Well here's the other ending. I couldn't stick to just one ending unfortunately. And again sorry for the long delay, I got tied up with my official book called the Upgrade Game: Project Alpha. If you want to check it out, I have it on Wattpad under the author "ThisIsMyTruth".
Three Years Later
He pulled the coat tight around him trying to block out the cold winter air. Sherlock had been forced to sneak out of the house late at night in order to escape the notice of John or of Mary. They wouldn't understand. He didn't expect them too. They all believed him to be a cold high functioning sociopath. That's the way he wanted it to be. Sherlock wanted them to believe that he was cold, distant, emotionless. It saved him the trouble of explaining just how destroyed, lonely, and broken he truly felt.
After all, he hadn't gone to her funeral.
He came to a stop in front of her grave. Lauren Benet was etched into the cold black stone. A set of dates were right below. With a single gloved hand, Sherlock brushed off the snow. He bent down and removed the dead flowers from the side holder. "It's been a long time, Lauren. Sorry, it took me so long to stop by again."
"The dead don't speak back, Sherlock." Mycroft's voice replied. "Surely, you remember that."
Sherlock knew that Mycroft had followed him there. He didn't face his brother.
"I also remember that I told you 'Caring isn't an advantage.'"
"So," Sherlock contradicted. "After three years of silence, you finally came to gloat."
"Well, you didn't make it easy for me. You sort of slipped off the grid the past few years. It was an impressive feat by the way."
"Ever thought that I did it just to avoid you," Sherlock growled.
"You make it sound like it's my fault, Sherlock."
Sherlock whirled around to face his brother. "You could have stopped her from entering that taxi about four years ago. The accident that result caused by Charles Augustus Magnussen, it almost killed her and it killed her unborn child. Why didn't you stop her?"
Mycroft readjusted his open umbrella on his shoulder. "If I knew, Sherlock, I would have. Remember that she wasn't pregnant your child, but the child of a serial killer. Or did you forget that on purpose in order to claim that the child as yours to help her raise it? It was better this way, Sherlock."
Sherlock suddenly grabbed Mycroft's shirt pulling his brother in closer. Anger flared up inside him.
"What are you going to do, Sherlock? Kill me?"
Sherlock paused before finally shoving Mycroft away. "No, I won't." He began walking away.
"Sherlock," Mycroft called after his younger brother. "Sherlock."
But Sherlock kept walking away the dead flowers still in one hand.
"SHERLOCK!"