Guardian Chapter Two
-Three years earlier.-
It was the day of the funeral. John had dressed in a black suit and tie. He had skipped breakfast that day. He didn't feel like eating.
John felt he had left too much of the funeral planning to Mrs Hudson and Greg. Mrs Hudson, John noticed, was beginning to look older. She always seemed so much more tired now. Greg also seemed different. He had been in a lot of trouble at work, and his marriage was falling apart. Every day his hair seemed to be becoming less silver, and more of a dull grey.
John felt awful for leaving them both to organize everything, but they'd just told him that everything was going to be fine. That they'd sort it.
John and Mrs Hudson arrived at the church early morning. Mrs Hudson had hoped it would be sunny. One last beautiful day for her beautiful boy. Sherlock wasn't really her son, but she loved him as if he were. Instead it was a bit misty.
They met Greg inside the church. His wife hadn't come. He'd been talking to the vicar about the service.
Two hours later people began to arrive at the church. John saw Molly turn up in a black dress, and Angelo in a suit. Greg walked over to John. "Are you okay?" he asked, putting his hand on the man's shoulder.
"Never better." said John frowning.
Greg tried to smile reassuringly. "It'll be okay. It will take time, but things will get better." John looked thankful.
"A man outside asked me to give you this." said Greg, handing John the envelope. It was lilac, and John's name was printed on the front. The sandy haired man opened it. He'd received a wave of sympathy cards over the last couple of days. He didn't expect this one to be any different.
On the inside of the card were the words: Sorry we couldn't make the funeral- Mrs Holmes
John put the card near the coffin. He'd never met Sherlock's parents. He hadn't expected them to even say anything. A card was better than nothing.
The service began. John sat in the front row pew, along with Greg and Mrs Hudson. Soft music played as an elderly vicar said some words. It wasn't a big turn out. There was a few people in the church whom Sherlock had helped over the years who had come to pay their respects, but not many people who actually knew him.
Halfway through the service the door to the church opened and Mycroft stepped in. The vicar stopped speaking for a moment.
"Apologies." said Mycroft quietly. "I was held up at work."
He sat down in the back row of pews away from everyone else. The vicar began speaking again, but John stood up stiffly. Anger was bubbling up inside him. Greg could see this, and stood up to try and calm John down.
The ex- army doctor marched over to the government 'official'
"Get out." he snarled through his teeth.
Mycroft looked surprised. "John, I..."
"I don't give a shit." interrupted John. He balled his hands into fists. "Get out." he ordered again.
By this time, the vicar had stopped speaking and the small number of people who had come to pay their respects were all facing the two of them. Lestrade stepped in. "Come on John, it's okay. He's just..."
"He killed him! It's his fault he's dead!" John shouted angrily. Greg stared at Mycroft in shock. "He told Moriarty all about Sherlock's life, and that gave Jim the power to kill him!" John continued.
"John please, just listen to me!" pleaded Mycroft as he rose to his feet. John shook his head. "Get out." he hissed. "Get out!"
Mycroft stood there confused and upset. He didn't want to leave. He needed to say goodbye to his baby brother. "Please John." he urged.
"Mycroft, I think you should go." said Greg quietly. He put a hand on the skinny man's shoulder and walked him out the door. Mycroft looked broken.
After the service, the small group of people made their way outside. The mist had cleared up a bit but there was a faint chill in the air. John could see his breath.
"Greg, I need to be alone for a bit." said John quietly. "I'll just be round the corner."
Greg nodded. "That's fine. Take as long as you need."
John inwardly cringed. Everyone had started to be so nice to him. People talked to him as if he were a child. He didn't think it was necessary. It wasn't him who had died, though as the days passed he was beginning to wish it was. He didn't tell anyone.
John walked around to the back of the church. In the distance he
could see a hole in the ground. It was strange to think that very soon his best friend would be in that hole, covered up forever.
To his left, John could hear footsteps. 'I asked Greg for some peace.' thought John slightly annoyed. To his surprise, a teary eyed Mycroft appeared at his side. The man's hair was oddly out of place. A ginger curl hung over his forehead. John's jaw tightened.
"I thought I told you to leave." hissed John angrily.
"I have to say goodbye. He's my baby brother."
Mycroft was barely holding it together. His lip was trembling and he was shaking. John didn't care.
"He's not your brother after what you did to him." John's hands clenched into fists.
"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry." pleaded Mycroft.
"Leave, Mycroft." instructed John viscously.
Mycroft just shook his head.
John couldn't stand to look at him any more. He punched the man in the face. They could both hear the sickening noise as Mycroft's nose broke.
"Fuck you!" shouted John.
The older man grabbed his nose and fell to his knees in pain. John kneed him in the eye and began to walk away.
Greg had heard John's shouts and came running. He found John walking away from an injured Mycroft.
"Here's another tissue." said Greg as he handed Mycroft a Kleenex to clean up the blood.
"Thanks." said Mycroft quietly.
They were both sitting on a bench outside the church. Everyone else had left except from the vicar, who was inside the church.
"I mean no disrespect, but why does John think that you killed your brother?" asked Greg.
Mycroft looked down. "It's because I did."
Greg looked shocked. Mycroft continued.
"I told Moriarty all about
Sherlock's life. I left some bits out, but I told him what he needed to know."
"Why?" asked Greg, his voice becoming raised.
Mycroft wiped more blood away. "To get a key code. It turns out that it didn't exist."
Greg began to look a bit sympathetic.
"But do you know why I'm angry at myself. I mean, really angry." asked Mycroft.
Greg shook his head.
"It's because I wasn't even that sure that the code really did exist. I gave Moriarty all these facts about my brother, thinking that there may or may not be a key code. And now he's dead." Mycroft began crying quietly.
Greg stood up. "I'm going." he said. "I don't want to hear any more from you."