When I sleep, I hardly ever dream. Tonight was just one of those nights, though. I saw him, the man, and he was walking down a hall toward me. I rushed forward, but only ended up running into his arms no matter which way I tried to escape. It was a never ending empty hallway. I screamed and screamed until I could no more, though I knew no one would hear me. He produced a knife when finally I gave up on my escape and I awoke as he drew the blade across my throat. When I opened my eyes I looked up into two pairs of eyes looking down at me; light blue of Sherlock's and brown of John's. I sat up, rushing my head past their examining looks.
"Don't watch me like that, I'm not a child," I said, a little more angry than intended. They had both moved to face my back, now, as I pushed my blankets off of my legs. I rose a brow at the shorts and t-shirt that were much different from the jeans and long-sleeve of earlier. Who had changed me? I stood, my toes touching the cold, hard wood floor and sending a shiver up my spine. The room was completely quiet as I tested mt legs out and shivered. I turned then, remembering something from last night.
"You're dead," I said, looking confusedly at Sherlock. I went over to him and touched his face, which he flinched away from. My hands were freezing. I reared my hand and slapped him. Yes, I knew it was a girly hit, but I was weak and even if I wanted to hit him harder I couldn't. He was my brother, after all. No matter what he'd done I was sure there had to be an explanation for it and I would know soon. I walked past him, then, and sneezed. John rushed to me and forced one of his sweaters over my had.
"You'll catch every illness in the book," John muttered, but I figured it was just a way for him to get the thing on me. I shrugged and turned to both of them. Sherlock was staring intently at both of us and fighting the urge to speak. His arms were crossed and he stood in a stance he usually does when he's observing.
"Well, go ahead," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Dyed hair, hiding from something. Not kept up, not worried about it anymore. Scars on your arms, spousal abuse or self-harm. Not John, though a relationship is clear, but you're not as obvious about it as he is. So self-harm; you are lonely, only about ten contacts in your phone, one of them being your psychiatrist, who has you on a regiment for depression. You're fighting feelings, though this is the first time in a long time you've felt any, whether it be from medicine or choice. Something is holding you back. You have somewhere to be, only reason you'd get out of bed so fast. Your slap was weak, you've had a rough couple of days. Your past had come back to haunt you and you're not coping well," He said. I waited for more, but he just blinked.
"You're not as open a book as most, Myra. You've built such a tall wall," He said, frowning a little bit. I wondered how he even managed without people to tell about his deductions.
"So, Mycroft knew you were alive?" John asked Sherlock, still a bit of bitterness in his usually sweet voice. Sherlock shook his head.
"No, I was able to sneak in shortly before you all arrived. I had to say, though, that I was surprised to see you Myra. I thought you were dead," He replied, turning his attention to me. My brows rose. How could he not know I was alive? Did Mycroft not tell him? I left the room, marching back toward where I knew Mycroft was still sitting. I stood in front of him, obstructing his view of the fireplace. He rolled his eyes and sighed before he looked up at me.
"You told Sherlock that I was dead?" I was livid, I couldn't believe him. Sherlock was such a young boy, he didn't need something like that.
"What did you want me to say?" He asked to counter to my question.
"I don't know Mycroft, that I was at school, studying abroad. Maybe the truth, that I'd moved? Not that I was bloody murdered!" I yelled at him, my throat hoarse. I hadn't had anything to drink in many many hours.
"Well, he's fine, Myra, what do you want from me?" I scoffed.
"Fine? He's completely fine, Mycroft. Just like you're fine. You can stop blaming yourself for what happened to me. I lived. I am fine. I know it hurt, Mycroft, but you don't have to torture yourself forever because all you've done is wrapped yourself in this blanket of sadness and built walls tall enough and thick enough for no one to get through. You wanna know how I know, because I've built that house. You know what, I'm knocking it down. You need to get out there, be a human Mycroft," I swallowed, watching him. His face was unchanged, but his eyes, however, glistened with tears I doubted would come.
"We're all here now, brother," I whispered as I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his neck. I expected nothing, so the arm that did come from Mycroft to hug back was a complete surprise. We stayed light that for many long minuted until I finally stood up.
"What now?" John asked, obviously a little out of the loop, but still curious.