Sherlock fandom
Big Brother’s Observations
Since the day I held Sherlock in my arms for the first time, I loved him fiercely and I instantly wanted to keep him out of harm’s way, whatever the cost. I was only seven years at the time, but I tried my best to keep my promise.
At first, it was easy. Child’s play, so to speak. He followed me with his eyes, always smiling, filling my chest with warmth and joy. When he learnt to walk, he never let me out of his sight. Where I went, he was close behind.
I taught him everything I knew about nature; biology, geology, meteorology, when we were outdoors, mathematics, languages, history, geography and logic reasoning when the weather was bad, and we stayed in Father’s library or in my room. He was like a sponge, and it became quite clear that he was above average intelligence; just like me.
However, there was a big difference in our personalities. Where I avoided other people, Sherlock couldn’t get enough of studying and talking to others. For a while…
The other difference between us was sentiment. He was full of it, I was empty, apart from my undying love for my brother. I told him he would get hurt if he wasn’t on the alert. He was naïve and always thought every person was good and meant well. For a while…
***
My heart broke several times during the years, and in the centre of it was Sherlock. His tears and sobbing were unbearable to witness.
“Why do they hate me, Myc?” he cried so many times, I lost count.
“You must stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, Sherlock,” I told him. “Everyone will take the opportunity to hurt you if they know you’ll react like this. There doesn’t need to be a reason other than they want to see you cry. People are evil like that. Sentiment is never an advantage, brother mine.”
He wouldn’t believe me. Not at first. It was a hard lesson for him, and I hated every single person who dared to give my brother such a difficult time, but finally he managed to put up an armour of indifference. I knew how much effort it was for him to maintain it, because I caught him more than once crying himself to sleep after the more trying days.
When he started university, the contact between us was sparse at best, but I kept my eyes on him of course. Alas, I was unable to foresee and stop his drug addiction before it was too late. By then he hated the sight of me, which broke my heart in a totally different way. He turned his back on the one person who wished him well. It was a blind spot he dealt with for years, put there by me.
***
I couldn’t believe my luck when Sherlock met Gregory Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. The detective saw Sherlock’s potential and promised him work if he got clean, which he achieved in record time.
Despite the trust Lestrade put in Sherlock, my brother didn’t trust him fully. The police wanted results, which Sherlock was able to give, but it ended there. Lestrade was no friend in Sherlock’s eyes. He just used Sherlock for work, nothing more. My brother failed to see that the detective cared for him outside of crime scenes. He didn’t even bother learning Lestrade’s Christian name.
***
I saw a crack in my brother’s armour the day he realised that John had killed a man to save his life, mere hours after they’d met. When I mentioned it, Sherlock waved it off as John’s need for danger, excitement and his military background, but I observed a second of insecurity. It vanished soon enough.
My instincts when I met John Watson for the first time, told me he could be just what my brother needed, or quite the opposite. His loyalty baffled me, but spoke volumes, and it increased for every passing day. He protected Sherlock just like I had done decades ago. I wasn’t entirely sure what to think of that. Of course, I wanted my brother to be cared for and kept safe from the criminals he recklessly chased through London, but it should be me doing that. Letting go and placing my trust in an ex-army doctor with PTSD and a passion for danger, wasn’t exactly what I preferred, but it seemed I didn’t have much saying in the matter. John Watson was Sherlock’s confidant and friend now, and I should be glad, but my treacherous heart ached for the loss of my brother’s trust and love.
When it became clear to me how John felt about Sherlock, I prayed to the universe to let Sherlock’s blind spot disappear. It had finally happened; there was a way for Sherlock to gain happiness and love after all, and perhaps his hostility towards me would dissipate a little if he felt content and loved. My prayers weren’t heard, and John was too scared to jeopardise their precious friendship to pursue the matter.
***
I never dreamt of that an Irish criminal mastermind should be the answer. When Moriarty kidnapped John Watson and Sherlock realised he might lose John when he emerged with that bomb vest strapped to his chest at the pool, the blind spot instantly vanished. When the danger was over, John had proved that he would sacrifice himself so that Sherlock could live.
“My life isn’t worth living without you, John,” I heard Sherlock say in the surveillance video.
I had ushered my men out of the room and watched the scene alone. It was a private moment I didn’t want anyone else to witness, and I turned off the recording once I was sure both men were safe and had finally confessed their love.
My mission was far from over, but my faith in John’s capability to keep my brother as safe as possible, was absolute.
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