Mycroft's P.O.V.
It started when I was ten. One simple lie. It didn't hurt anyone. Anyone of course, except for my self. It lead to a lifetime full of little lies. Little lies that would tear my life to shreds. I hide them all. No one ever saw what I was hiding. Until they did. They saw ever single last one and the wrath of the world came down upon me. I was trapped. I couldn't get out. My life was a complete, utter wreak. No one needed me. But no one ever had. My lies had brought here and now I had to pay.
I had been doing it for months now. Bringing back the most torturous memories of my entire life. Cutting my arms, careful to avoid anywhere it might be seen. And lying. I wasn't just lying to the world anymore. I was lying to myself.
I said I wasn't needed here anymore, that I never was. It was a lie. I said the reason I was hated was because I was an arse. It was a lie. I said my parents hated me. It was a lie. I said Sherlock wouldn't even miss me once I was gone. That was the biggest lie of them all.
Seeing as lying to my brother was what started this all, it seemed to fit that it ended it all. I had always lied to him. I had lied to him about Redbeard. I had lied to him about the fall. I had lied to him about almost every case I gave him. I lied to him non-stop and he still believed me.
But my lies were starting to show. One by one, bit by bit, everything I had ever known was starting to crumble. I knew I should've asked for help. I knew I should've reached out. But I couldn't. My parents refused to talk to me after Euros. My brother tried to advoid me, but that was normal.
For once in my life I was lonely. I needed a friend to lean on. But friends were not my area of expertise. I had only ever had one friend, and that was my brother. There had been many times I had almost picked up the phone to call or actually go over to his flat. But I was stopped every time. I was stopped by all the little lies I had told him over the years. After all of that I just couldn't bring myself to ask for his help.
But now I was dialing his number. It was the only number I knew by memory. My hands shook as I held the blood glistening knife over my already cut wrist. It rang once. It rang twice. It rang three times. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the soothing voice of my brother on the end.
"Mycroft?" he asked simply.
"Sherlock," I answered, my voice shaking in fear slightly.
"What do you want? I'm on a case. The only reason I answered is because I had a feeling it was important."
My voice wavered as I shook. "I'm not that important. Look Sherlock, I only called to say, to say that I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
I didn't answer as my little brother panicked slightly.
"Mycroft? Mycroft!"
"Goodbye Sherlock," I whispered, my voice now completely broken as I ended the call.
I took the knife and put it to my wrist. Pressing it as hard as I could against my pale skin, I let out a small cry of pain. I watched with some fascination as the bright red liquid flowed out slowly. It wasn't long before I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I let them drift shut and I remember nothing after that...
Sherlock's P.O.V.
"As you can seen the victim has blond hair. Even though its been recently shaved, her eyebrows have flecks of much lighter hair in it. That's the most common sign of blond hair. And her fingernails. There skin underneath. She might've scratched..." I was rattling off deductions when my phone rang.
I pulled it out, annoyed when I saw the caller I.D. Mycroft knew I was on a case and that I hated being bothered. So he wouldn't ever call. Except he had. My eyebrows were pushed together in confusen as something told me to answer the call.
"Excuse me, but I must take this," I held up the mobile, and gestured for John to follow. Flipping open the phone, I said a single word.
"Mycroft?"
John looked at me, and whispered, "What does he want?"
I shrugged and mouthed back 'I don't know.'
"Sherlock," he answered, voice shaking.
I decided to put it bluntly. "What do you want? I'm on a case. The only reason I answered is because I had a feeling it was important."
His voice wavered as he spoke. "I'm not that important. Look Sherlock, I only called to say, to say that I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
He didn't answer and I panicked slightly.
"Mycroft? Mycroft!"
"Goodbye Sherlock," he whispered, my voice now completely broken as he ended the call.
"Mycroft? Mycroft! Don't hang up! What's wrong!" I shouted even though the line was dead. I twirled around to look at John. "We have to go."
"Wants wrong?"
"I don't know. But Mycroft is in trouble. That's all I need to know." I ran out of the victim's flat and grabbed the first cab I could.
Giving the directions to Mycroft's house, I Sat nervously, wishing my brother would answer the phone. Fifteen minutes later I paid the cabbie and ran up to the front door. Finding that it was locked, I cursed as I found no key. Running towards the backdoor, I found that it was locked too, but there was a window open.
As I stepped into the house through said open window, I was surprised to find all the lights on. I started to run into each room shouting my brothers name.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. You have to find him. Who knows what'll happen tomorrow, so make today count. Don't let your star die, don't let your star die. You know it's your tether to this world. You know its what keeps you in check. Hurry, hurry.
Time is running out in this world we call our own. We don't have a future we only have each other. Death comes to everyone, so don't let it come to soon. So hurry, hurry, hurry. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
My heart nearly stopped when I heard that song. It was the song Mycroft listened to when he was in trouble. It was a warning to all those who were listening. My hands trembled as I called my brother again, hoping, praying he would pick up.
