[He's still furious at Mycroft for going off alone, but they have an unspoken agreement about some things and so there is a message that needs to be sent.]
[Mycroft's in the pharmacy that night, nestled on his yoga mat and with his pillows and blanket. It was quiet and he was just about to fall asleep when he receives the message. Immediately he sits up, sleep forgotten.]
[If only he could return the scarf. It was yet another slight, another piece eaten away at them. Another bit of themselves gone. When would there be nothing left?]
[He doesn't say anything in response to that. He is useless, he agrees. He completely failed at Sherrinford, failed at keeping Sherlock safe from Eurus, at keeping the secret from him--twice now--and he was useless at protecting him. He may have harmed him himself if they had been together during that last bout of glitching nonsense.
The loss of the scarf and his inability to retrieve it only was another reminder of that, one that burned in his core.]
I'm sorry. For everything.
[His tone is subdued. He has an inkling why Sherlock is so upset, but he'd rather have Sherlock angry at him than dead at his own hand.]
[Mycroft sighs. It's too much, all of this, and he holds onto the tablet with trembling hands, despite keeping his voice as clear as he could without sounding like he was going to lose control of his emotions. The sorrow slips into frustration, Sherlock may never truly see all that he's done for him, and maybe being this honest was off-putting to him considering all that he's told him his whole life.]
So is this call going to involve more needless abuse, or is there anything else you wanted to say?
[He should tell Mycroft that John has his list, it's part of the agreement, but that would just invite more fussing. Besides which, Mycroft is hardly near enough to claim on that list if he wanted it.
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@309_W1C_2DZ; audio; very late night 284; cw: drug use
I have lost my scarf.
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Sherlock, where are you? Is John there?
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[He's fine. Mostly.]
It must have got lost while we ran from the anomaly. John said I can borrow his.
[Stupid suggestion, John's scarf isn't his scarf.]
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This town takes everything, doesn't it?...Are you all right?
[A pause.]
You encountered an anomaly!?
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A manifestation of Emilia Ricoletti.
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[At least it wasn't Eurus.]
You didn't answer if you were all right or not.
[If only he could return the scarf. It was yet another slight, another piece eaten away at them. Another bit of themselves gone. When would there be nothing left?]
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[He's feeling petty because Mycroft left and then made him embarrass himself with sentiment for no reason.]
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I'm sorry about your scarf, Sherlock. If I could recover it, I would.
[I want to fix things. I want to make this better. I want to save you. I can't.]
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[He's angry and still riding the tail end of his high, which makes him more openly vicious than usual.]
Made any leaps of enlightenment on your own, or are you simply struggling to survive?
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The loss of the scarf and his inability to retrieve it only was another reminder of that, one that burned in his core.]
I'm sorry. For everything.
[His tone is subdued. He has an inkling why Sherlock is so upset, but he'd rather have Sherlock angry at him than dead at his own hand.]
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Pathetic.
[Have you forgotten that you're a Holmes, brother?]
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So is this call going to involve more needless abuse, or is there anything else you wanted to say?
[It's sharper than he'd intended it to be.]
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So he just hangs up as an answer.
He wants his scarf back, Mycroft.]