4. And Now a Word From Mycroft
Mycroft loved his little brother. He really did, even though it was more than hard sometimes. Like when Sherlock blew up his school trunk two years ago, or when he set off playing violin in his room at three thirty in the morning in his room (that happened to be directly under Mycroft's). He definitely didn't want him to die. The healer, Madam Hudson, said he was in critical condition, "Split his head open, and he lost quite a lot of blood on the field before we got to him." It was true, Sherlock had fallen under the stands and it took five minutes for someone to realize that something was wrong.
Now, twenty-four hours later, Sherlock was still asleep in the hospital wing and Mycroft was sitting in a chair at Sherlock's bedside. He absolutely refused to leave his brother. His logic was: if his brother was to die, he wanted to be at his side when it happened. At first he tried to wake Sherlock up by talking to him, then, when Madam Hudson wasn't looking, even shaking him. Nothing helped, and Mycroft was getting madder and madder with grief over his brother. At last Mycroft couldn't stand it anymore and tried a last time.
"Sherlock Thomas Holmes, you selfish bastard, if you don't wake up then I will personally tell James that you wet the bed until you were six." Mycroft waited thirty minutes, then an hour, then two. Sherlock never woke up. Mycroft drank a sleeping potion and then fell into a heavy drugged and disturbed sleep. He woke up a few hours later to the single most disturbing and horrific thing that had happened in his life so far.
He woke up to find a dead Sherlock, not a barely breathing one, a dead one. Madam Hudson had woken Mycroft up. She had tears streaming down her face and a letter in her hand.
"I'll have to write to your parents and inform them, I trust that you will tell his friends. I'll leave you alone to-you know…" She rushed out of the room, crying. Mycroft's eyes never left his brother's still figure. He began to speak, pouring his heart out into the words.
"Well you really did it this time, you know you haven't just destroyed Mummy and Father's lives, you've destroyed mine as well. If you had woken up when I asked you to I would have said I hated you for giving us all a scare. Now I know that you're not coming back and I still hate you for it, but mostly, I blame myself. I am one of the Ravenclaw beaters after all, if I had been watching you and not the quaffle you probably would be celebrating your victory in the common room right this very minute. But there's something I need to tell you, you arrogant, selfish sod. I love you as a brother and I care about you more than anyone else and anything else. You'd better have heard all that because I wont ever be repeating that again to anyone for the rest of my god damned life." At the very last word Mycroft burst into tears. "I-I'm sorry, please forgive me. I wouldn't if I were you and I never will even if I'm not you." He ran from the room with a plan.
He said the correct password and burst into the Gryffindor common room. All the Gryffindors turned to stare at him. He looked frantically around the room. Scanning every face.
"JOHN? I'm looking for John Watson!" John stood up from the middle of a large, tightly packed group,
"What is it Mycroft? What's wrong?"
"I-Its Sh-Sherlock… he's dead…" It took all Mycroft had not to burst into sobs right there and then. John froze, processing what Mycroft said, a look of horror upon his face. Without warning John pushed Mycroft out of the common room entrance and ran down the corridor towards the hospital wing, bursting into tears along the way. Mycroft found him sitting outside the entrance of the hospital wing, in a broken heaving sobbing mess. Mycroft took him under his arm as if he were his own brother. Together, they walked into the hospital wing.
Both of them looked at Sherlock's body, it was too much to bear, Mycroft ran out of the room. John stayed. Crying quietly.