Your Brother is Dead

Part 2 - News Arrives

It was a day under a fortnight before Mycroft heard anything at all. His sense of time was impeccable dispite how little it mattered to him. He hadn't expected to hear anything from his brother, not really, but the thought that mastermind had avaded capture and was following him never left his mind. There was no one to express it to, no one he would've expressed it to, but it filled his mind the whole two weeks.- Or a day under two weeks today, 5:28 as it stood.
He picked up a newspaper that had laying on the table for days and sat down in the window, likely not to be moved for the rest of the day. Evidently nothing interesting had occurred overnight. Not even a street robbery. He thumbed through the rest of it quickly just to confirm it was equally dull when a snipet in long article burried in the folded pages caught his eye.
"-ock Holmes was the best and wisest man I've ever known."
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he started the article over, skimming over the account, barely paying attention. He was confident he understood what had happened. He didn't need the details, but after he'd glanced over it, he started over again and read them carefully anyway.
He finally stopped. If he felt something, he wasn't sure what it was. He looked out the window for a long time.
There was a rude shuffling from outside, then a comparatively tentative knock at the door.
He didn't rush as he went to open it. For someone to disturb him here it would surely be very important or not important at all.
"Yes?" He grunted as he opened the door. "What do you want?" He found himself looking at two vaguely familiar men.
"We're, er, sorry to bother you, sir," said the first, a small weasly fellow in a trench coat. "Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade of Scotland Yard. May we come in?"
"No you may not." Mycroft snapped. "You want something from me. What is it?"
"Well, we hate to have to tell you, but..." the second man said, adjusting the hat over his whispy hair. "You are Mycroft Holmes, are you not?"
"I am."
"Then no doubt you were aware of brother Sherlock's departure to Switzerland about two weeks ago? His traveling companion Dr. Watson has just returned. Sherlock is dead."
Mycroft didn't respond, or even react at all, and it seemed to make the inspectors very uncomfortable. He seemed to ponder their words for a second.
"The article detailing his death was published Monday," he said, "and presumably you knew about it beforehand as well. At what point did it occur to you to contact his family?"
The whispy haired man coughed akwardly.
"Well, you're not exactly an easy man to get a hold of, sir."
Mycroft just nodded sternly and the inspectors stepped back as if to leave when Mycroft stopped them again.
"He fell over the falls with Professor James Moriarty. You're quite sure both of then are dead? Who investigated the scene?" He asked.
"Who?" The weasely man repeated, "oh, I don't know, sir, not specifically. John Watson and whoever the local police were I suppose."
"Did they find the bodies? Tracks skidding down over the edge of the rocks? Any returning? Surely they at least checked for that."
"I er, don't think so, sir. But the note Sherlock left made it very clear what happened."
Mycroft laughed dryly, joylessly.
"Imbeciles." He grumbled. "All imbiciles. That mastermind could still be hovering about right under your noses and none of you would see it, you don't see anything!"
His low pitch had grown to a near shout that echoed down the emphatically silent hallways, leaving the stillness afterwards seeming somehow even emptier than before.
The weasely man puffed out his chest defensively.
"If we're so inept, why don't you go and investigate it yourself?" He barked.
An abrubt quiet subdued Mycroft immediately. He struggled noiselessly for any fair or satisfactory response, but couldn't find one anywhere within him.
The two inspectors turned, flustered, and walked swiftly back down the hallway, no longer bothering to muffle their footsteps for any of the members there, who'd all undoubtedly heard the racket. The door was quickly shut behind them.
Mycroft looked at the clock, watched it turn from 5:45 to 5:46.
He decided to leave early.