Sherlock paced back and forth in his brother's living room. He was obviously distressed, but then again, when was he not lately?
"Mycroft, I need to go back to him. He's hurting so much. I'mhurting so much."
"I never thought I'd hear you admit that you possessed emotions of any sort, much less compassion. Much less love...I have often wondered if you even possessed a soul..." Mycroft drawled, lifting his teacup to his lips.
Sherlock stopped pacing and glared at his older brother. "You've seen him. You've seen the surveillance on the flat. All he does is cry. Cry and swallow benzodiazepines until he he's far too numb to feel anymore. I can't bear seeing him like this, knowing that it's my fault."
"Sherlock, you know you did what you needed to do. You did what was necessary to keep him alive. Your sacrifice was...admirable."
"Thank you for attempting to comfort me, brother, but you know it won't work," Sherlock sighed, sitting down across from Mycroft. "I need to let him know I'm alive. I need to let him know I love him...I've always loved him...Sarah is just so wrong for him, and he knows it! I hate seeing them together and seeing how sadhe is..." Sherlock buried his face in his hands, then raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated.
Mycroft set down his tea and leaned in towards Sherlock. "Sherlock, I think maybe you should stop following him around. Stalking him isn't exactly healthy, and, well, someone might spot you...which could cause problems."
"Oh please...no one will recognize me...no one is looking for me, and even if someone were, I've cut my hair and dyed it ginger. I've also replaced my, ahem, 'signature' coat and scarf for the time being. I also never go near any of my old haunts. No one will recognize me."
"Well Sherlock, I suppose you can let him know you're alive..." Sherlock's face lit up. "But you need to wait a little while longer. At least another month. We need to prepare ourselves for damage control in advance. There are very few people who know you're alive, Sherlock, and we need to keep it that way."
"John won't talk. John can keep a secret."
"Yes, Sherlock, but you need to realize that right now he has insomnia and nightmares and panic attacks and is often times abusing his medication out of desperation. And why? Because he thinks you're dead. When he finds out you're alive, well, do you think he'll continue to wrestle with those demons? It will be obvious to everyone that something has changed. How will he explain his speedy recovery after months of black depression?"
"Yes, Mycroft, I see your point. I just...I just hate seeing him like this."
"Sherlock, we'll figure something out. We'll find a way for you to go back to John."
"Soon, Mycroft. Soon. Please. I don't know how much longer I can stand this," Sherlock choked, wiping away the tears running down his cheeks.
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