All lives end

"The clock on his wall hit 10pm and the bottle of scotch in front of him was emptied by a quarter. Mycroft had been sitting in his armchair for hours, staring blankly at the flames in his fireplace and getting lost in his thoughts. Work had been finished surprisingly early today which gave him a free evening in his house. Alone. He was always alone. Sighing Mycroft took another sip of his scotch and let his head fall back, now facing the ceiling. It was one of those nights – he felt empty, alone, and useless and was slowly drowning in those thoughts."