AN: Hello again! Thanks for getting this far into the story.
*Warning for this chapter: It's a bit sad.*
Guardian Chapter 9
The ex-army doctor wasn't sure what to do. On one hand he really had something against the crying man, but on the other... Well, he had just lost his brother poor sod.
John tapped his knuckles on the wood of the door softly. The sobbing stopped and he heard movement as someone inside the room moved hurriedly around. A few seconds later the large door opened slightly. The light from inside the room was so dim that John could hardly see the man in front of him.
"Mycroft, are you okay?"
The taller man in the doorway shuffled his feet slightly.
"I'm fine thank you John. I'm sorry if I woke you."
He began to push the heavy door shut. Before he could think about it properly, John's left foot was in between the door and the door frame. This surprised both of them. Less than 15 minutes ago John hadn't been able to move it over the side of his bed.
"No, Mycroft. You're not fine. I should know more than anyone. If you get to question me about how I am, and stop me from doing things I want to do, then I'm going to do the same to you."
Mycroft switched on the light to reveal a stupidly large room. The man's eyes were red and his hair was dishevelled. John also noticed that it was the first time he had ever seen the man without a tie.
"Come in." said the tie-less man.
John limped into the room. There was a large bed with black sheets in the centre of the floor. Everything about the room was extravagant.
'Typical Mycroft.'
The government 'official' sat down at one side of a surprisingly disorganized desk. He beckoned to John to join him but the ex-army doctor chose to stand.
"Tell me what's wrong Mycroft."
The man let out a quiet chuckle. His eyes stared forwards but weren't focussed on anything in particular.
"Well, you know how it is. Work piles up. Sometimes a good cry just clears the head."
Mycroft put a smug smile on his face. John wasn't buying it. He raised one eyebrow and was about to question the man when Mycroft's smile faltered. That was it. The floodgates were open.
Mycroft was a mess. Tears were flowing so freely that the collar of his shirt had become damp. John didn't know what to do. He had wanted the man to suffer exactly how he did himself, but seeing him like that, it didn't feel right. He walked over to Mycroft and rubbed his back, hesitantly at first, but as the man's cries grew louder he wanted to do anything to comfort him.
It was a couple of minutes before the crying man could talk again. He had quietened down somewhat. Through the man's sobs, John could tell that Mycroft was embarrassed. It didn't seem like he showed any of his emotions often. 'The Ice Man.' Sherlock had once called him.
"I'm so sorry." Those were the words Mycroft said through quiet sobs.
"It's okay; it's not your fault." Words slipped out of John's mouth before he could stop himself. What was he saying? For months he had hated this man. He had blamed everything on him. He had never even questioned whether or not it really was his fault. It just always was in John's mind. It was that moment when the sandy haired man began to wonder. Is Mycroft really to blame?
There wasn't enough time to think about it just then. Mycroft was shaking. He must have been trying to keep his tears as silent as he could, but it wasn't working very well and he was beginning to look more and more out of control. All of a sudden, Mycroft began to take short, rapid breaths. John had seen people react like this in bad situations before. The man was having a panic attack.
"I did it!" Mycroft yelled. "I killed him!"
John went into medic mode strait away. "No you didn't. It wasn't your fault. Now Mycroft, has this ever happened to you before? Do you have any medication for it?"
Mycroft shook his head. By this time there were beads of sweat on his face.
"John, make it stop, please!" He started pleading. "John I need it to stop! I can't cope! Please just let me stop it!"
The ex-army doctor wasn't fully listening; he was concentrating on the man's breathing.
"Just breathe on my count. Can you do that for me?"
Mycroft tried his hardest to do what John was saying, but he just couldn't.
"John, I'm sorry."
John shook his head.
"I told you. It's not your fault."
It was Mycroft's turn to shake his head now.
"I didn't mean that this time."
John tried to cool the other man down.
"What do you mean then?"
He grabbed a few of the things off the desk in order to make something that would resemble a fan. That was when he found out what the papers were. Every single scrap of paper on that desk was something to do with Sherlock's life. There were copies of birth certificates, photographs of the deceased man at various stages of his short life, what looked like letters that the boys had written to each other while Mycroft was at boarding school and five year old Sherlock's diary.
"I stopped you from jumping."
Mycroft was still quite breathless, but he wasn't shaking as much as he was before. It took John a moment to realise what the man had said.
"What do you mean?" He asked. He was still transfixed on the papers in front of him, but he had started fanning Mycroft.
"If I had known how much you had wanted it, how you had needed it, I never would have stopped you."
John stopped fanning Mycroft with the photographs. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I don't want you to hate me for stopping you. I don't want you to feel like Sherlock did."
Mycroft began to cry harder. If he kept going like that, he would throw up.
John had countless emotions raging through him. Sorrow, anger, disgust, that was only the beginning. He managed to force some words out.
