"We are so lightly here.

It is in love that we are made.

In love we disappear."

Boogie street | Leonard Cohen

Sherlock is gliding in the air. He is surprised to find that he still exists in this world; even in this non-material form, yet he feels thankful. As he disappeared in the operating room, he had truly thought it was the end for him. Then suddenly, the world once again opened up before his eyes. Sherlock is slightly startled to find that he is still in the hospital hall, about to return to the operating room to find John again when suddenly he sees the figure of Mycroft quietly alone on the waiting bench. His brother is sitting up straight, a bit too straight, just like a stone statue; gripping the umbrella handle tightly, his face turns toward the surgical area with a worried, distant look. Sherlock's heart suddenly tightens. He wonders how Mycroft will react when being informed that Sherlock is already dead.

Your loss would break my heart, he told him so. Will his death really affect him that much, Sherlock feels curious. Ever since they were kids, with Mycroft's unhealthy eating habits and the lack of physical activity, Sherlock had always thought his brother would be the first to die between them two. Needless to mention he is seven years older than Sherlock. But then since he first discovered this disease, when he had accepted that he would have to die soon, every time he thought about Mycroft, he remembered the words he said that Noel night. All lives end. Maybe Mycroft wouldn't be too upset with his death. It's not that kind of brotherhood between them, Sherlock sometimes reminded himself that, whenever he deliberately rejected Mycroft's excuses to stay in 221B longer for more talking; or when he pretended to be busy to hang up on Mycroft's calls. He thought he didn't like Mycroft having to pretend to care. After all, it will just be a death as every others, everyone dies, that's what Mycroft never cease to emphasize. So, Sherlock didn't want him to feel pity for him. Whenever he visited or called, Sherlock just wanted to quickly find whatever excuses, or pretended to be tired to send him home early. Now that he rethinks about those times, Sherlock feels a bit regretful. If he had known that between them, these real moments were actually that limited, that rare, maybe he would have spent a little more time with him.

He thinks maybe he should sit here a little while longer with Mycroft. Just out of curiosity, not that he cares about his brother's feelings at all. The relationship between them is not like that. Sherlock reassures himself again and sits down next to Mycroft. Just sit. Of course, he doesn't see him. No one sees him at all.

Mycroft sits there worried, an ill premonition is rooting deeper in his mind. After the phone call with John, he immediately requested a team to go to Molly's. Thinking that John would need more time to take care of Sherlock, Molly took Rosie to her parents' summer house in the suburbs of London, so it takes longer to reach her place. So far Mycroft hasn't heard any news. John hasn't come out yet, even though he told him to wait for him in the lobby. The surgery has been going on for more than 6 hours. Mycroft is restless, he tries to keep his cool cover, he doesn't like his feelings to be easily seen, but gradually his heart is telling him that something really bad is about to happen. If it has not already happened.

Sherlock, how are you doing?

Sherlock silently sits beside Mycroft for quite a long time. Mycroft remains the same straight posture, looking a little tired, a little stiff, he still clutches the umbrella handle in his hand, gripping it so tightly it must have hurt, but he doesn't seem to notice. Sherlock looks at his brother's face, which is getting a little paler than minutes ago; the hospital hall is cold tonight but his forehead seems to be covered with sweat. Sherlock suddenly has a strange feeling in his heart. For years, he hardly ever spared his brother a glance, he surely never looked at him this intently like what he's doing now. It's such a waste that it takes him too long to finally realize, has he already died that he starts to know how valuable this life is. How he wishes he had just a little more time, just a few moments more, to let everyone know that he too is grateful for their presences in his life. For their nonstop caring over his arrogant self.

He suddenly remembers about that Christmas, when he and his brother were also quietly standing beside each other in the hospital lobby just like this. He really wishes he could speak up now, to let Mycroft know that he is still with him in this very moment, maybe he would hug Mycroft and say goodbye. What was the last thing he said to him before the surgery? He doesn't even remember. Before the surgery, John, Rosie and their small apartment are everything he has ever thought of. Apparently he never said goodbye to Mycroft. At that time, he did not think that he would die like this. At that time, he still had some faith, that God would not treat him, treat John that bad; he still believed that he would wake up after the operation, never imagined he would be trapped in the form of a spirit like this...

He wonders how much longer he can stay like this?

Suddenly, Sherlock feels worried about Rosie and Molly. He originally intended to sit with Mycroft for a while, and then he would return to find John, but perhaps… he has to make sure Rosie and Molly are safe before he could peacefully say his final goodbye to John. Sherlock stands up and slightly pats Mycroft's back, then turns his head toward the door. Mycroft, goodbye, please take care. I'm sorry I have to leave.

Certainly, Mycroft feels nothing.

John shuffles heavily, he sees Mycroft still sitting quietly waiting on the hospital lobby bench, suddenly he feels his heart throbbing. Seeing John's dismayed expression, Mycroft abruptly stands up in shock then slowly approaches.

"John?"

"I'm sorry, Mycroft..."

