(A/N: ENJOY.
P.S. As always, we wish we own Sherlock but alas, we do not.)
x x x
The phone was ringing. Sherlock, too busy to force himself away from his important task of weeding out the bathtub (he was attempting to grow a rare kind of flower for some case) while wearing rubber gloves that came up to his elbows. "John-"
There was no reply immediately. "JOHN-"
"WHAT?"
"TELEPHONE."
John emerged into the doorway of the bathroom. "Seriously why can't you-"
The phone stopped ringing. Sherlock turned back to his work while John just shook his head. He sighed, then noticed what the huge mess inside their tub. "Sherlock- What...what is in our tub?"
He walked up behind Sherlock, peering over his shoulder into the tub. "...is that dirt?"
"Of course it is dirt John, what else would it be?"
"Well, it smells horrible." John paused. "Mrs. Hudson was asking me if some of your body parts had expired."
"It has a high grade manure within the mixture. The exact same manure composition that was at the estate."
"Right-" The phone began to ring again, making John pause again. "You know I'm not going to get that."
"John, if you haven't noticed, that I am in fact up to my elbows in dirt and organic feces. Would you like me to hold the phone in such a manner?" Sherlock said matter-of-factly. He grabbed a tiny gas mask and put it over his face before diving back into the tub.
"FINE."
John stomped (on purpose) toward their phone. He picked it up and asked, "Hello?"
"Hi, John, this is Molly." Molly sounded quiet. "Is Sherlock there, by any chance?"
"I FOUND IT!"
"Well, that'll be him then."
"JOHN. JOHN. JOHN I FOUND WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR. HAND ME MY MOBILE! LESTRADE WILL WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THIS."
There was a brief moment of silence. "EVEN BETTER YET, YOU PHONE HIM FOR ME INSTEAD."
John rubbed his face tiredly. "Excuse me for a moment Molly." John said before covering the phone so that whatever Molly heard would be muffled.
"Oh, alright, but this is import-" Molly was cut off.
"I'M NOT GOING TO PHONE LESTRADE FOR YOU. DO IT YOUR OWN BLOODY SELF." John yelled, looking over to see Sherlock stepping out of their kitchen. His gloves were completely covered in dirt/manure... as well as basically everything else on his body as well.
"Feces, John." Sherlock gave him a look.
"It washes right off!"
"Have you forgotten our tub is filled up to the rim with dirt?"
John took in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, unable to look at Sherlock at the moment. "Can't this wait, Molly just phoned. And frankly, I'm being rude so-" He uncovered the phone, putting the phone back to his ear. "Sorry, Molly."
"Molly?" Sherlock scoffed, "John, I'm sorry but you're just going to-"
John was half paying attention to Sherlock, his eyes going slightly wide at a bit of news Molly had just said.
"-Have to tell her to call back later- you see I've successfully re-created the perfect conditions in which to grow that flower that killed-"
"Mycroft's dead." John cut in.
Sherlock went silent, his gaze falling over John's shoulder, not really looking at him.
"Molly would like you to identify the body." John said sadly, saying thanks and goodbye to Molly quickly before hanging up. "Sherlock? I'd suggest you go shower first but-"
Sherlock looked confused at first, removing his gas mask and then took a quick glance at his body.
"Right...I'll uh...go change my shirt."
John sighed, his whole demeanor doing a one-eighty.
x x x
After Sherlock changed his shirt and John made a cuppa to calm down his nerves they went to the morgue to see Molly and to identify the dead body.
"Sherlock, I am so deeply sorry." Molly said, her eyes were sad.
Sherlock ignored her and walked over to a black body bag sitting on the table. It obviously hadn't been unpacked yet.
John nodded to Molly and smiled at her. They both walked over on to either side of Sherlock to stare at the bag.
Sherlock felt John's hand on his shoulder just as he collectedly said to Molly, "Open it."
Molly nodded, slowly unzipping the bag to reveal about down to mid-chest area.
"It's him." Sherlock immediately said.
"Oh JESUS!" John suddenly shouted out, turning around to cover his face. "What happened to him? How did he DIE?"
"Erm, there was an accident." Molly seemed to be uncomfortable. "Apparently he was baking a cake. He opened the oven door and it and well, you get the picture."
"That's HORRIBLE!" John turned toward Sherlock. "Wait, what happened to his legs? HE HAD LEGS!"
"Apparently my brother had dwarfism and I didn't know about it." Sherlock said blandly, still staring down at his brother's corpse.
