Mary Watson was dead. John was hugged her tightly. He looked up, face red with emotion.
"You made a vow."
He might as well have shot Sherlock. Mycroft could have hit him, but the damage was done. Sherlock backed out of the room, slowly at first, then he turned to run. Mycroft was supposed to oversee the arrest. But a glance and a nod from the DI showed him that he was of more use to Sherlock. He turned and ran after his little brother.
Mycroft went to the flat first. Sherlock had clearly been here before him and had taken his violin with him. Another quick glace around, he must be at Bart's. Mycroft called his chauffer and was at the hospital in a matter of minutes.
He heard the violin before he saw the man. It was played perfectly, a slow waltzing melody. John and Mary's Waltz if he had to guess. Mycroft didn't need to look for his brother, he already knew where he was. The rooftop.
The tall lean figure of Sherlock Holmes had shed his cote and held the violin to his neck. He swayed back and forth with the melody.
"You were right." Said Sherlock.
"I was right? When?" asked Mycroft, now quite concerned.
He lowered the violin as he finished the song.
"Agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age, they tend to get retired in a pretty permeant sort of way."
Mycroft had meant to spare his brother pain, instead he seemed to have increased it. He stood there paralysed Sherlock's statement.
"Why are you always bloody RIGHT?" Sherlock screamed as he fell to his knees sobbing. As if in accordance with Sherlock's emotions, it started to rain. Mycroft approached his baby brother and, sitting down, he gathered him in his arms. Mycroft opened his umbrella and held it over them.
"Why, Myc? Why her?"
"I do not know Lock."
"You always know."
"And I often wish I did not." Said the elder, "sometimes, I wish I was wrong."