Mycroft pauses, getting dizzy, he staggers few steps backward as if to escape from this reality. He knows what that line means, but… he still hopes that he has just misheard, or misunderstood.

"What did you say? John? How's Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice cracks.

John falls to his knees, he kneels on the floor with his hands over his face, bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry. It was me who killed Sherlock. He died by my hands… Mycroft, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… You can do anything to me, but…"

Not letting John finish, Mycroft rushes forward, he also kneels down fast, grabs John by the shoulder and slightly shakes him, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Tell me, how did it happen? John? Sherlock, he's… Where did the surgery go wrong? You did a lot of research, didn't you? Why is that, tell me, John!" Tears suddenly flow down on his face uncontrollably, he collapses to the floor in shock.

"I…" John is still crying, unable to hold back his sobs. Mycroft suddenly rises up, he pulls John's arm.

"John, take me to Sherlock… John, I have to see him…" Not only his voice, but his whole body is shaking now.

Biting his lip, John staggers to his feet, then reaches out and holds Mycroft back. "Don't…"

Mycroft immediately shakes John's hand away, he hurriedly raises his hand to wipe his tears and is about to run to the operating room when John once again grabs his arm.

"Mycroft, listen to me. Please… Don't go in there, don't look, you'll infect him… Mycroft, I'll explain everything, but first, have you heard from Molly?"

Stunned by Molly's name, Mycroft slowly sits back down on the bench across from John, he tries to control his emotions, but his eyes are still blurry.

"I… have not. I haven't received any information…"

John grips the phone tightly in his hand.

"I still can't get in touch with Molly. Can I… can I rely on you on this? I can't leave the hospital now… I did my best, I really did... If it's still not enough to save them… then I'll just go with them…" With a muffled voice, John lowers his head, tears streaming down his clenched hands. "Mycroft, listen, you have to listen to me calmly. Sebastian Moran. Do you know this name?"

Searching through his memory, Mycroft is horrified at the name.

"Formerly of the 1st Bangalore Pioneers. Served in the army for 15 years before… died in an onslaught of extremist rebels. So I didn't study him too closely. Rumored to have saved James Moriarty's life several times, but no one knows for sure. But… he is dead?"

"He's not dead, Mycroft. He just called me, there are two of them, that's what I know, him and a nurse called herself Amber, I'm not sure... He asked me to inject poison into Sherlock's new heart, or else he would kill Molly and Rosie. I…"

Mycroft, stunned, interrupts John.

"So back then…"

John clenches his fists and looks Mycroft straight in the eye.

"I had no choice. I must do that to save Rosie and Molly, I know I did Sherlock wrong. But…"

Before he can finish speaking, Mycroft's phone suddenly rings. Mycroft looks at John for a moment then presses the listen button, he turns on the speaker. John holds his breath waiting for Mycroft to answer the call.

.

"Report?"

"Sir, we have arrived. No sign of the suspect, a team is staying behind to look for more evidence. The two subjects are probably drugged, both unconscious, we are on the way to the hospital for more comprehensive examinations. There are no open wounds."

"OK. If there's news, report to me or Anthea immediately." Pausing for a moment, Mycroft adds. "Tell everyone to bemore careful, suspect retired from the army, is very ruthless."

"Yes sir."

.

John lets out a small sigh. He cannot hold back the tears that flows freely now; trembling, he drops his face to his hands and cries silently. So at least Rosie and Molly are still alive. Thank goodness! John feels himself drained of energy, inside him a feeling of relief mixed with pain seems to overflow, leaving him stunned, not knowing how to feel. John's shoulders trembles, the overwhelming grief makes him smaller than ever. Mycroft is still clutching the phone in his hand, but his gaze is uncertain.

"John, I won't blame you, you don't have to blame yourself either. If it was Sherlock he would choose to do the same. For Rosie, and Molly, you do know that he could die for the two of them. And you too…" Mycroft says softly, reminding John as well as for himself to hear.

John does not answer. He is still crying silently, his shoulders shaking. After a few minutes, he suddenly speaks, breaking the silence.

"Mycroft, I didn't think you would say that to comfort me, thank you anyway. But the truth is, I harmed Sherlock with my own hands... That's something I'll never be able to forgive myself for…" John looks up, he stares at Mycroft. "Mycroft, listen, we actually can still save him."

Shockingly, Mycroft looks at John in disbelief.

"What did you just say? Sherlock isn't dead yet? What can we do, John?"

John grits his teeth.

"Yes, Sherlock is still alive. Barely. He is kept alive by a ventilator and bypass machine. I'm asking Jade to check with other departments to see if we can have any luck finding another organ donation... She'll probably text me in a few minutes..."

"What is the ratio? How likely is it to find another heart for Sherlock? And… how much longer can he wait for us, John?…"

John keeps his head down, avoiding Mycroft's gaze.

