[it has been, then, several weeks since they've found themselves in this predicament. no explanation is as of yet forthcoming, and Mycroft is needing to adjust his entire worldview to compensate for what he's learning, discovering. he's been quietly figuring out the device they gave him so he might send out a call asking for as many texts on magical theory as people are willing to lend, but the only hesitation is that he doesn't wish to owe anyone too much.
still, Douglas is here. this is his comfort, that they can be baffled at this world together, knowing another sensible man is at a loss. and truly, Mycroft doesn't want to think about how he would have felt to be here alone. the fear that creeps on the edges is strong enough. best not to bait it.]
...My friend, I believe at this juncture we must turn our minds to this being a rather more extended trip than we planned for.
[At the very least, the powers that be have deigned to place them aboard the same ship.]
I'm afraid you're right.
[The company is as much comfort to him as it is to Mycroft-- though Douglas keeps an open mind, this inexplicable world continues to challenge him with every passing day. Even moreso, now that he's come to the same conclusion that Mycroft has.]
Here I was, concerned that I'd be leaving Nickolus House and the shop for those few weeks on the continent... [Sigh. He shakes his head, glancing out at the rolling waves just beyond where the two of them sit on the deck.] Any guesses as to how 'extended' this trip might be?
I do not. But given all I can gather so far, if there was not some discrepancy between this realm and ours, there would be a sight more panic among the displaced populace for loved ones, for duties and what was left behind. That there is a general attitude of acceptance leads me to believe there are precautions. What they could be, that is where my knowledge falls short.
[the wind ruffles his hair - he's glad he got it trimmed before Germany, that there is at least one small concern he doesn't have to carry.]
[Douglas is quiet, ruminating on Mycroft's words as he turns back to his friend. If the shelter and Regent Tobaccos were immediate concerns, he'd want to rush home as soon as humanly possible-- but waiting out this strange and fantastical limbo indefinitely is its own issue entirely. He could enjoy the diversions for a few weeks, perhaps. Anything longer than that is another concern entirely.]
I'm not certain how I feel about that.
[Other than antsy. He can wait, but he can't wait forever. He lowers his voice slightly, so as not to sound like he's complaining around any passing shipmates.]
I could keep busy. There's no shortage of things to do aboard a ship, after all, better yet that the Paladins do seem to be doing their share of good in this realm. But it could take months. Years, god forbid.
[he shakes his head. it unnerves him greatly to think that they might be stranded from their own place in the world for so long. what of Europe, on the brink of ruin - what of Sherlock, still nursing his bitterness, letting it chill him like frost grows on windows? what of Cyrus's efforts at Nickolus House, and the souls within? no. it's unacceptable.
but what can they do, mortal men such as they are? in a place where the fantastical is real? what can he do, except learn a ship the way he would learn anything else?]
What else is there at present, but to do as much good in this place as we intend to at home?
We could try to search for a way home. Though, if no one else has worked that out yet...
[He shrugs, noncommittal. He doesn't need to say it again: they're stuck. And they will have to learn to put up with it. Fortunately for Douglas, patience during a long journey is a skill he'd honed when he'd first gone out to sea.]
I suppose you'll have plenty of time to get your sea legs, at least.
In fair waters, yes. But you've still much to learn.
[said calmly, not chiding. He knows better than anyone the dangers of the unforgiving waters. And as Mycroft moves on to the next topic, so too does he.]
If anyone could find a way where no others could... it would be you, Holmes.
[he'll do what he can to measure up to it, in addition to his own desires to return home, to the comfort of the familiar. an adventure must have an ending, and he must construct one, so that the middle portion might be something to be enjoyed and not perilous.]
I already have a plan drawn up for where to start searching. And in how to get acquainted with the rest of the world.
[ha, ha. with mild amusement:] I would not expect any less of you, Holmes.
If ever you require my aid, I'd be glad to help. [God knows what Mycroft has planned, but hey-- it's worked out well enough for them so far, hasn't it? Mostly???] In the meantime, I'll get acquainted with the world in my own way.
