Disclaimer: Don't own... you shouldn't be surprised anymore. Well if then, I would really start questioning your intelligence.
Only a small little chapter to lighten up the mood. And by small, I really mean small. I recently got over my writer's block though so feel sure that there'll be new chapters coming up soon. :) (*slow-claps herself*)
But still, wow, your response has been so kind! You are such amazing people- ugh *let me love you* I had never expected this. :3 *hugs*
I wake up, a strange sharp feeling surrounding my eyes, while my stomach aches with unease. I shouldn't be awake, not now. It's dark. And I wouldn't be, usually. Something must have woken me up. And I can hear-
"John, John?" A hesitant whisper, fearful, innocent. Nearly helpless. "John? Are you there?"
My first instinct is to ring for the nurses, but after one second of pondering I withdraw my arm. He sounds more afraid, scared, if anything. Definitely not in need of nurses tattering about, the bright light stinging back in his eyes, the noise. I might as well be wrong, but it never hurts to follow your gut feeling. At least it never hurt me yet. It's what I always do.
"Sherlock? I'm here."
Good. So, I'm still there. Breathing. Faltering, yes, but at least I am.
He's here with me, which must mean I'm not alone. It was merely a dream; it has to be. Just an illusion. Somebody's there for me; John. To fix me up. I don't have to be afraid of the dark, or of anything. I hope. I'm not alone.
There's something there which I can grasp. I'm not nothing. I am. Here.
But still, I feel alone. Empty describes it better. Somewhat grey, restless. It scares me. "Are you -sure?"
"Yes, of course I am. I'm here, Sherlock, hey."
I turn around in my bed, feeling lost. I don't know where this thing begins and where it ends. I can't navigate, I- don't even know where I am, in this tiny little room. "John, is it silly to still be afraid of the dark?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Because I am." I sigh. "You won't tell Mycroft, will you?"
"Who is Mycroft?"
For a second, I see nothing. Absolute, pure nothing. I don't see Redbeard anywhere, nor do I see the favourite pirate poster over my little brother's bed. The one and only thing I can perceive is a sound.
Fatal. Cancer. Death. A voice ringing inside of my head, not letting me go. Over and over again.
I am still breath-less, I had been running only seconds before. Running to see if this were the truth. Because I will not accept this as right, this isn't fair. My little brother. My dear little-
He is the last person on earth to deserve this. Sherlock is so un-spoilt, so clever. And still such a child. A child. We still played together, only weeks ago. Everything was fine, normal even. How could a thing as this, cancer, even happen? And why did I not notice a thing? Under my very nose.
From very young age on, I have been told I was a role-model, the eldest brother. That I should take good care, that I'm responsible. Well, it seems that I have failed. Both times. William.
I'm to blame, the responsible Holmes.
And I can never make Sherlock's dream come true, being a real pirate. I wouldn't be able to anyway, but Sherlock would have gotten older. He would have grown more mature, who knew maybe he'd even want to be a detective one day, just like his big brother. But I guess he won't reach that age, not now. He sure would have made me proud one day.
I hope my parents will survive only having one son in the that's left. Only me.
I reach his bed and he reaches out for my hand as I look at him. He looks pale, he looks- sick. Ill. No.
"Myc? Myc? Are you there? I'm scared, Myco. It's dark."
I restrain my eyes from betraying me. I hope it's not too late.
"He's my- brother." I mutter under my breath, trying to ignore the image of Mycroft's face in my head. His eyes the evening he knew. Even Sherlock Holmes, the Mycroft-declared idiot, could not have missed them. The sorrow, all the pain, just because of me.
I don't know why I'm even still bothering. Cancer is shit. And it's slowly becoming me. Sherlock Holmes, the cancer with boy.