"About four hours… There are also cases where people are able to live with a heart-lung bypass machine for a very long time, but in my opinion, in order to minimize the risks during and after surgery, it is still best to operate within the first four to six hours." Fumbling with the phone in his hand, John silently prays for some good news from Jade, even though he knows the odds of what he is expecting are almost implausible. Sherlock had to wait almost a year for a matching donor heart, now he has only four hours, the odds are close to zero. Still, John wants to try his luck one last time. "If I can't find another donor heart, there's still mine..."

Totally in shock, Mycroft stares at John with wide eyes.

"What did you just say? You meant…?"

John smiles briefly, even though tears are still streaming down his face.

"Yes. The key is there. They think Sherlock doesn't stand any chance to survive after that heart being poisoned, but months ago, I once secretly ran the ABO groups and HLA antibody screening tests between our bloods. Sherlock didn't know that his blood and mine are also quite compatible, good enough for one try."

Mycroft jumps to his feet, looking at John with disbelief.

"You think I'll just let you do that? What about Sherlock? What about him, John? Why do you even think he can survive at the expense of your life?"

John looks up into Mycroft's eyes, his gaze steady.

"That's why I came here to ask for your help. Mycroft… I can't let Sherlock die. Especially by my hands… Mycroft, if Sherlock dies, I'll definitely kill myself, you know that already... Those days, do you still remember how you came to me every weekend, then secretly set up surveillance cameras, and even threw away all my guns? I still remember how oddly it was for a person who never went to cafés like you insisted to invite me to fish and chips all the time. Chips!" John smiles softly. "You two are really brothers, aren't you?"

Then John purses his lips. "This time is different, you won't be able to stop me… Sherlock is everything to me now, if I lose him again…" John raises his hand to wipe away the tears. "If I will die anyway… Mycroft, I'd rather give him this heart… If he has a part of me inside him, he'll just appreciate his life even more, he won't do anything foolish… I know he won't… I hope he won't… I understand Sherlock, Mycroft… So, please, help me…"

Mycroft is shocked, he feels weak at his knees, almost falling back into the bench.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Dr. Wells and Bernet. I know, you still asked them to come here. I happened to see them in the canteen today morning… Mycroft, even though it's midnight, can you call them here urgently?"

"Yes… I think I can. And?"

"Jade is the nurse who has worked with me for years. She also saw Amber's face, we've been colleagues for a long time, you just ask and she'll help identify her. About Moran, I only heard his voice, he has a low, husky voice, nothing special. I really hope you can find them."

"What is your plan, John?" Suppressing the stream of emotions that are choking in his throat, Mycroft forces himself to speak. "Surely not with poison?"

John purses his lips, his voice steady.

"Poison? It would be much easier that way, but no. In the hospital, I know a lot of euthanasia drugs, but I cannot choose a method that might harm Sherlock's heart. No overdose... I… can't get home in time to get my gun, so I want to ask for yours… I know you always carry a gun with you." John glances at the handle of the umbrella leaning against the bench where Mycroft sits. "Mycroft, I have to die right here in this hospital, it has to be within the hospital campus, and right after that, an organ removal operation must be performed immediately. Sherlock won't wait for much longer, so as soon as Wells and Bernet get here, I must have been declared dead. I already signed the consent form for organ donation, so there should be no problem."

Mycroft is totally in shock.

"You want me to kill you?"

"No, no, that would be too much to ask of you. You will be investigated, it's not worth your time. I can do it myself, as long as you lend me the gun… It's easy, Moriarty can do it, so can I. Anyway, I never promised my brain to anyone." John smiles sadly at Mycroft.

Mycroft doesn't reply. They both remain silent, John waiting for a text from Jade, while Mycroft starts opening his contacts to find the phone numbers of the two doctors. The atmosphere is getting heavy and everyone is lost in their own thoughts. Jade's message comes first.

"No luck, Mycroft. It's been a quiet night, Jade just told me, the hospital doesn't have any more cases." John smiles wistfully.

Mycroft bits his lip, he looks at his watch, it shows 1:20 am.

"Wells and Bernet are both on their ways. It will probably take them about 30 minutes."

John says nothing, he clutches the phone in his hand, flips through the pictures of Sherlock and Rosie, he looks at them over and over as if he wants to imprint their appearances deeper in his mind. Rosie, forgive daddy. Papa will take care of you, okay?

Mycroft looks at John who is still sitting across from him, he looks tired but within him, there seems to be a sense of serenity making his whole form glow. Suddenly, Mycroft softly speaks.

"John, would you like to leave a message?"

John looks up and smiles at Mycroft.

"Probably no need. I think Sherlock will understand what I mean to say. Rosie is still too young, I hope when she grows up, she won't remember me much, it's for her best."

Mycroft remains quiet. He takes the umbrella in his hand, then gently removes the umbrella handle. Suddenly, he points the customized gun directly at John and smiles coldly. It takes a lot of attention to recognize the warmth in his eyes.

"So John, I'm sorry."

And he quickly pulls the trigger to John's surprise. The timing isn't right yet.

An explosion rings out in the quiet hospital corridor.