[fortunately, he is in. Douglas answers the door-- a book still in hand-- looking only a little perplexed: what on earth could be this urgent when they've spent weeks doing nothing but leisurely sailing and sightseeing?]
Come in, Holmes. Whatever is the matter?
[Without waiting for the answer, he's ushering Mycroft inside and closing the door behind him.]
[the immediacy with which he spits this out should confirm how dire this is. still in the attire where he's been practicing his boxing on Eltrut, having gone to try and settle his mind, and now back with an entirely new problem.
his hands are on his hips, one coming up to quickly push his hair back, as if it makes this situation easier to comprehend.]
Only, he isn't Sherlock. At least, he is not the brother I left behind.
[Now, that is urgent. Douglas stops in his tracks, studying Mycroft's expression: odd as this all sounds, his friend looks and sounds deathly serious.]
If we both arrived, then... then it is possible, I suppose. And-- [he folds his arms, brow furrowed,] how can he not be the brother you remember? Is there something wrong with him?
[when his eyes glance to Cyrus, there's something almost panicked there, the same frantic look that would be there after a night of furious research and study, the one that says he rifled through his very soul and came up with nothing better than what he has before him.]
He is Sherlock Holmes. Of that I am certain. But he is not my Sherlock. Not the man that you and I know. He's three years older, enough is varied in his looks and his voice, and he despises me more than my brother might for what he's been through.
[the last had been the most puzzling. why had his Mycroft behaved the way he did? there was no way to know unless he interrogated the man - the other self - as thoroughly as possible.]
He knows me, but it isn't me. I sound like I ought to be bundled up into the hospital for saying all of this, yet I swear to you, Cyrus, when all the facts are before me, the only conclusion is that we came from worlds that had enough similarities to make this so, but enough differences to render us strangers.
[Douglas hears out the entire explanation quietly, and without any judgment. Mycroft Holmes has never been given to flights of fancy-- not like this. Any skepticism he might've held has already dissipated; even if it hadn't, he couldn't bear to look at his friend with judgment when he seems so... rattled. Even alone together, with no prying eyes or listening ears, this is a side of Mycroft that Douglas rarely ever sees. It's simply unlike him.
Douglas takes a seat on the edge of his bed: arms still crossed over his chest, expression tight, pensive. He breathes out a heavy sigh, then, turning his eyes towards the younger man, gets the most important part out of the way first--]
I believe you, Mycroft. You may rest assured on that point.
[Although that doesn't do much to address the more glaring issue at hand. Douglas frowns.]
He truly despises you? [asks Douglas gently. Brothers should not despise each other. But he shakes his head, as if to clear his thought from his head and begin again.] Or, rather, the Mycroft Holmes he knows and remembers? Have you any idea what you... what he has done?
[it is unfathomable relief to hear Cyrus reassure him that he believes him. of course, he knows Mycroft would not deceive him like this, not with something so fantastical. it means they can move to the next part, how to handle this information that's been so strangely thrust upon them. for, naturally, it's only a matter of time before Sherlock learns about or meets Douglas.]
Well enough, based on the accusations thrown at me and what was said. Sherlock never living up to what he wants and refusing to do what he's told to, refusing to be molded. Saying his Mycroft has eyes and ears everywhere. "Trying to rewrite what is real" - that his brother lied to him for years about their mother. [their mother? god, how strange it is to say.] Information being hidden away from him that he's had to unveil on his own. In short, treated him as more an inferior colleague and not as his brother.
[and yet. one of those lives in his brain even deeper. Don't pretend everything is fine when it is not, and I would rather hear it from you instead of having to deduce everything myself. that's the one promise he can't keep.]
[There's a patronizing part of him that wants to point Mycroft back to his own words: see, my friend, what might happen should you never take your brother into your confidence? Mycroft doesn't need to be scolded, though, so he holds his tongue. His frustrations over magic had his friend burdened enough even before this odd development.]
