Work Text:
“Do you want to build a snowman?”
Mycroft looked up from his books with a frown at the question.
Sherlock stood in front of him with a pleading look on his face.
“A what?” Mycroft asked and raised his eyebrows.
Sherlock swallowed. “A snowman. It snowed today. I already tested it. It’s perfect for building a snowman, Myke. It’s not too soft, but also not too hard, and …”
Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock. I have to work. This is important. You know that I have an exam next week, don’t you?”
“Yes …”
“And I have to study for it a lot. I can’t play in the snow like a child. Now, don’t disturb me. Why don’t you take Redbeard for a walk.”
“Ok, Myke. I’m sorry.” Sherlock walked away with his head hanging low.
Mycroft shook his head and went back to work.
*
30 years later:
“Do you want to build a snowman?”
Mycroft looked up from his newspaper with a frown.
Sherlock stood in front of him with a pleading look on his face.
Mycroft cleared his throat. “You want to build a snowman?”
Sherlock nooded and smiled absently. He pointed to the window with one hand. In the other one, he held his plush bee. “Snow,” he said emphatically and his smile got brighter.
“Yes,” Mycroft replied softly. “It’s snowing. I see it.”
Suddenly, he remembered the one time in the past, when Sherlock had asked him if he want to build a snowman. So many years ago. And he was too busy then. He had sent Sherlock away. He felt so guilty about that now. He felt guilty about many things.
But the past was gone.
For Sherlock it was gone in more than one way.
“Snow,” Sherlock said again. He sounded a bit annoyed now.
“Alright,” Mycroft said and stood up from his chair. He smiled at Sherlock and carefully took his outstretched hand. “But we must get you ready first, yeah? It’s cold outside. You need your coat and your gloves, Lock.”
Sherlock didn’t answer him.
Mycroft lead him to the wardrobe and helped him to put on his coat.
When they were ready, they went outside in the garden.
Mycroft watched how Sherlock laughed and eagerly pressed some snow into a little ball.
It was very cold.
Soon, it would be Christmas. The third Christmas after the accident.
The car accident which had cost two lifes.
No. Actually three lifes, he thought, as he watched Sherlock.
Because Sherlock wasn’t Sherlock anymore since then.
The doctors said, that he had no memories of before the accident. They said, that Sherlock didn’t remember a John Watson or a Jim Moriarty. That he didn’t even remember his first cases. Or that he once was a drug addict.
Mycroft didn’t know if this was a blessing or a curse.
He didn’t take Sherlock with him to John and Mary’s funeral. He thought that it would only confuse his damaged little brother.
Now, there was only the two of them. Togehter in Mycroft’s big house.
Sometimes, it was almost like in their childhood. Especially when their parents came to visit. But their mother couldn’t bear the sight of her regressed younger son for very long. And Mycroft couldn’t blame her for that.
So mostly, it was only him and Sherlock.
“Myke, help me,” Sherlock suddenly said and tore Mycroft from his thoughts.
“Sure, Lock,” Mycroft answered and smiled.
And in the cold winter day they build a snowman together.