"Sherlock doesn't hate you, didn't hate you, I mean. You annoyed him but that was all." There were tears in his eyes now, but he knew he had to calm Mycroft.
The taller man shook his head and tried to breathe normally.
"When he first tried to... you know, he really wanted to go. I couldn't understand at the time. I just wouldn't let it happen. He hated me for it, wouldn't talk to me for years. Then you turned up out of the blue and he didn't want to go anymore. He was finally happy after all those years. I understand now, and I want it all to stop."
John clenched and unclenched his fists. His head was shaking and he was unwillingly letting tears run down his face.
"That's not fair."
It took Mycroft a few seconds to register those words. He felt pathetic for the way he was crying. He hated everything about himself. What on earth was John saying?
"You, you wouldn't let me jump. Why the fuck would I let you have the release that I need?"
Mycroft looked at him in shock.
"Please, John."
John ignored his pleas. Instead, he walked to a door at the other side of the room. It opened to reveal an over-sized bathroom. The ex-army doctor walked to the cabinet above the sink and opened it. He then proceeded to take out every single bottle of pills. There were so many bottles that he had to put them in his pockets to carry them. He noted the bottle of antidepressants and put them in his inside pocket for safe keeping.
Next, he took out the razors. He then looked around the bathroom for any other sharp implements. He found a pair of nail scissors and even thought about removing a mirror. He could still hear Mycroft's cries from the other room.
John walked back into the other man's room and then out the door into the corridor. He walked as quickly as he could back to his own tiny room. When he got there, he headed straight for the nearly empty wardrobe. All the pills, razors and scissors aside from the antidepressants were dumped inside. Before he closed the door a thought popped into his head.
'You could do it now. You've got everything you need.'
He slammed the door shut.
When he got back to Mycroft's room he found the man in the same spot that he had left him in. The man looked terrified.
"You best get some sleep."
Mycroft shook his head like a stubborn child.
"Come on, doctor's orders."
After about a minute of willing himself to stand, Mycroft did so. He was still wearing a shirt and trousers, but he slipped beneath the sheets anyway. John sat down in the desk chair that the tall man had occupied only moments prior.
"I'm going to stay here tonight. God knows what you've got hidden away in here. I'm not letting you die."
Mycroft tried to argue but John gave him a look which scared him away from doing so. The room was silent until Mycroft spoke.
"I need my sleeping pill."
John rolled his eyes. "I'll be back in a moment."
The sandy-haired man stood up and left the room. He walked as quickly as he could to his own room; he even jogged for a few moments. When he got to the wardrobe he opened one of the doors and pulled out all the pill bottles. He looked at the labels on all of them until he found one labelled 'Eszopiclone' John then piled the other bottles back into the tiny wardrobe and closed the door. He walked back to Mycroft's room as quickly as he could, but when he got there he was shocked at what he saw.
Mycroft was standing next to his bed. There was an empty briefcase on his bed and in his hand was a handgun. John's brain tried to think clearly. He needed something to say, and quickly. Mycroft shook his head. Tears were flooding down his face. He closed his red eyes and raised the gun to his temple.
"STOP!"
John's cry made the tall man's eyes snap open. The sandy-haired man looked terrified.
"Killing yourself would kill two people! You're the only person right now who is stopping me from ending everything!"
Mycroft's lip trembled and he let out a cry. The gun stayed pressed to his head.
"Mycroft, stop all this. Just put the gun down. Just for tonight. Just stay one more night."
The Government 'Official' shook his head slightly. He closed his eyes again. He looked so peaceful.
"Please."
Red eyes snapped open again. Mycroft's shaking hands lowered the gun. John's teary face put on an encouraging smile. Mycroft put the gun back into the briefcase. His legs became wobbly and he fell to his knees. This time when he cried he made no noise at all. He looked like a fish choking on air. John felt so sorry for him.
"Thank you"
John walked to the bed and closed the briefcase. He then took it to the desk and put it into a draw on top of some papers. He walked over to Mycroft. The man looked like he was already dead. John helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him. There were still tears rolling down Mycroft's cheeks, but he wasn't making a sound. His eyes were looking lifelessly behind John. The ex-army doctor got the bottle of sleeping pills out of his pocket and took one out. Mycroft opened his mouth slightly and John dropped it in.
It was at least five minutes before anyone said anything. John was sitting in the desk chair thinking over what had just happened. He had thought Mycroft was asleep until he spoke.
"Please don't tell anyone about this."
"I promise I won't, Mycroft."
AN: Well I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I lied a bit, I hadn't finished writing it. Well, I had, but then I changed it. It was just going to be that Mycroft was a bit sad but then he spoke to John and felt better... Or something along those lines!
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed and I should hopefully have the next chapter up next week! (I just need to write it!)
Please let me know what you think of the chapter :)
