Sherlock lies on the beaten sofa, the gun in his hands. Bored, so incredibly bored. He hasn't worked on a case for over a month, and despite John's best efforts he doesn't plan on doing so any time soon. He looks back to the gun, memorising every detail. He already knows exactly what it looks like though, down to the minute initials engraved on the barrel - "SH". His fathers, and his, initials.
The door clicks downstairs. John has arrived back, the traffic must have been bad today. He's usually back at an average time of 5:15, the clock hanging above the mantel reads 5:32 and 20 seconds.
"Afternoon Sherlock" says John, upbeat. Happily ignorant, in his own little simple world. He notes he is carrying shopping, that accounts for the time delay. Stupid, stupid. Even his mind is dulling.
"Sherlock, anyone home?" John is standing right in front of him now.
"Hm, what?" he replies looking up. John sighs.
"I just wondered if you wanted tea?"
"Oh, no." Sherlock replies.
John notices the gun in Sherlock's hand. He's been increasingly worried about Sherlock over the past month and a half, he's stopped leaving the house and doesn't help L'estrade with cases. Mycroft has been visiting a lot and is also worried, he's been thinking of ways to get him back on his feet. So far nothing has worked. He walks over to the counter and starts making tea.
"Oh, I'm going over to Sarahs later on" John adds.
"Dinner." He says it more like a statement than a question.
"Yeah, just a nice night in."
They lapse into silence again.
"Right, I'm going to get changed. See you in a minute" John finally says.
Sherlock stares intently at a small crack in the wall opposite him. Finally John goes upstairs. Stupid stupid stupid stupid John, with his stupid Sarah and stupid inane life. He slumps his head over the arm of the sofa and then curls into a ball.
"Don't disturb him" Warns Mycroft, his voice quiet.
Sherlock is outside his fathers study, about to knock.
"You can't tell me what to do." He replies, defiantly.
"You don't understand, you're just a stupid little boy. Leave him alone he doesn't want to be bothered." Mycroft smiles cruelly and walks off down the corridor. Sherlock just watches him go, and looks at the door debating.
"Sherlock" Johns voice is loud and grating.
"What" Sherlock snaps at him, but after seeing John's face he instantly regrets it. He seems to age when he anxious, the worry lines on his forhead more prominent.
"I'll see you later" John repeated, Sherlock could tell this by his tone of voice. Slow, patronising. Like he was speaking to a child.
Sherlock nodded in response, waiting for him to leave already. Waiting for John and his anxious face to leave him in peace. John took one last look around the room, and then picked up his set of keys from table. Shutting the building door behind him he walked to the end of Baker Street, before taking the phone out of his pocket. Selecting mycrofts number he composes a text:
S on own in flat for eve.
Bit worried.
Keep an eye out.
John
He presses send, then hails a cab.
Meanwhile, Sherlock sits on the sofa at home. The flat is semi-dark and the only light comes from a small lamp in the corner, and the laptop. He looks at the gun again.
Sherlock finally decides to knock. Tat-tat.
Nothing but silence comes from the room.
This is unusual, he thinks. It's either come in, or a rage at being disturbed.
Never silence. But Sherlock knows his father is in there, he entered his study this morning before the Mother, he and Mycroft left to go to the shopping district. He never leaves his study before noon, and it most definitely wasn't noon yet.
He gripped the doorhandle, and opened the door.
The dust hung in the air, the sun hitting it made the room look small and claustrophobic.
The sun blinded him, and he could see his fathers silhouette, hunched at the desk.
He walked closer, and then froze. Blood was dripping from the left hand side of his head, gun to the right of his chair, and on the right hand side you could clearly see a small, clean, neat hole.
"Mycroft" he said weakly, not able to shout..
"MYCROFT" more loudly this time.
He heard quick footsteps from the outside of the hallway, and Mycroft appeared at the doorway.
"Oh god" he said quietly.
He walked quickly up.
"Sherlock, look at me. " He pulled him out of the room and into the hallway.
"Stay here, do you hear?" He looked into his eyes.
Mycroft ran down the stairs
"MUMMY" he shouted.
"Mikey?" came his mothers voice.
"QUICK, COME NOW." he said, urgently.
Sherlock heard them walking upstairs, Mycroft talking quickly.
"Something terrible has happened Mummy. Father..." he drifted off.
Mother walked quickly into the room, then came back out again. Her face was white and taut.
She started to talk, but her face crumpled and she started to sob. Sherlock stood against the wall, utterly petrified. Mycroft hugged her and tried to console her, but he was crying now too. Too many emotions, too complicated. Sherlock snapped into attention and walked away from them both, distancing himself from it.
He closed the door behind him. Only then did the tears begin to fall.
Back at the flat, Sherlock closes his eyes and lets out a quiet groan.