Molly stood there in shock, her mouth left open as she watched the two of them. "H-How did you immediately know it was your brother?"
"It's obvious Molly." Sherlock turned toward her. "As soon as you started unzipping the bag I noticed the distinct smell of sugar and baking chocolate. Upon closer inspection I noticed there was a hint of icing on his upper lip. The hair was missing from his eyebrows, indicating that your story is correct and plausible."
John was still in shock. "Oh my God I still can't believe this."
"I can." Sherlock now turned toward John. "Glass front ovens have a 2.3% chance of exploding after a period of regular use. Knowing Mycroft, however, he used it frequently to cheat on his diet."
John gave a pinched look. "How could you say that about your own brother?"
Sherlock turned and left before Molly had even finished zipping the body-bag back up. The tiny bag at the end of the table was left un-noticed. It contained the burnt remains of Mycroft.
"Where are you going Sherlock?" John exclaimed to the retreating back of his best friend.
"To the crime scene."
x x x
"I've never been here before..." John mumbled, as they walked up to the doorstep of Mycroft's flat. The whole place was crawling with police. Just as they were about to open the front door, Anderson opened it for him.
"Oh..."
Sherlock gave Anderson a really dirty look. "Get out. I don't want you contaminating my brothers flat with your cologne, and mediocre hair style."
Anderson scoffed, and stomped away towards Donovan.
"Now, then." Sherlock dismissed the brief encounter and trudged inside. The immediate stench of burnt remnants of sugar and flesh burning his nose.
He quickly made a calculating overview of the flat.
A bowl of freshly made frosting was sitting on the counter, the same color and consistency matching perfectly to what was on Mycroft's upper lift. His sink was filled to the rim with baking utensils, unwashed and covered in raw ingredients. There were shards of glass imbedded into the wall directly behind the stove, scorch marks marking all around the immediate area. The window was open. On the ground, on closer inspection, there was an outline of a pair of shoes within the scorch marks of where Mycroft had been standing.
He slid a finger along the edge of the counter, carefully sniffing it to deduce what it was. "Flour." He confirmed, staring at it while rubbing the substance between his index finger and thumb.
"What...?"
"Well, it could have been cocaine...but that was my addiction. Not his, his was...well obviously...sweets."
"Obviously..." John was beginning to feel worried about his friend. "Sherlock-"
"Whats this?" Sherlock said, picking up a neatly placed card on the far edge of the counter away from the stove. He noticed it was hand-made with high grade paper. He flipped it open, revealing a neatly handwritten message, obviously in Mycrofts handwriting.
Happy Birthday, Sherlock. P.S. I made this cake for you, not for my own pleasure. Sincerely, Mycroft
"Well, what is it?" John asked, but before he could get a good look at it Sherlock quickly folded it back up and placed inside his inner coat pocket.
"N-Nothing." Sherlock said. "John...when's my birthday?"
John looked at him suspiciously. "In a few days, I think. Why?"
"And the funeral?"
"Oh..."
x x x x
The main funeral was now over with. It bothered Sherlock seeing all of the people there, knowing most of them were only there because it would look good and was for business.
Now they were at the wake, which had a smaller amount of people there.
He was standing with John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson near the refreshment table. Sherlock studied each one of them and concluded that Lestrade was still a bit intoxicated.
#FLASHBACK#
YESTERDAY
"Maybe you should pick out a suit for your brother's funeral." John said politely. "I'm sure he'd want you to pick it out for him." "Seriously?" Sherlock asked. "John he doesn't have any legs, why would he care what kind of trousers I gave him?" John gave him a look. "All right." They went back to Mycroft's place, the police now gone after they finished up their open and close case. They entered, noticing it was cleaner than before. "Strange, wasn't Mycroft's umbrella resting near the door?" John asked, looking between the spot and Sherlock. "Someone's been here." Sherlock said. "They still are." John pulled out his gun and they nodded at each other. Slowly stalking around the flat they checked each of the rooms. The last one left was Mycroft's bedroom. "Shh." Sherlock put his finger to his lips. "Do you hear that?" "Hear what?" "The sound of someone sobbing." Sherlock responded before putting his ear to the door.
Male. Approximately fifty years of age. Works out but has a stressful job. Just shy of 6 feet tall. Was once married but the partner was straying, and has a handful of children. Recently went on an unnecessary holiday trip. Sherlock suddenly knew whom this person was.
