"I do apologize about this, dearest brother. We took note of his living and working conditions on a regular basis, but if I had any idea he was this distraught I would ha –"Mycroft Holmes was cut off with a sudden painful blow to the back of the head. His brother had lifted him slightly off the ground and had him pinned against the wall by his neck.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN WATCHING CLOSER YOU IMBECILE! WHY DIDN'T YOU KEEP TABS LIKE I DIRECTED?! YOU HEARTLESS ARSEHOLE! IF HE DIES THIS IS INTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR EVERY MINUTE OF IT!"
Knowing how his brother tended to overreact in situations pertaining to his former flat mate, he waited a moment for Sherlock to collect himself. Eventually he eased Mycroft off the wall and placed him back on his feet. He took several deep breathes and ran his hands roughly through his hair. He was still absolutely fuming, but he managed to contain his anger to ill thoughts rather than actions. "I apologize for hurting you, but if he doesn't make it…I will never forgive you Mycroft. Ever. I told you to watch closely and you should have listened, it's not like you to make a mistake like this."
"My sincerest apologies brother."
Currently, the Holmes boys were standing outside of a patient's door, belonging to one Doctor John Watson. Sherlock couldn't think rationally, the heavy smell of antiseptics and medication, the cascading lights, and the pure rage coursing through him completely clouded his mind. Along with the incredible amount of guilt weighing down on him with tremendous force; as much as the Consulting Detective would like to pin this incident on his idiot brother, he knew that most of the blame should be directed towards him. About eight months ago, the younger Holmes had faked his own suicide in an attempt to protect his friends and escape the awful situation placed on him by Moriarty; unfortunately this came with the price of concealing the truth from the one person he loved. If John were to find out he was alive, there would be a much greater chance of his demise, and Sherlock simply couldn't live with himself if that were to happen. Even though in his attempt to prevent his friend's death, it seems he in fact insured it.
The brunette had anticipated the possibility of the current circumstances happening, but he had relied on his brother to be on top of things – His first mistake. It appears that the young doctor had not taken the loss of his best friend well. He had fallen into a deep depression and, though he had carried on for quite some time, it appears the inevitable caught up with him. The loss was simply too much for the ex-military doctor, and he had attempted to take his own life. Sherlock had been on the bridge when John jumped. He had shouted as loud as he could and tried to grab John, but he was too late. Luckily, John had overestimated the height of the bridge and the depth of the water, so he didn't die, though he was severely injured.
The image of John stepping off the bridge was permanently etched into Sherlock's mind, his trembling hand letting go of his only support and his figure falling to the shallow water below. This must've been how John felt, Sherlock thought absently. He had been so sure that he would make it there in time; John would fall into tears and maybe punch me, than everything would be ok. We would live together again, start up our cases again, and eventually more may have developed. But now Sherlock had to try to stay in the moment, and just hope his best friend would survive to see the next day.
Sherlock continued his pacing, waiting for any news that would ease his mind. In the three hours since seeing John fall Sherlock had come up with 462 scenarios of how John could die. Thankfully, none of them had come into fruition so far. His quilt seemed to be growing by the minute. If only I had told him sooner that it was all a ploy…but I couldn't risk his safety! Moriarty could've planned ahead; he could've been prepared for my cleverness. But why suicide?! I thought his pride would certainly outweigh his loss! It couldn't be nearly as painful for the doctor as it had for me! Of course not, that would imply that John reciprocated feelings that only I possessed. Unless…no! Now is not the time for nonsense and wistful thinking. I need to focus. Try to think of the best way to come back into the doctor's life…surely that'll take his mind off things until his friend was conscious.
The sight of Sherlock Holmes at this moment must have been an extremely frightening one. Distracted by his own thoughts, he continued to pace the small hallway in front of John's room. His height and general aura of strength added to the looming pace was enough to alarm even the strongest of heart. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were wild, his lips were pulled into a tight line, and he looked as if he was on the brink of insanity. While the other Homes stayed leaned against the hard wall, gently swaying his umbrella while keeping an eerily composed face.
After another hour of pure torture, a young doctor opened John's door and approached the Holmes brothers. Sherlock quickly stirred from his thoughts and all of his attention was focused on the word of his beloved. The doctor cleared his throat and looked at his clipboard before making eye contact and beginning his short speech. The Detective was relieved to hear that other than a broken wrist, several bruises, and a mild concussion, John would be fine. He asked if it was alright to visit his friend and after a few moments of heated debate and hesitation, he was finally allowed access.
John was still sleeping as Sherlock entered the room, he had not yet stirred from his extensive slumber, but his vitals were normal and it seemed as though it was time for him to awaken. He was lying in the hospital bed, the light beeping of the monitor showed John's steady heartbeat. The Detective walked over and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. Sherlock reached over and lightly gripped John's hand in his, the Doctor began to stir. The first thing his eyes landed on was Sherlock. The younger man observed the many emotions that crossed over John's face – confusion, hurt, anger, realization, and pure joy. The Detective didn't know what to expect of John's conclusion.
A large grin was spread across his face as John finally uttered two words: "It worked."