So what will you do?
[The question is simple enough, but it's loaded no matter what Douglas does. This scenario is one he'd never have dreamed up in a thousand years. One thing, however, is still clear to him:]
Fantastical circumstances aside, he is still your brother. No matter what choices your other self may have made.
Edited (hit enter too soon rip) 2024-04-12 02:36 (UTC)
What I must, I suppose. What is due to him as a Sherlock.
[he folds his arms, exhales slowly, deflates some. the panic is over. now, the rebuilding.]
I offered to teach him to box when I knew not who he was. I have maintained that offer. I know not what the shape of our association will truly be, but...that will remain in his hands, in the end. He has asked that I do not make any attempts to shape him into someone else, so whether we interact as brothers or strangers rests in his decisions.
[his head drops forward, hanging there as if he was again a lad of twenty two.]
"A study in violet" is apparently his moniker on the devices, should you see it.
[another deep breath. recenter. look back up.]
If he chooses to interact with me in a less formal capacity, would you be amiable to meeting him?
Do you know, I think I have. He was concerned about seasickness. I had no idea it was Sherlock, of course; I gave him a couple of ideas for easy remedies.
[Frankly, Douglas is more concerned he'll fall in the water and drown. Again. It's difficult to separate the image of a teenage Sherlock from the grown man this one is.]
But I should be pleased to meet him. He may not be the brother you remember, but... somewhere, he is still Mycroft Holmes' younger brother.
[Which brings him to his next point. Expression softening, he leads, gently--]
What shape are you hoping this takes? [A beat:] You needn't tell me now, if you aren't sure.
[instead of answering, he falls to silence, looking into nothing as if it will unravel the spool of his mind and yield a clear answer. he does not want a replacement for his own brother, and this Sherlock would agree that such is an intolerable concept. but he doesn't want to be the adversary if it can be helped. that would benefit neither of them. finally, after a long contemplation, he responds.]
I can no more immediately fold him into my own familial tree than he can me. But I would like to be able to speak with him, when problems arise. It...strikes me strange, how his Mycroft treated him. I can only hope there was a greater purpose for it all.
[Douglas finds it difficult to believe anything could be worth such an estrangement. Rather than push that discussion-- it's not this Mycroft's fault-- he rises, then rests a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.]
If you continue to speak with him, I'm certain you'll be able to put that other Mycroft's motivations together. He is you.
[He gives Mycroft's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.]
Perhaps it'll give the two of you a new perspective on your own brothers.
[ Upon reaching his residence, changing out of his disguise, and making a pot of coffee, Sherlock's mind focuses not on his recent information gathering attempt but on a new, unexpected puzzle. ]
You are truly Mycroft's friend from the same world as him?
I do not think you to be lying. It is the idea that my brother could have a friend. He is not the type people would be endeared to, and I've only known him to keep company with his agents or high ranking government officials.
Believe me when I say that your Mycroft differs from mine.
[The response is something he's always feared might happen to Mycroft. His heart's always kept his friend grounded-- what might've changed, to turn him into this?]
I see your Mycroft has succeeded in advancing his career. Is that why his attentions are so focused on his colleagues alone?
I wouldn't call it succeeding as it is more that he was always in that place to my memory. Every lecture of his seemed to relay the need to serve Queen and country, for the good of the nation or the Crown. I scarce remember any conversation that didn't mention it. It always circled to speaking of the topic like it was caught in a whirlpool. One only need wait a moment before it came around again.
Who but his agents and other servants of the Crown could stomach such talk on the regular?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crashes through the wall - action.
still, Douglas is here. this is his comfort, that they can be baffled at this world together, knowing another sensible man is at a loss. and truly, Mycroft doesn't want to think about how he would have felt to be here alone. the fear that creeps on the edges is strong enough. best not to bait it.]
...My friend, I believe at this juncture we must turn our minds to this being a rather more extended trip than we planned for.
[one with an unknown end date.]
