Insomnia (BBC Sherlock drabble, Mycroft + Sherlock)

[fatima]

Beta read and Brit-picked by the lovely krazykoodles, as usual. :) I had no idea that there is no cicada in England! :O

Title: Insomnia
Characters: Mycroft, Sherlock
Rating: G

Sherlock was seven when the first bout of winter insomnia hit him, and it would persist for the rest of his life. There was always something dreadfully wrong with his bedroom at night. Most of the time it was the old heater, gasping incessantly like a dying grasshopper. Or it would be the winds lingering outside his window, carrying screams and laughter from places far over the fence but nowhere at all. And at the breaking of every gray dawn, there would be bulky cleaning trucks yelping on the streets down below, sucking up all his ability to sleep along with the dead leaves.

It was also then that Sherlock developed a habit of sneaking into Mycroft's bed at night, because happy though as he was to do away with the concept of wasting time in a bed, eventually something had to give. Mycroft's bedroom was far too clean and orderly for his liking, but it wasn't as if he spent much waking time in this place. Mycroft's book shelves didn't interest him enough to stick around—The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, The Stranger, On the Genealogy of Morals, et cetera et cetera, and not one single volume on firearms or the properties of different poisons. (Years later, he would realize that this was not true—Mycroft simply had books on those subjects placed in more discreet places.)

If Mycroft thought Sherlock's presence was odd or bothersome, he never said anything. Thus Sherlock was free to tiptoe into his brother's bedroom—which was never locked—at the dead of the night, plant himself right under the covers, and shortly succumb to the annoying necessity of sleep, surrounded by everything Mycroft.

The smell in that bed changed over the years. Tobacco's spiciness came and went, as did the faint sweetness of butterscotch biscuit, but the odour of ink and old books remained. Eventually, right before Mycroft left for Oxford, there was the scent of aftershave, something as alien to Sherlock as Christmas carolling.

None of that, however, really mattered. Though Sherlock was preternaturally averse to all noises during those winters, the single thing in Mycroft's room that calmed him like magic was the sound of his brother's slow but steady breathing, luring him to sleep and to dream.

Fin



无眠
Mycroft+Sherlock粮食
原作：Renata (snowlight)
翻译：荔枝(asukajude)

冬季的季节性失眠在Sherlock七岁时第一次袭击了他，并自此纠缠了他一生。一到晚上，他的房间总有这样那样的严重问题——大多数时候是那台老爷级别的暖气，苟延残喘如一只垂死的蝈蝈；也可能是在窗外徘徊不去的风，从栅栏外并不存在的地方裹挟着尖叫或狂笑的声音而来；在东方显出鱼肚白时，还有傻大个儿的清洁车吵吵嚷嚷地开过下面的街道，将他的睡意连同枯叶一起彻底卷走。

也就是从那时候起，Sherlock养成了在夜里偷偷爬上Mycroft的床的习惯；因为虽然他讨厌睡眠这种在床上浪费时间的事情，但他的身体最终还需遵守生理法则。Mycroft的卧室以他的喜好来说是太过清洁整齐，不过他本来也没有在醒着的时间里于那里多呆。Mycroft的书架总是提不起他的太多兴趣——《罗马帝国衰亡史》，《异乡人》，《道德谱系学》，等等等等，然而没有一本提及枪支或者各种毒药的性能。（多年以后他发现这不是真的——Mycroft有那些书，只是收得更谨慎。）

如果Mycroft对Sherlock的到来感到诧异或困扰，他从来没说过什么。因此Sherlock便在半夜三更里自如地蹑手蹑脚钻进他哥哥的房间(那从来没上过锁)，把他自己安插在被子底下，然后迅速地屈服于可恶的必要性睡眠——在名为Mycroft的世界的怀抱之中。

那张床上的气息在几年间不断变换着。烟草的辛辣和奶油饼干的微甜来了又去，而常驻的是墨水和旧书的味道。最后，在Mycroft去牛津的前夕，那还带上了些须后水的香味，对于Sherlock来说就像圣诞颂曲合唱一样陌生。

然而那一切都无关紧要。尽管Sherlock以不可思议的程度讨厌着冬夜的一切声响，在Mycroft的房间里唯一奇迹般地能让他安静下来的东西却是他兄长呼吸的声音。那缓慢均匀的起伏总是引他沉进睡眠，入梦安然。

完