I heard the ringing of the phone and ran towards it. His bedroom. I pushed the door open and I almost puked. The stench of blood who overwhelming and that was coming from the person who often did experiments with human body parts.
My brother laid on the floor, wrist deeply cut, and the rest of body curled in a ball. His eyes had just drifted shut and head started to limply fall to the side. I pulled off my scarf and wrapped his wrist as tightly as I could.
"Come on Mycroft. Don't die please. I need you. Please Mycroft don't leave me alone," tears fell from my eyes.
My scarf did little to nothing to help stop the flow of blood. I grabbed a shirt nearby, and pressed that on the cut as well, my tears coming full force now. I just wanted the blood flow to stop coming from the cut. Really the best course of action would be to set up a turnikit right below his elbow. But that would mean letting him bleed out freely and he couldn't let that happen.
"Please don't die Mycroft. Please don't die Mycroft. Please don't die Mycroft." I repeated the four words over and over again.
John barged in the room with Lestrade hot on his heels. Both gasped at the sight of Mycroft and and I. I didn't look up, just continued to repeat my chant. Lestrade shouted for paramedics, but I shook my head sadly. They wouldn't show up in time. It would take 7.3 minutes to get here and Mycroft maybe had four.
I pushed my face into his hair, tears still rolling steadily down my face and repeated my chat one last time.
"Please don't die Mycroft."
Hurry, hurry, hurry. Our time is almost up. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Our time is running out. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Don't let your star die. Hurry, hurry, hurry. We're spinning out of control. Hurry, hurry. Hurry, hurry. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
You know tomorrow might never come. You know tomorrow might never come. So hurry, hurry, hurry. Say what you need to say. Say what you never said. Lean on me, lean on me. I'll show you you love. Just hurry, hurry, hurry.
The song started to fade out, but I barely noticed. The paramedics rushed in, and I knew it was to late. They tried to pull him from my arms, but I merely clung on tighter. Lestrade told them to back off and I felt John drape my coat over my back, tracing small circles, trying to calm me. I inhaled deeply, just to let out a heart breaking sob that made everyone stop what they were doing. Lestrade stopped talking on his mobile, John stopped drawing the circles on my back, the paramedics looked at me, pity lacing their eyes.
I burried my face further into Mycroft's hair, sobbing softly. I was covered in blood, had hot tears streaming down my face, and had never experienced this type of pain. It felt like m heart was being ripped right out of my chest. John wrapped his arms around me, use to the blood from his time in the war. We remained like that for hours.
I didn't attend the funeral. I couldn't stand to go and be around over a hundred people who never really knew my brother. Never really knew who he was or what he was like. I also knew I wouldn't be able to hold up the sociopath defense. I couldn't break down like that again. I couldn't let everyone see me cry. I couldn't stand to let my brother go. He didn't deserve to be in the ground.
I was put in charge of dealing with Mycroft's belongings. I sold most of it, gave the money to John, and had him deal with selling the house. I watched as the loaded everything not sold into a truck. One loader walked by and the item on top caught my eye. I ran up and pulled him back.
"Wait. Please, my voice cracked, and the man stopped.
"Yes sir? Is there something you'd like?" he held the pile out.
I snatched the long, but skinny, black case. "Just this. Thank you."
He nodded and continued on his way to the truck. I walked towards John, and he looked questioning at the item in my hand. I opened the case to reveal Mycroft's umbrella. An understanding looked dawned on his face.
"Can you cover the last of the operations here?" I asked.
"Of course Sherlock. Go do what you need to. I'll see you back at the flat."
I gave a small smile and held the umbrella carefully in my arms. Somehow I ended up at Mycroft's grave. I don't know how I got there or how I knew where it was. I just know I ended up in front of a simple tombstone that underneath laid his body.
Mycroft Holmes
Born: January 19, 1970
Died: March 23, 2017
The east wind has come, brother mine.
I read the tombstone, before collapsing on my knees beside it, clutching the one thing I had left of my brother. An umbrella. That was all. An umbrellathat had meant everything to my brother. It had been his heart and soul. And now that I was holding it and I knew that no one else would be coming for it ever again, it was hard to let go. He had never gone any where without his umbrella.
I felt raindrops hit my face, and cried even harder. Opening the black umbrella, I put it in the wide vase that normally held flowers. After kneeling for a few more minutes, I wiped the tears from my face and got up.
"Goodbye Mycroft. I'll miss you," I uttered the words I couldn't manage to say the day he died in my eyes.
As I turned and walked away, I could've sworn he was right there, sitting under his umbrella, smiling.
Hey! Um, well, yeah. Please don't kill me? I hope you all enjoyed and please review!
Best Regards,
PFT221B