(no subject)

[blue_crow]

For reference, this is pre-Reichenbach. Jim and Mycroft used to be lovers, had a falling-out, were reacquainted while Jim was in custody, and now Jim has come to say what amounts to a goodbye.



James Moriarty hadn't given Mycroft everything. Or even very much. But after a while they had no choice but to release him. While he was still in the planning phases of his final problem, while Sherlock was busy fighting the hound of the Baskervilles, Jim dropped into Mycroft's flat unannounced, immaculately dressed and walking with Mycroft's cane tucked jauntily beneath his arm.

Mycroft was home, and he let him in, not surprised to see him -- no one else would come to his personal flat. "Good evening, James."

"Hello, daddy," Jim purred, offering him the cane and leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I've come to return this."

"Hello," Mycroft said, a little bit uneasy at the way he said he was coming to return it. "Do come in," he said, taking the cane and stroking it lightly. He missed that thing.

Jim stared at his hands, craning his head just to the side to get a better look. He loved the way it looked in his hands. "Why thank you," he said, stepping in, and pacing a few feet inside his door, but not making himself at home like usual. "I can't stay long," he said, somewhat conscious foreshadowing.

"Oh? Business to deal with?" he asked, pouring him some tea, but sitting at the little bar in his kitchen rather than going into the living room.

"Just so," Jim said, not making a move to touch him, standing rigidly. He sat once Mycroft sat, but this wasn't a social call. He peered over a pile of newspapers Mycroft had, and said, "Oh, predictable, you still have taste. I was hoping you read the Sun. Good ads on the back pages, the Sun, still finding ways to advertise all that fun stuff." Assuming, of course, that the Sun has the call girl pages.

"I would never indulge in that drivel," he said, though he was clearly curious. He knew Jim was saying something would be in it.

Jim just took the tea in his hands, leaning in to sniff it and then bringing it up to his chest, holding it to keep warm. "No," he said, "Of course not."

"There's nothing but tea in that cup," he said, practically rolling his eyes as he sipped his own tea.

"Oh," Jim said, sounding a bit surprised. "I didn't think there was." He was just being a strange man. "I'm surprised I got this close. Called off your ban on me?"

Mycroft shook his head, "No, I have known you were on your way since your car crossed the last mile." He'd just decided to allow him in.

"I wonder," Jim mused, "Would you have let me in before all of this got started?" He was thinking that he might have wasted time being angry at him.

"You never tried," he said, which was totally a 'yes', and a bit of sulking that he'd never had to make that choice.

Too many people to kill," he said nonchalantly. "Can't wait around for everyone." He had a long swallow of the tea, deciding it would warm him better from the inside.

Mycroft just looked at him for a long while, saying nothing, finishing his tea. He was trying to figure him out. But as he actually started reading The Sun he'd be able to piece it all together.

"Waiting's almost over, daddy. You'll be seeing me, even if I'm not seeing you." Jim set his tea down and got up to go, kissing his cheek.

"Let me get you some help," Mycroft tried, knowing he was enough like Sherlock that it was probably futile but he had to try. He could tell he was depressed.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" he asked as he walked for the door. "You made me what I am, don't forget that, Mr. Holmes."