Chapter Text
He looked on, maintaining a calm demeanor as the younger man paced frantically around the room spinning to face his brother. The broken look in the young man’s eyes tore at his brother’s heart, but he couldn't allow that to show.
“You have to fix this Mycroft, you are the only one that can” a pleading tone that, Mycroft had a hard time reconciling with his brother’s voice.
“Sherlock” he said gently shaking his head slightly “that I could” he said quietly
“No!” Sherlock shouted, his normally smooth and beautiful voice shattered in grief “you have to, otherwise he will die, and it will be my fault” he dropped to his knees in front of his brother, hooking a finger under Mycroft’s sash “I will do anything to see him home safely” trying to make his voice into a sultry purr, but the pain still showing “you have Caesar’s ear, he will give you what you ask”
Mycroft laid a gentle hand over his brother’s, “in this he cannot, I am sorry Sherlock but, even He cannot. John killed a roman citizen” he explained softly
“That murdered how many?” Sherlock spat back “how many women did that dog kill?”
“Exactly Sherlock ‘women’, if they were wives or daughters of important families their men could have protected John, but they weren’t Sherlock.”
“Mater Juno is a woman, would you dare to speak so foolishly of her” Sherlock spat back
“Mater Juno is a Goddess these were Jewish women of no consequence; none were even born of citizens of the empire. They weren’t important, to anyone” Mycroft’s frustration was starting to show through as he spoke. He sighed dejectedly “Even if I agree with what John did, even if Caesar agreed with what John did,” his eyebrow rose enough to still his brother’s tongue “even IF Caesar did agree with John killing a Roman citizen to protect the daughters of his kinsmen, there would still be nothing he could do. There have been too many mad Emperors, even in our lifetimes. Caesar is still establishing his hold on the empire, without history poisoning his reign, and” he gave Sherlock a pointed look as he continued his explanation “And, Sherlock, allowing a Jewish man to kill Roman citizens, would not sit well with the nobility”
“Morta cut the nobility!” Sherlock shouted “it isn’t as if he killed one of their number. With as many as take to the Jewish quarter he likely even saved one of their lovers.”
“Sherlock” Mycroft snapped harshly “do not blaspheme in my house”
“What else can I do?” Sherlock asked, his head resting on his brother’s thigh tears filling his eyes, in a rare display of emotion.
“Pray, beg the Gods, if they will even intervene, perhaps Mater Juno will hear his plight, all of them were women he impregnated, before he killed them” Mycroft offered gently both men knowing the futility of the suggestion
Sherlock jumped up to stalk out of the room
“Sherlock” Mycroft stopped him “He was my friend too, do remember that”
“Was? He was your friend” Sherlock scoffed “you act as if he is dead already”
“He is Sherlock; the execution is the day after tomorrow, if you would care to witness it. I will NOT be in attendance for that. It was hard enough sitting next to Caesar when he sentenced John to death; I will not be there to watch his life’s blood be spilled as ‘entertainment’ for the nobility” Mycroft internally cursed the names of the nobles that had forced Caesar’s hand, he would never speak the words, but he would beg Pater Jupiter to punish their treachery
“Is there any way I could see him, just once more before he dies?” Sherlock asked, without facing his brother. His hand stretched before him, against the wall, as if holding himself up on it, his head hung dejectedly, his eyes closed in pain, his voice shaking. Mycroft crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his brother’s back, he rested his head gently on the younger man’s shoulder. “I need to tell him, I need to see him and touch him one last time. I need to beg his forgiveness” his voice soft and pained
“I will see that you may” he whispered standing and fixing his tunic. He watched his brother leave the house. He heard the soft footfalls of his wife behind him. She always makes just enough noise for him to hear her, but never so much as to intrude. He felt her soft hands guide him by the arm over to the cushions and help him down. Her dark hair fell freely across her shoulders in the manner he always preferred. Her gentle presence a balm to the aches of the world, but even she wasn’t enough today.
“Shall I prepare for you to depart to the Curia?” she asked softly
He smiled in spite of the tension; she really was the perfect wife. Even if he ever preferred the forms of men, he did his duty to his Empire and Emperor, by wedding a woman, as the example set by the great Juno and Jupiter. Even still, he could see how fortunate he was in her. She was an attractive woman in her own right, with a sharp wit, and clever tongue that served a perfect counterpoint to her gentle presence. She was one of the few people men or women that he trusted; more than trusted, he respected her. She was brilliant, and soft, and wise, braver than any man he had known and loyal almost to a fault. He often wondered if she wasn’t born of the Gods.
When he had company, to seduce a man that caught his eye, she would often entertain their wives with such skill that the women were as thrilled as their husbands to attend upon his home again. Though recently she hasn’t needed to as his Praetorian Guard's wife is unwilling to join her husband on his visits to the noble’s home. He knew that it was because she had her own lovers, and was wondering how they were going to react to finding out about each other, he would almost be willing to sell seats at the coliseum for that show. That thought, would normally cheer him, today it filled him with pain. Knowing that John would be executed in the coliseum so soon, caused him an ache that would take a long time to heal, if it ever did. He vowed to himself that he would not blame his brother for John’s death, John made his decision. He followed Sherlock as he always did, in body, in mind and in spirit, as he had always done, that this time it ended in the death of a Roman citizen, was as much John’s fault as Sherlock’s.
He would have to think of something to do for Anthea to thank her for everything she has done for him. He nodded, knowing that she had already sent for a travel meal and sandals. He stood silently, and kissed her on the cheek, to take his leave
He had said his goodbyes to his friend the night before. He had made promises to John, some spoken and some simply in his heart, now it was time to start to see them through. He may not be able to spare his friend, but he could honor him in death, as he had in life. Now that there were no words left, once John and Sherlock spoke, all words of this world would be unneeded, and the bravest man he knew could find his reward in peace, weather his Jewish heaven or the fields of Elysium. If any man deserved the Isle of the Blessed it was John.
He turned to his home, knowing he would not be seeing it again until after the executions. He wanted nothing more than to take refuge behind her walls, and let his wife care for him, perhaps invite guests over to celebrate the turning of the seasons. He touched the door in silent prayer for the safety of all within, as he did every time he left. Knowing that the one person he would wish for safety would be dead at the change of the moon. He held his head high, knowing that he could never show the trial that weighed on his heart. He started the short trek to the Curia, and the Palace after the close of the Senate for the evening. His boy silently joined him, the sack Anthea had prepared slung over his shoulder. He rested a hand gently on the child’s head in acknowledgement as he walked.