Chapter 7 : And How Machines Bleed~
Sherlock's head was spinning with a billion memories, and deductions, and the deductions serving as the dull attempt at a distraction from the whirlwind that the fire he'd long supressed inside him, was waking into motion. For Sherlock realized that he was holocaust, in part. Wondered what part of this all Jim Moriarty had known, wondered why the Keys had tired of him to the point of finally trying to kill him, wondered how Sherrin-(scratch that tedious name:Sherry ,aka:Mary Watson) had survived.
Was in darkness, had been for most of his life. There had only been two glimpses of light in the enitre 33 years he had drawn breath after painful breath. He called them his Dawn- early days when Mum and Dad were still alive( he was yet in the dark about what happened to his father...) and Mycroft was still his friend,and Sherry was there,and safe, and a bubbly little girl, stuck in between two genius,abnoxious brothers. And his Dusk- like a second dawn, like an evening star-the days of his life with John Watson, which had brought his life to a full circle,and a close at the Reichenbach Fall, which he considered his life's end ( he had ended,for John).
Now he was pacing, like a horse in a cage, head on fire, heart too hollow to tell what it felt, face hot with quiet tears. Hands tearing through his hair, like the wind slices through tree boughs, in the depths of the night.
"Sherlock..."John gasped, at the sight of him. He looked up, with a jolt. His lips were clenched,and white, trying not to dirty himself with vomit.
"Tell me...what I need to do, whatever I need to do-to fix all of this- I will bleed, I will bleed rivers,John!"
John took Sherlock by the shoulders.
"LOOK at me."
Sherlock did, and let out a harsh breath. John nodded, "The first thing you need to do is make peace with your brother,and then, you need to come back in here, so we can hear Mary's side of it, -sounds like you're starting to remember?What kinda nickname is Sherbert anyway?" he turned to Mary at the end of that sentence, the last bit coming out like a strangled laugh.
"The Little Sherlock that I knew,had a bit of an addiction to something as tame as ice cream."Mary giggled, now in tears,at the thought of her twin brother, that she had only remembered her whole life from being told he was dead, and they had always called him "Billy"(knowing now that Sherlock's first name was actually William ,this made sense...)
"Oh, Sherlock." she laughed, looking at the still bordering on manic young detective, "You were such an adorable little boy. My very favorite-I played with you more than I did my schoolmates."
Sherlock blinked, not remembering much about his childhood. The only thing he could clearly remember(other than what he'd just confessed) was his dream to be a pirate,and that Redbeard, his faithful dog, sailed right beside him, and ,when not sailing, nuzzled him, when he hurt ,and wanted more of the medicine he knew he shouldn't be taking by himself. He smiled. Before John ,there had only been one other being that had fully accepted him, and that was old Redbeard...
Just then,Mycroft was crossing the room ,like a knife sliding through paper, and threw his arms around him.
"Let me NEVER hear you say, that you don't bleed again. I watched,I was there for every moment of your Hiatus, if you recall..."
John swallowed a great lump in his throat, but Mycroft wasn't done,
"I bleed too ,you know, even if it's only colorless water, from my icy heart. And NEVER dare to ask me such a thing as you just did..EVER again. Never. How could I save you? How could I NOT? My flesh may be ice, but you are still my very flesh, and I love you,Sherlock, do you understand?"
Sherlock nodded wildly, "I'm...I'm ...ummm...sorry, Myc."
Mycroft stood up straight,and straightened his jacket. Sherlock rubbed his fist into his tears, unaware that the wetness on his face was considered crying-he thought his headache was causing his eyes to water.
"We are a family," Mycroft said, pulling his twins,and their adopted brother/brother- in- law,in under his arms, like gathering them in for a secret.
"One heart feeds off of our many veins. Never forget that when you go letting some blood, siblings mine."
John smiled ,realizing he was just officially annexed into the Holmes family, by the oldest living male.
"He's got the brains, so lets be his braun, whilst he is yet weak. And no, don't try to argue that , Sherlock, it's not an insult, -your knees are knocking, to prove my point! There's shame in being human, so long as one submits to reason. But if you weren't utterly traumatized by witnessing the murder-" his throat grew tight, "of our mother, there would be something WRONG with you, then. Now, enough tears, enough madness. Shall we solve this case?"
They all nodded in unison,and Sherlock grinned, impishly,
"Ohohoh, yes we shall!This one isn't just utterly fascinating...It's personal."
Leading the way, he stormed back into the room where Greg sat still,dejected.