"I told you before, Jane: I don't have friends. I've just got one."
"My best friend..Sherlock Holmes...is dead."
Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination.
Jane Watson walked the streets of London in the pouring rain. Few cars were out, and even fewer people.
She looked like a ghost. A mere shadow of her former self. For tomorrow it would be three years since that fateful day. The day that her best friend, Sherlock Holmes, died.
As she turned a corner, a long black limousine pulled in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. The door to the rear opened and a tall gangly man with an umbrella stepped out. He gave her a warm smile and said, "Good evening, Miss Watson."
Jane had to look up considerably to meet his eyes. "Mycroft."
Leaning on his umbrella, Mycroft Holmes raised an eyebrow, and in that moment resembling his younger brother more than ever. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"
"I'm not really interested." Jane said flatly.
"Don't you think it's unhealthy to continue as you are? Even after three years, you continue to live in that flat, refusing to move on."
"I don't really see how that concerns you."
"Oh, but it does. Even if it killed me, I swore to continue my brother's work and look after you. Do you really think that he'd want to see you in this state?" Jane shifted uncomfortably. "Sherlock would not have wanted this."
"Well, it doesn't matter what he'd want anymore, now does it? Sherlock's dead. And there's nothing that can change that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Mrs. Hudson will be worried enough as it is."
As Jane walked around him, Mycroft grabbed her wrist. "Jane, please, even if you can't let go for yourself...let go for him."
He placed the umbrella in her hand. Jane gazed wide-eyed up at the elder Holmes brother.
Wrenching her arm away she said in a whisper, barely audible in the downpour, "I'm sorry, but as far as I'm concerned...I died with him that day." Opening the umbrella and lifting it above her head she said, "Thank you for all you've done, Mycroft."
Jane turned and walked around the car, leaving Mycroft standing alone, watching her retreating back with pity.
When she reached her flat 221b, she placed her key in the keyhole and opened the door. Even though she tried to shut it as quietly as humanly possible, it still made a louder noise than she would have liked. Cringing, she hung up her coat, placed the umbrella Mycroft gave her in the corner, and walked into the living area.
Sitting down in her usual chair, Jane picked up her laptop on the table next to it, and placed it in her lap. Opening it up to show her old abandoned blog, her hands made a movement, as if to start flying across the keyboard like they once did, but nothing happened, she froze, like always. Ever since that day...she could no longer continue writing on the blog.
Comments filled her inbox asking "What happened to you?" "Why have you stopped writing?" and the most common "Is Sherlock really dead?"
Taking a shaky breath, her eyes floated over to that ridiculous picture of Sherlock wearing that stupid hat. She remembered how much he had hated it. How much he complained. But for some reason, she had always loved it.
She loved seeing him play with the ear flaps, deduce how impractical the thing was, and complain like a five-year old every time he saw it.
The corner of her mouth twitched into a half-smile as she took it in, her baby blue eyes shining. It took her a moment to realize that she was crying. Wiping tears away with the sleeve of her baggy knitted sweater, Jane closed her computer and put it back to its former spot on the table.
A voice called out to her from behind. "Jane...dearie...are you alright?"
Jane looked over her shoulder to see a night gowned Mrs. Hudson. Standing, Jane smiled and said, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Please, do not worry."
Mrs. Hudson's eyes became sorrowful. Walking over and embracing the younger woman, she whispered, "Oh, Jane. It's okay..it's okay..."
Jane fought the tears with all her might, but Mrs. Hudson's gentle cooing hit her at her core and she broke. Leaning on the older woman, Jane cried. Her shoulder's shook and she let out wracking sobs.
Mycroft Holmes walked the hallways of his mansion. His temper was quick, and not to be tested. And seeing Jane today made his blood boil.
The once strong, dependable, and witty woman was now broken. Bent and torn by this merciless world. But his anger was not directed at the world, but at the person responsible for her pain.
He reached a large room with two large double doors. Throwing them open, he stormed up to the bed inside and barked, "Get up."
A grunt came from the mess of sheets. Mycroft's temper flared. "Get up, you sorry excuse for a human being!" He ripped the sheets off the bed to reveal the annoyed person buried beneath them.
Mycroft's gaze hardened. "It is time you took responsibility for what you've done, little brother."
I'm quite proud of how this turned out! :D Oh God, the feels are coming back...