A little something to make you cry.
Enjoy~
He had expected it sooner or later, but not this suddenly. He had always envisioned a slow decline with a very messy conclusion. But this, this was agony.
Everything was finally at a peaceful slowness, like the gentle fall of an unexpected snowdrift; nothing to worry about, normality -in its oddest sense- at its finest.
Then the good doctor had taken his own life.
He had hidden his sorrows deep within himself, in a dusty corner impenetrable by even the sharpest of minds. They found him early one Sunday morning, sitting on the staircase, gun in one hand and cup of tea in the other. No note. Just a bloody goodbye.
They found his brother next, unconscious at the other mans feet.
At the hospital, Mycroft remained at his bedside, unshed tears clouding his vision. His brother had hours left, perhaps only seconds. And between the closing and opening of the eyes, a mundane action which plagues even those who wish to memorize every second of their existence, he was gone.
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