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I'm afraid you're right.
[The company is as much comfort to him as it is to Mycroft-- though Douglas keeps an open mind, this inexplicable world continues to challenge him with every passing day. Even moreso, now that he's come to the same conclusion that Mycroft has.]
Here I was, concerned that I'd be leaving Nickolus House and the shop for those few weeks on the continent... [Sigh. He shakes his head, glancing out at the rolling waves just beyond where the two of them sit on the deck.] Any guesses as to how 'extended' this trip might be?
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[the wind ruffles his hair - he's glad he got it trimmed before Germany, that there is at least one small concern he doesn't have to carry.]
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I'm not certain how I feel about that.
[Other than antsy. He can wait, but he can't wait forever. He lowers his voice slightly, so as not to sound like he's complaining around any passing shipmates.]
I could keep busy. There's no shortage of things to do aboard a ship, after all, better yet that the Paladins do seem to be doing their share of good in this realm. But it could take months. Years, god forbid.
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[he shakes his head. it unnerves him greatly to think that they might be stranded from their own place in the world for so long. what of Europe, on the brink of ruin - what of Sherlock, still nursing his bitterness, letting it chill him like frost grows on windows? what of Cyrus's efforts at Nickolus House, and the souls within? no. it's unacceptable.
but what can they do, mortal men such as they are? in a place where the fantastical is real? what can he do, except learn a ship the way he would learn anything else?]
What else is there at present, but to do as much good in this place as we intend to at home?
no subject
[He shrugs, noncommittal. He doesn't need to say it again: they're stuck. And they will have to learn to put up with it. Fortunately for Douglas, patience during a long journey is a skill he'd honed when he'd first gone out to sea.]
I suppose you'll have plenty of time to get your sea legs, at least.
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[yet his eyes drift to the water, knowing he has nothing on the years that sailors have already invested into their lives on ever shifting docks.]
...If at all possible, I'm going to look for a way back.
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[said calmly, not chiding. He knows better than anyone the dangers of the unforgiving waters. And as Mycroft moves on to the next topic, so too does he.]
If anyone could find a way where no others could... it would be you, Holmes.
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[he'll do what he can to measure up to it, in addition to his own desires to return home, to the comfort of the familiar. an adventure must have an ending, and he must construct one, so that the middle portion might be something to be enjoyed and not perilous.]
I already have a plan drawn up for where to start searching. And in how to get acquainted with the rest of the world.
no subject
If ever you require my aid, I'd be glad to help. [God knows what Mycroft has planned, but hey-- it's worked out well enough for them so far, hasn't it? Mostly???] In the meantime, I'll get acquainted with the world in my own way.
un: everblooms, misfire
Meet me in 15?
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[in his haste to reply, SOMEONE has not noticed the username isn't the one he's expecting...]
action, post sherlock.
Douglas. It's urgent. Please be in.
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Come in, Holmes. Whatever is the matter?
[Without waiting for the answer, he's ushering Mycroft inside and closing the door behind him.]
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[the immediacy with which he spits this out should confirm how dire this is. still in the attire where he's been practicing his boxing on Eltrut, having gone to try and settle his mind, and now back with an entirely new problem.
his hands are on his hips, one coming up to quickly push his hair back, as if it makes this situation easier to comprehend.]
Only, he isn't Sherlock. At least, he is not the brother I left behind.
no subject
[Now, that is urgent. Douglas stops in his tracks, studying Mycroft's expression: odd as this all sounds, his friend looks and sounds deathly serious.]
If we both arrived, then... then it is possible, I suppose. And-- [he folds his arms, brow furrowed,] how can he not be the brother you remember? Is there something wrong with him?
no subject
[when his eyes glance to Cyrus, there's something almost panicked there, the same frantic look that would be there after a night of furious research and study, the one that says he rifled through his very soul and came up with nothing better than what he has before him.]
He is Sherlock Holmes. Of that I am certain. But he is not my Sherlock. Not the man that you and I know. He's three years older, enough is varied in his looks and his voice, and he despises me more than my brother might for what he's been through.
