Chapter 9: Silence

Sherlock slowly started going back into his old self, when John's death was recent. He let the memories flood into his mind, he allowed the hallucinations to happen, he talked to John every time he heard his voice. He didn't talk to the living, though. He avoided Lestrade's petty calls for help. He avoided Mrs. Hudson banging on the door. He enjoyed living with this ghostly remain of John.

Sitting on the couch, sipping a nice warm cup of tea, Sherlock heard the faint sound of his cell phone buzzing. Setting the cup down, he got up and walked to grab his phone.

Lunch?

Mycroft

The last time Sherlock talked to his brother was almost 2 months ago. Now he wanted to have lunch with him?

Where?

SH

Sherlock didn't know what other way to respond. He truly had ignored everyone for months.

Surprise. Come outside.

Mycroft

Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf, gracefully putting them on and walked down the stairs. Stepping outside into the fresh, crisp London air, Sherlock realized that the last time he was outside was when he visited John's grave, 3 months ago... His pale complexion even more obvious. He saw the familiar, expensive black car drive up and pull over to the curb. The door opened, allowing Sherlock to step inside. He was greeted by Mycroft, who had a grim look on his face.

"Hello Sherlock. How are you feeling?" Mycroft asked, in his normal tone of voice.

"I'm feeling fine, thank you." Sherlock answered, gazing out the window.

"I see you've been quiet lately. Lestrade has told me that he's tried phoning you."

"What a shame." Sherlock sighed. "All of his cases are boring."

That's not what you told me, Sherlock. Of all times for John to speak to Sherlock, in front of his brother wasn't the best. Sherlock was trying to come off as okay, just so Mycroft wouldn't force more therapy on him. Sherlock tried his best to ignore the voice, but it didn't shut up. You said you didn't want to solve cases because they made you forget about me. Tell Mycroft the truth, Sherlock. Tell him.

"Shut up." Sherlock muttered to himself, as quietly as he could.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft asked, arching one eyebrow.

"Nothing, sorry, how is running London or whatever you're doing these days?"

"It's going wonderful. Not a single issue has risen. Except your mental state, of course."

"What?"

"It's obvious, Sherlock. Your hands are shaking. You're clenching them to ignore the shaking, or something else. Muttering to yourself again? Refusing to come outside? Randomly ignoring calls? And you were doing so well. Would you like me to arrange for another therapist?" Mycroft asked in a serious tone. Sherlock always knew that Mycroft cared for his little brother, but he despised it. He hated how much his cared, it was annoying. It made Mycroft more human.

"No, I'm okay. I told you, Lestrade's cases have all been boring."

Stop lying to your brother, Sherlock. He can see right through you. There was John's damned voice again.

"You're lying to me. Is something else wrong? Are you hearing John again? Seeing him? Sherlock, I told you that he's not there. You must realize that. He's dead."

"No. He's still alive. I promise you."

Mycroft sighed.

"I can prove it to you, too." Sherlock said, eagerness in his voice. "Give me 9 months and I'll have the proof for you."

"What are you going to prove to me, Sherlock? John fell from that building. He is currently buried 6 feet under, in a casket."

"How do you know? It wasn't open casket. Anyone could have been in there." Sherlock's eagerness was overpowered with determination to prove his older brother wrong. "9 months. You'll have your proof."

The car suddenly stopped and the doors opened on both sides, telling Sherlock and Mycroft that they had arrived at their destination. Mycroft stopped his little brother before he could get out to the car. Sherlock could see the concern that Mycroft had in his eyes. It was the same concern he had every time Mycroft found Sherlock high from cocaine or heroin.

"I care about you, Sherlock. I want you to be okay. I know what John meant to you, I understand that it hurts to live every day without him, but you must move on. Please. For the sake of every one that cares about you. This isn't how we want you to live the rest of your life." It was the first human moment Sherlock had ever experienced with his brother. Their whole life they were uncaring, constantly arguing with each other, the constant feud. But this was different. This felt real.

"Okay." Sherlock sighed and exited the car.

He walked into the restaurant with his brother, the host sat them at a table in the far back. They were sitting in silence, the whole time Sherlock wondered if he should go back to forgetting John or continue with what he had now. Sherlock remembered the time he had forgotten about John. He was happy again. He didn't have to worry about the memories flooding back into his mind, he didn't have to worry about the pain. It just wasn't there anymore.

Once Mycroft and Sherlock had finished their meals, they were back in the car, returning Sherlock to his flat. They never spoke to each other after that. They didn't look at each other. Sherlock was staring out the window, watching the buildings go by. Repeatedly, Sherlock thought about what his brother said to him. Maybe it was time to forget out John. Maybe it was time to never remember his sweet voice and calming eyes. His loving touch and tender kisses.

Don't, please. For me.

Sherlock shut the voice out of his head, ignoring every begging yell it had. It was time to accept the silence. To return back to normal.