He slowly opened the door with John at his back. There, on the bed, was Lestrade. He was sobbing, in a robe that obviously wasn't his and was clutching Mycroft's umbrella to his chest. He was also dreadfully drunk. Sherlock wordlessly made his way to the closet, picked out the first suit he saw (Which happened to be a purple one) and thrust it into John's face. "Happy? Good. Now let's get outta here."
He caught Lestrade's eyes and it read don't tell anyone about what you saw.
Suddenly Anderson walked over, a huge piece of cake was in his hand on a plate. "By the way, Happy Birthday Sherlock." Anderson said smugly before taking an enormously obnoxious bite of the cake. Bits of it got stuck in his large beard, on the rim of his glasses and some of it made its way onto the front of his suit.
If looks could kill, Anderson would have been murdered 4 times over. All four of the people standing there were giving intense death glares.
"Whelp, gotta go." Anderson started to walk away but John tackled him to the ground.
"What the hell!" Anderson screamed in a high-pitch manner.
"TAKE THAT BACK!" John ground out, turning Anderson over so he could punch him.
"All I did was wish him a Happy Birthday!" Anderson cried out, sounding annoyed.
"ALL RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH." Lestrade pulled John off of Anderson. "Anderson I think you should leave now."
"Fine." Anderson stood up and fixed his jacket. There was blood dripping down his nose from where John had hit him.
Lestrade looked over at John. "I think you and Sherlock should go take a moment outside to get some fresh air."
"No need for that, Detective. John and I were just about to pay our respects. Come along, John." Sherlock said, walking off towards the open-faced coffin containing his dear brother.
For a moment, the two stood side by side, staring into Mycrofts features. "Mycroft never wore make-up." Sherlock said, reaching down and poking at his brothers cheek. "Whoever did this deserves no recognition. "
He looked over at Molly whom was now next to him. "I can tell, Molly, by the look on your face that you believe you could have done a better job." Sherlock paused. "I believe so too."
Sherlock continued to poke at his brothers cheek.
"Legs..." John muttered, which made Sherlock look over at him confused, telling him silently to elaborate.
"He has...legs..."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Plastic, John. And poorly constructed if you ask me. Honestly, who do you know that has legs like that? It's obviously just a plastic stick and duct tape tucked under the tux to make the suit fill out properly, and keep it from moving."
"Sherlock, you're making the others uncomfortable by touching him. I have to ask you to move away now." Lestrade came up to them, pushing the both of them towards the cake and coffee table.
"I hate cake." Sherlock stated to no one particularly. A rather rude woman pushed Sherlock a bit towards the right. Trying to ease her way towards the cake without saying excuse me. "An excuse me would be polite."
The woman turned towards him with a fake apologetic smile on her face. "I'm sorry. Were you planning on eating anytime soon? Cause quite frankly you've been staring at it for the past five minutes."
"Do I know you? Who are you..? How did you know Mycroft?"
"We had sex."
"He was gay." Sherlock smirked upon her shock expression.
"Oh, well. By sex, I mean...we...held hands... while...drinking...tea..."
Sherlock gave her his best, I-don't-believe-you face. "You don't know him at all do you?"
"No..."
"Would you mind leaving, because your whole face- no your whole presence. Better yet! You're whole being is putting me off right now, and I find you being here very offensive."
"You can't just-"
"Ooops!" John came in, pushing her roughly into the table. "Sorry, I'm just so clumsy...Napkin?" He asked, feigning politeness.
"EUGH! Okay, fine. GOODBYE JACKASSES!"
"Whats going on here?" Lestrade interrupted, giving both of them a questioning look. "One more disturbance out of you two, and you'll be the ones in the casket. Is that clear?"
"Crystal. Excuse me one moment?" Sherlock quickly dismissed himself, running over to the cake and quickly taking a piece of it while also grabbing a plastic spoon. There was one thing Sherlock just had to do. Considering it was his birthday after all. And this was his brothers all-time favorite treat. Silently, careful not to draw too much attention Sherlock got into the short line that had developed quickly to view his brother.
"What are you doing?" John asked, eying the plate full of cake in Sherlock's hands. "Thought you hated cake."
"I do." Sherlock simply responded. "Go away, John. "
"Sherlock-"
"Go have some tea, John."
John gave him a sad look. "O-Okay..."