[the last had been the most puzzling. why had his Mycroft behaved the way he did? there was no way to know unless he interrogated the man - the other self - as thoroughly as possible.]
He knows me, but it isn't me. I sound like I ought to be bundled up into the hospital for saying all of this, yet I swear to you, Cyrus, when all the facts are before me, the only conclusion is that we came from worlds that had enough similarities to make this so, but enough differences to render us strangers.
no subject
Douglas takes a seat on the edge of his bed: arms still crossed over his chest, expression tight, pensive. He breathes out a heavy sigh, then, turning his eyes towards the younger man, gets the most important part out of the way first--]
I believe you, Mycroft. You may rest assured on that point.
[Although that doesn't do much to address the more glaring issue at hand. Douglas frowns.]
He truly despises you? [asks Douglas gently. Brothers should not despise each other. But he shakes his head, as if to clear his thought from his head and begin again.] Or, rather, the Mycroft Holmes he knows and remembers? Have you any idea what you... what he has done?
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Well enough, based on the accusations thrown at me and what was said. Sherlock never living up to what he wants and refusing to do what he's told to, refusing to be molded. Saying his Mycroft has eyes and ears everywhere. "Trying to rewrite what is real" - that his brother lied to him for years about their mother. [their mother? god, how strange it is to say.] Information being hidden away from him that he's had to unveil on his own. In short, treated him as more an inferior colleague and not as his brother.
[and yet. one of those lives in his brain even deeper. Don't pretend everything is fine when it is not, and I would rather hear it from you instead of having to deduce everything myself. that's the one promise he can't keep.]
no subject
So what will you do?
[The question is simple enough, but it's loaded no matter what Douglas does. This scenario is one he'd never have dreamed up in a thousand years. One thing, however, is still clear to him:]
Fantastical circumstances aside, he is still your brother. No matter what choices your other self may have made.
no subject
[he folds his arms, exhales slowly, deflates some. the panic is over. now, the rebuilding.]
I offered to teach him to box when I knew not who he was. I have maintained that offer. I know not what the shape of our association will truly be, but...that will remain in his hands, in the end. He has asked that I do not make any attempts to shape him into someone else, so whether we interact as brothers or strangers rests in his decisions.
[his head drops forward, hanging there as if he was again a lad of twenty two.]
"A study in violet" is apparently his moniker on the devices, should you see it.
[another deep breath. recenter. look back up.]
If he chooses to interact with me in a less formal capacity, would you be amiable to meeting him?
no subject
[Frankly, Douglas is more concerned he'll fall in the water and drown. Again. It's difficult to separate the image of a teenage Sherlock from the grown man this one is.]
But I should be pleased to meet him. He may not be the brother you remember, but... somewhere, he is still Mycroft Holmes' younger brother.
[Which brings him to his next point. Expression softening, he leads, gently--]
What shape are you hoping this takes? [A beat:] You needn't tell me now, if you aren't sure.
no subject
I can no more immediately fold him into my own familial tree than he can me. But I would like to be able to speak with him, when problems arise. It...strikes me strange, how his Mycroft treated him. I can only hope there was a greater purpose for it all.
no subject
If you continue to speak with him, I'm certain you'll be able to put that other Mycroft's motivations together. He is you.
[He gives Mycroft's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.]
Perhaps it'll give the two of you a new perspective on your own brothers.
text | un: astudyinviolet (after splitting apart)
You are truly Mycroft's friend from the same world as him?
[ Because... what?! How?! When?! ]
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I have no more reason to lie about who I am than you do, Sherlock.
Is it so unbelievable?
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Believe me when I say that your Mycroft differs from mine.
[ And is the reason due to having a friend? ]
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I see your Mycroft has succeeded in advancing his career. Is that why his attentions are so focused on his colleagues alone?
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Who but his agents and other servants of the Crown could stomach such talk on the regular?