/Now./
"Mycroft lost it," she said. "He completely fell to pieces. He didn't sleep or eat for days, just sat at his piano composing sad music. I thought he was going to kill himself."
"Did he try?"
"I honestly don't know. I was a bit of a mess myself at the time. Greg had to drag me out of bed."
"And Sherlock?"
"Showed up about two weeks later, high as a kite. Completely missed the funeral. Didn't even know they'd died. Mycroft was furious. I was furious. He let us all down and then had the audacity…"
He's just a lunatic and he'll always let you down and you're wasting your time.
Now he understood the meaning behind her words. "How'd he take the news?"
"He overdosed on cocaine," she said bitterly.
"Jesus Christ," John swiped his hands across his face. "This explains so much."
"I suppose it does," Sally said.
"What, um, what was Mycroft doing at the crime scene today? What set the whole thing off?"
A pained smile made its way across Sally's face. "He's sweet on Molly Hooper. Been coming to me and Greg for advice. It was such a simple case I don't think he expected Sherlock to be there and, well, he's Sherlock isn't he? Freakishly intelligent and capable of seeing through everyone."
"Yeah, but why the violence? I mean, what did he say?"
"Thing is, John…I don't think he's forgiven himself for what happened to them. I don't think he ever will. He's going to carry their memory with him for the rest of his life, and maybe he should, but I think he doesn't want Mycroft to get over them either. He doesn't want to be the only one sleeping next to ghosts at night."
"So you think he said something about Merry…about her memory…to Mycroft? To what? To hurt him? Put him off Molly?"
"That's exactly what I think."
"God. Right. I have to go. I have to find Sherlock," he tells her as he rises from the table. "I…thank you, Sally. I know we've never really got on, but…thank you."
"Don't thank me, John. Tell Sherlock to let Mycroft get on with his life. Then try to get him to do the same, if you can."