matter what your wishes may be.”
Surprised, Violet raised an elegant eyebrow and studied her son's face. She must have found something in his carefully crafted mask of indifference, for she sighed softly and pulled over a chair to sit. Her long legs crossed beneath her elegant blue dress, Violet placed her right elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand. Her blue eyes were piercing and reminded Mycroft of his mother's intelligence. “And what do you think my wishes to be?”
“A married son, a trustworthy daughter-in-law and an heir to the family,” Mycroft answered instantly. His voice had taken on a bitter tone and he looked away, ashamed of his slip of control four weeks ago as well as now, and ashamed of his inability to follow his parents' wishes. “I can assure you I cannot and will not give you any of these things.”
“And yet, I'll give it to you. Not Sherlock, not anyone else, but you.”
“I don't understand.”
“That's because you don't listen,” she chided him fondly. It made Mycroft feel like a child again, barely five years old, when there were still things that exceeded the capacity of his mind. The experience was both thrilling and frightening, and Mycroft was torn between the urge to understand or run away as fast as possible.
The latter became improbable when his mother covered his hands, glowing pale in the dim light, with her own and urged him to meet her gaze.
When he focused on a point to the right of her face instead, she sighed a soft "Mycroft" and waited patiently until her son had built up his courage. As their eyes finally met, the worry and uncertainty in his were clearly visible, and Violet decided she'd seen that look far too often these past weeks. It was high time to change that.
"Mycroft," Violet began, softly squeezing his hands that were still holding the ring. "I do not know the complete magnitude of your current dilemma, nor will I pretend to understand the complexity of your emotions. But know that the degree to which you have pledged your heart to an impossible cause is not mine to estimate or condemn and I will under no circumstances think less of you for it."
Mycroft didn't respond. Hope and weariness were battling for control on his face. Having her approval turned out to be more of a need than he'd anticipated and the rush of relief coursed through his veins. Painfully sudden in its appearance, but sweet and more than welcome in its flow. Savouring the feeling, Mycroft closed his eyes and let his shoulders relax. The prospect of his imminent departure weighed a lot less now.
"This ring is not meant to pressure you,” Violet continued, “for I have no desire to see you unhappy in a relationship which you considered purely to please me. Instead, see it as a reassurance. A sign of my love and trust and my belief in you. Whatever your use for this ring, I'm convinced it'll be wisely considered."
"So you do not necessarily expect me to keep it, even though the recipient might stay unknown to you?"
"Yes, it's yours now and thereby yours to give. I only ask that you do not return it, but give it after your heart's desires."
She smiled and Mycroft couldn't help but smile back, albeit tentatively. After giving his hand a last squeeze, Violet pulled back and stood up. Mycroft nodded absently and carefully slipped the ring into his pocket before rearranging the papers on his desk.
Observant as ever, is mother, of course, saw. “Do try to catch some sleep, Mycroft. A long journey awaits you tomorrow, and I know for a fact that those documents can wait until you get back.”
With that, she left, leaving behind the subtle traces of her perfume and the light pressure of solid metal against his chest. It was barely there, but enough to have him lay aside his pen and stack the papers in a neat pile. The candles were blown out soon after and when Mycroft finally closed his eyes, feeling the soft sheets against his skin, his sleep was dreamless.