My Head, My Soul and My Heart
John managed to force his way back to 221B. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, he couldn't feel it anymore and his legs gave in as he just stepped through the door. He collapsed to the floor, crying loudly and whispering to nobody but himself; "that never happened, he's still alive, he didn't die." John closed his eyes, as soon as he did; the dead body, covered in blood was in his mind. John somehow found a voice deep inside, "SHERLOCK!" John shouted at the top of his lungs, opening his eyes to find himself very alone in their flat.
John couldn't move – he had been in the same curled up and fragile position for around two hours now; or that's what it seemed. The tears were flowing so fast, so hard, and full of raw emotion. John heard the door open downstairs, he knew it wasn't Sherlock, but he wanted it to be, he prayed for it to be. "S-Sherlock...?" John just managed to find a voice – his throat was dry and hurting, the tears were still flowing from his heavy eyes and falling into a puddle that had formed around his face.
"It's Mrs Hudson, John, are you alright?" The older woman slowly made her way up the stairs, hurrying to kneel down beside John as she caught sight of the terrible state he was in. "This is over Sherlock, isn't it love?" Hearing someone else say his name made John even more upset – he was now letting out small sobbing noises with every tear that fell from his red bloodshot eyes.
"H-He… He meant everything… I can't… C-Carry on… H-His soul w-was mine… H-He-"John was cut off by a sudden rush of tears and he curled up even tighter. Mrs Hudson was softly running her hands through the man's hair, whispering comforting words like; 'it'll be alright,' and 'we'll get through this.' Tears were welling up inside of her glossy eyes, but she managed to hold them back – she had to stay strong for John – in this state he was bound to try something without any comfort.
John just let out loud sobs, the tears making the puddle beneath him bigger. "Sherlock… Come back! Sherlock please, I need you!" John whimpered as he spoke, his words rough and full of cold emotion. He felt like someone pulled his heart out of his chest and ripped it into two – one half for him the other for Sherlock. John could hardly breathe – his breath was coming out in short gasps, which Mrs Hudson was extremely concerned about.
Soon there were noises of another person entering the building – neither John nor Mrs Hudson moved. For John it felt physically impossible at the time. The footsteps got louder and soon there was a familiar shadow in the doorway, Mycroft.
He glanced at Mrs Hudson and motioned for her to move to the back of John so he could kneel in front. Mrs Hudson still wasn't too sure about Mycroft – but he was here to help the broken man in front of them and he needed fixing as soon as possible.
"John, its Mycroft. Stop crying – look at me." John didn't stop crying but he just about managed to look up at the blurry silhouette in front of him. "It's all going to be okay, John. Don't get in this state over my brother, please John." The sobbing man was almost angry at Mycroft, telling him not to get in a state as such – it was a bit late for that.
"Y-You don't understand, M-Mycroft... Y-Your brother… W-Was my head, my soul and my h-heart. H-He's gone… R-Ripped me into two, I-I'm no good anymore. There's a space now, M-Mycroft… W-Which only he can fill… H-He was the greatest... Human… I…-"John couldn't force himself so speak anymore – his heart wouldn't allow the words; as that's where they were coming from. Everything said from John about Sherlock was from his heart, his heart that was now ripped apart.
Mycroft softly reached down to John and acted like a tissue as John cried hard and non-stop into Mycroft's suit jacket. Mrs Hudson rubbing his back and hair gently – slightly damp from the puddle. John felt almost too vulnerable – crying into Mycroft's jacket, Mrs Hudson treating him like a child as he cried for almost another two hours. The two comforting people staying in the same position – just to try and make the broken man feel at least a little bit better. – Make him feel like someone still cares.
Mycroft felt as if he had to stop John crying, there was hardly any more for tears for John to cry out – so they had been replaced with louder sobbing and whimpering noises as he clutched onto Mycroft's Jacket, hiding his face shamefully in the smooth material.
"John – stop, come on; stop crying – I'll make you a cuppa." Mrs Hudson said in a soothing tone that made John slowly peak out from the fabric he had been crying under for near enough two hours now. Four hours in total – and this was just the start. There was going to be so many more tears. It was hard to even think about it.
John didn't stop, he couldn't get up; Mycroft gently got him up – holding his waist gently as he carried the almost limp and lifeless body to the small sofa. John wasn't sure why Mycroft was being so nice – John thought that he saw a few tear tracks glistening across the taller man's cheeks as the dim light shined on him; it was Mycroft's only brother after all. But John soon stopped thinking about that as he felt a few more tears come spilling from nowhere.
Mycroft offered him a sad smile – his eyes full of sorrow. He stared into John's reading him like a book – just like Sherlock used to; that just sent him over the edge – he began to sob again. Just as Mrs Hudson was returning in with the tea; she sighed sadly. "I hate seeing you like this, love. I know it's hard." She reached out and cupped John's cheek softly – wiping away some of the tears (it proved useless as more fell from the swollen red eyes.)
Mycroft sipped the tear gently – his eyes were also watering now; but he managed to stay back, stay strong. This was all for John – Mycroft knew something that John didn't. Before Sherlock jumped he told Mycroft to take care of John – he pleaded him to. He really cared about John – and his brother wouldn't admit it – but he did love Sherlock, oh so much.
"John, you don't believe he's a fake do you?" Mycroft asked, looking over at the devastated man before him. John's knees were up to his chest and he was holding them in tightly; his whole body shaking as Mrs Hudson tried to feed him the tea – he needed to drink something.
John shook his head frantically. "N-No… And I never will. Nobody will ever convince me that h-he told me a lie... He was too good for that… T-The b-best man… I-I've ever came across. H-He was e-everything… N-Now I-I'm nothing…" John felt bitter tears fall down his already stained cheeks then falling onto his jumper. Mycroft smiled sadly once again and nodded; "you're a great man, Doctor Watson – you took care of him well. You made him feel loved and accepted Watson. For that I thank you – as his brother. You were like the best friend he's always needed." Mycroft choked on his last words – best friend. Mycroft should have been there for Sherlock but he never was – it was always John.
"I-I b-believe in S-Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft…" John stuttered out, softly swallowing the tea that Mrs Hudson was still slowly feeding him. "As do I, John. As do I…" Mycroft sighed sadly and rested his hand on John's knee.
Blehhh! – So there the first chapter done! Tell me if you like it, if you hate it? Reviews would be useful for me to have a little support – criticism is always welcome as well! Thank you!