Replay

Mycroft is not a man accustomed to failure and as a result it does not sit well with him. Guilt rises in his chest as he stares at the cold body of the only person his brother truly loved spread out on the morgue. He has failed them twice. Both of them. As he stares at the remains of his brother's almost lover, the man Sherlock had died in order to protect he knows his brother is truly lost to him now. It isn't his brother's body lying on the table but it might as well be, for Sherlock Holmes is dead. His heart lies broken and naked save for a clean white sheet. It's very Shakespearian he supposes, a tragic mess full of plot holes, unspoken conversations and missed chances. Real life is like that he supposes wishing he had done something more to prevent or change this reality from occurring. In another reality he might have, unfortunately this is the reality he is stuck with.

Mycroft's mobile rings but he doesn't answer it. He doesn't need to to know his brother is dead for real this time and that his plans have failed. Casting one more quick glance at the doctor he walks to the door where Antheia is waiting.

"Initiate plan B." He says his hand tightening on his umbrella as he prepares to clean up the mess that is left.

Hamish wakes up from dreams that cannot possibly be real and spends mornings staring in the mirror expecting to see crinkles along the corners of his eyes and stubble on his too young chin and knows something is not quite right. His face is too young and his body to fresh, unblemished by scars he remembers getting. As loving as his family is Hamish recalls another place in another time, a house with a blue garage door and a cherry tree outside. He recalls being called a different name by different parents and having a sister where now there is none and he wonders. Wonders if they are lying to him or if he is slowly going crazy. After all boy's his age should not know how to perform emergency appendectomies in the street nor should they be able to take out bullies with one swift blow. Normal boy's don't feel trapped in a child's body. They don't imagine CCTV cameras follow their every move, nor do they don't believe men in suits follow them. When asked their age they don't reply 14 but secretly think 40. Normal boy's dream of girls and breasts instead of a dead detective with curly dark hair that looks eerily similar to their best friend and possible boyfriend. Normal boy's may worry about being abnormal or strange but they certainly don't wish for it. They certainly don't wait for the day they are old enough to be swept off on a proper adventure by a leggy mad man.

Alonso does not recall his dreams that are not just dreams and Mycroft doesn't tell him about the nights he screams for John and cries in his sleep. There is no point in it for John doesn't exist any more. Neither of them do. Despite all of man's advances science cannot bring people back from the dead. Mycroft knows this, knows that they boy living in his brother's old room is not the brother he grew up at war with but then he's not doing this for him. The pain in his heart doesn't matter, it isn't about regaining his lost brother this is about them. It was a strange way of achieving atonement but in his mind it had made sense. He had only wanted to give them another chance at the happiness they missed out on in their previous life. How was he to know they would be so haunted by the past?

Alonso has always imagined being friends with a blonde soldier with a kind smile and a fondness for woolly jumpers. He knows it's just childish make believe and that he of all people should knows better but he can't help dreaming of his perfect person. Sometimes he thinks he might have found him, his soldier when he stares at Hamish. But then he reminds himself it's impossible, for the man he dreams of is dead. John is dead and Hamish is not his replacement. Hamish has the same face but is his own person just as he is. They do not have to like they were before, they can be different. Their past does not define their future.

Alonso may not know much about boring regular things like the solar system but he knows that. He knows this without knowing how he has come upon the information. He knows his father is not a minor government official, nor is he really his father. He knows this with the same certainty he has about the uses of poisonous doesn't know why father persists in hiding the photos of his brother who looks identical to him and lying about a dead wife no one has met. He supposes it has something to do with pride or guilt or a bit of both. Alonso does not have to be a detective like "Uncle" Sherlock was to know that the dead man in the picture is more closely related to him then the chubby ginger man he calls father. That said it doesn't change things, father is still the man who has tucked him in every night since he was small. Alonso persists in calling him father and wishes there wasn't that glint of pain in the older man's eyes every time he does so for it is not his brother's fault everything turned out they way it did. Not that Mycroft would believe him.

Hey so I know I'm in the middle of something else but I felt like writing something angsty in order to help with the block I currently have on the next chapter of 3,554 miles. If you liked this don't forget to review and add me to Author alerts!