Fading out
"What goes around comes around"
John
The way Mrs Hudson looked should've warned him that something was wrong. He sighed mentally, he really hoped it wasn't Mycroft, as much as the two of them are kind of on the same book, not necessarily the page, but the book, he was okay with him. The other day when he was dressed so casual was a bit of shock, but then again Mycroft was Mycroft and he couldn't really be bothered to care.
Then he saw Lady Smallwood, and was surprised, why would she be here? The last time she was here she wanted Sherlock's help with a case. With that man who flicked him in the face, and Sherlock killed, that was over and done with, so no reason to be here again. He stood up, to greet her, when Sherlock's voice cried out.
"NO!" He sharply turned to Sherlock, what the hell is he yelling for? Rosie is just asleep for goodness sake. Sherlock ignored him, the look on his face unreadable, it was scaring John to be honest, he didn't even look like that at the island, the last time he looked like that was before his fall down Bart's. He turned back to Lady Smallwood, who hasn't said a word, she was staring at Sherlock. What the hell was going on? He hoped Mrs Hudson would know but one look at her told him she was must as much in the dark than he was. John watched as Sherlock walked over to her, she didn't flinch or move, Sherlock looked ready to attack. He stared her down, his eyes like lasers on hers, his body vibrating and John was perplexed, what on earth could make Sherlock react this way?
"No." He repeated then spun around and went into his room, the door slamming, he wanted to yell about waking Rosie, to yell at him to tell him what the hell is going on, but he didn't came back out. Looked at Mrs Hudson frightening in the corner, her eyes wide and he took a breath to calm himself, his hands clenched in fists next to him.
"What happened?" his voice was clipped and impatient. Lady Smallwood ignored his anger and took her time before answering.
"Mycroft Holmes died today." The room was deadly quiet, not even a sound was made when she turned around and walked away leaving the two of them in the room, staring at the spot she stood. John and Mrs Hudson turned as one from the spot to each other, their faces mirroring in the shock and confusion that overwhelmed them both. Mycroft? Dead? The British Government? No, it can't be, he was just here the other day, and he was just here being his usual…no wait…he was different… besides the clothes, he had none of that usual arrogance and importance about him, in fact he looked defeated. Sherlock would've seen something, he didn't say anything. "No buts. Just sign the documents; you didn't want me here in the first place, until I told you this concern Dr. Watson and his daughter too, so let's not pretend you actually care and I won't pretend everything is fine and we are all moving on, so please sign the papers so I can leave." Johnremembered those words and back then when it filled him with a sense of pride of achievement of importance over Mycroft in Sherlock's life, now it filled him with anguish. It was so clear, they missed it, he missed it on purpose, and he was too busy to hate Mycroft that he didn't see the truth. Now it was too late.
He sat down in his chair, the strength out of his legs, one part wants to go to Sherlock, the other part desperately wanted to make sense of this, taking a breath he looked up to the documents, the new Trust. His and Sherlock's and Rosie's; no Mycroft. "Ignore everything he just said, he's being kind, he's trying to make it easy…for me to kill him." John closed his eyes as he remembered. Mycroft tried to get his own brother to kill him, so he could live. Now when he thinks back about it, it was actually clear, Mycroft saw what it did to Sherlock to lose his best friend, he couldn't let it happen again. He was so angry with everything back then, with Mary's death, with Sherlock, with Smith, with Mycroft and the whole island, that he was oblivious to what was actually in front of him.
The love, the power and the strength in Mycroft, to sacrifice his entire career and life multiple times over for Sherlock. That was all gone now. He, nor Sherlock or Mrs Hudson would ever see Mycroft Holmes again. Gone is the days where a discreet black car would pick him up, ask him about Sherlock. No more cameras that would follow him as they walk down the street, no more unannounced little visits from Mycroft, trying to irate Sherlock with a little mind game. Rosie would never meet her uncle with the umbrella and the three piece suit.
For some reason that made him sad as he sat there on the sofa, staring ahead, there was no noise from Sherlock's room; he wonders how he is taking it. "Did he offer you money?" "Yes" Did you take it?" "No." "Shame, we could've split the money." Well they're splitting the money now, a whole Trust.
Rosie started crying somewhere in the night and he was occupied with her. Sherlock refused to eat the next morning, he hardly acknowledges them in the room, he ignored Mrs Hudson completely and John knew he was angry with her. With them all, they all made no secret about their dislike for Mycroft, they treated him like crap when he was here, and now that he will never put his feet here in the flat, John knew he would do pretty much anything to change that. Even if it is just to say thank you.
The next day he went with Sherlock to see the body, he read the report, Mycroft was caught in a car bomb, he saw the photos, the scarred flesh and wounds that would never heal.
"Look after him, please."
God, how? He had no idea, what he let himself in for, he nodded back then, didn't pay attention, now that Sherlock was missing for a few days, he had no idea where to start looking. Every time he picks up the phone to call Mycroft, to check the cameras, to tell him where to start looking it takes the robotic voice of "The number you've dialled does not exist, please try again" to hammer that nail in the coffin of Mycroft is not there anymore. Ever.
It took everybody, especially John and Mrs Hudson to realise just what the cost of losing Mycroft was, it took for him to die, to realise just how important he was to Sherlock, to know the effect he had on him, to see that Mycroft was one of the main foundations where Sherlock build his perception, his deduction, his Mind Palace on.
He finally found Sherlock the second time he went missing at his brother's grave. He was finally asleep; the tears dry on his face. Next to him were a flower, a single one, and a folded paper. He read the first line, before he broke down in tears since he found out about Mycroft's death. What goes around comes around. He blamed Mycroft; he hated him for meddling in his brother's life, for being his keeper, now he, John Watson is Sherlock's keeper, no he is the one to meddle to keep Sherlock safe.
What goes around comes around, indeed. He sat on his knees next to the huddled figure of Sherlock. "Look after him please."