Work Text:
“Suicide of fake genius”
Cold, heartless words stood out boldly on the paper like a sore thumb. No one could understand. Not many would mourn him.
Mycroft stood up, sighed and threw the newspaper in the nearest bin.
This world doesn’t need Sherlock Holmes, but it would be so empty without him, his little brother, his biggest responsibility.
He had been so brave. Brave and stupid. He had had the courage to care and cared enough to let go. A kind of selflessness Mycroft had never understood.
A part of him envied his brother. A part of him was so proud. Oh, God, he had never told him. Had he been here, he still wouldn’t. He’d have called him an idiot.