Sherlock sighed as it was his turn now to see his brother, yet again. He set the plate of cake near his brother's face on his chest. "You won't be needing to go on a diet where you're going. I hear they have their own kind of cake there." Sherlock smirked to himself, knowing if Mycroft could hear that he would be laughing at his joke. Mycroft knew Sherlock didn't believe in religion.
Looking over both of his shoulders, Sherlock saw that it was clear. He picked up the spoon and shoveled on a piece of cake. Taking one more last look around, he then proceeded to shove the cake into his brother's mouth. He grabbed another spoonful, shoving that one in as well. He was about to do another when there was a shocked gasp behind him.
"What in the HELL are you doing?" An older woman exclaimed in outrage.
"What does it look like?" Sherlock almost spat at her. "It is MY birthday. It is MY brother. I CAN FEED HIM CAKE IF I WANT TO!"
John suddenly rushed over with Lestrade on his heels.
"Jesus, Sherlock, are you okay?" John wondered why his friend was making such a ruckus.
"What's going on?"
"That man is putting cake into the mouth of the deceased and claiming to be his brother and that is it his birthday!" The woman screamed.
"IT IS MY BIRTHDAY!"
"All right, calm down-" John started rubbing Sherlock's back. "Let's just clean this up and we'll go calmly speak about this outside, shall we?"
"But... Mycroft loved cake and I wanted to... give it to him one last time."
"He loved a lot of things." John said, starting to lead him away. "But he loved you the most."
"Like my cock." Both of them heard Lestrade whisper sadly, referring to the first statement.
They were about to leave when they spotted Mrs. Hudson walking back in.
"Oh Dear. What's happened?" She asked in a concerned tone.
"Sherlock had a bit of a meltdown but we're dealing with it." John whispered. "Mind grabbing a few napkins and cleaning Mycroft up?"
"Oh, yes, but remember I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson joked. "And I hope this wasn't too rash of me but I followed that Anderson fellow and keyed up his car a bit."
John smirked and Sherlock hugged her. They parted ways, entering an outside garden. They talked briefly until Sherlock changed the subject.
"Could you wait here a moment John?"
"What for?" John sounded suspicious. "You're not going to do anything outrageous again are you?"
"Me? Outrageous?" Sherlock stated. "That doesn't describe me at all." He proceeded to dash away, making John jog after him and not follow his instructions.
They came out of the foliage and there on the street was a running cab.
"Oh, my God." John declared. "You paid for a cab to just sit out here?"
"Exactly." Sherlock paused, opening the door to the cab. "Or not."
"What-" John watched as Sherlock produced his violin. "Are you serious?"
"Definitely. You know I use my violin to help me get through things." Sherlock plucked out a note.
"This is insane." John was flabbergasted, until he noticed Sherlock making his way back toward the funeral home. "Where are you going?"
"To my brother, John! To my brother!"
John tried to catch up to his friend but Sherlock had longer legs. It all happened so fast, it sorta played out in slow motion. As soon as Sherlock busted through the door everybody's heads turned towards his dramatic entrance and their eyes fell on him as he lifted his violin wordlessly to his chin.
"Oh, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, she was sitting down next to Lestrade who pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Sherlock started walking dramatically towards his brothers coffin, each step he took he belched out a insanely high piercing not from his violin. As he got closer the beats got faster, until he was hovering directly over Mycrofts face.
"SHERLOCK!" John was behind him in a instant, his arms wrapping around Sherlock's torso as he tried to pull him away. "You have to stop this!"
Meanwhile, Lestrade was trying to calm down a whole room of angry people. He was literally this close to just giving up and declaring that this wasn't his problem and that it wasn't his division. But, decided against it, thinking Mycroft would be 'Oh so' disappointed in him.
"Sherlock!" John yelled again, frantic to get his attention, and stop him from blasting a thousand high pitch squawks in his face. Instead of pulling him away, he was now clinging to him, feeling the pain Sherlock was emitting. "I know it hurts! I've seen lots of men die, lots of good men. Men with wives, and sisters, and sons and daughters. But most importantly men with brothers."
Sherlock suddenly stopped playing, the bow going slack as his arms fell to his side. "He was my brother, John..."
"I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry, Sherlock."
John's grip tightened on him as he began to feel Sherlock's shoulders shake slightly. "J-John..."
"Yes?"
"Take me home..."
THE END.
x x x
A/N: As always, Reviews are always appreciated! Lol, if anybody else liked Anderson's beard in the unaired pilot. xD