Please Don't Forget Me

by SherlockDW

After 3 long years Sherlock Holmes decides to show himself to John Watson. However, when he goes to meet his long waiting friend he finds something that makes him turn his back and questions to surface. Does John really care? Or was I forgotten all those years ago?

2. Chapter 2

Mycroft Holmes was worried. It had been almost a week since Sherlock had sprinted into the car, Crying.
Crying! The great Sherlock Holmes sobbing is something nobody –not even Mother- had seen! And all over one man:

John Watson

Sherlock had refused to eat or even leave his room for the past few days and Mycroft was growing increasingly anxious by the hour. What if he was more upset than Mycroft had thought? What if he had fallen into a state of anxiety? One thing was for sure, Sherlock had never been more broken.

Mycroft hovered outside Sherlock's door before hesitantly knocking lightly. Not that long after a voice floated out

"Go away, Mycroft."

"Sherlock, you have been in there for 3 days, Mother is growing ever so worried."

"I don't care."

"Please, Sherlock, just at least allow me to come in." Mycroft was growing slightly annoyed at Sherlock's immature behaviour

"No." Mycroft snapped

"Sherlock, for God Sake, pull yourself together, and Grow Up! I understand John was a very close friend of yours and you believe him to have forgotten about you but Good Lord! Sulking will not get him back! So open this door immediately otherwise I will break it down!" Mycroft breathed heavily and clenched his jaw. He heard a slow patter of footsteps from the other side of the door and heard it being unlocked.

Mycroft sighed with relief and twisted the knob slowly, he pushed open the door quietly and his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. The room was almost pitch black, the curtains were drawn and the only light was emitting from the outside corridor. He managed to make out a tall -and extremely thin- figure sitting on the bed with his back to the door.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered but the figure did not move

"Brother, are you alright?" he carefully edged closer to bed and sat next to Sherlock who's gaze did not lift from the floor.

"I'm fine." Sherlock croaked

"You certainly don't look or sound like it."

"Then why did you ask?" Sherlock snapped

"Because I am worried for you."

"I'm sorry, Mycroft…" Sherlock sighed and his shoulders slumped even lower.

"It's alright, Sherlock." Mycroft looked at Sherlock's phone which was under the lamp on the table. He reached for it and checked it; there were hundreds of deleted messages on the phone.

"Sherlock, what are these?" Mycroft questioned

"Texts."

"To whom?"

"John." Mycroft paused "I never sent them."

"There are hundreds, Brother! How long have you been doing this?"

"3 Years…"

Mycroft's eyes softened and he sighed.

"I just typed them up… And then deleted them. I could never send them; it would give me away and put John's life in danger!" Sherlock had tears streaming down his cheeks. "I didn't want that to happen! I couldn't put John's life on the line until Sebastian was found!"

"I know, brother, I know."

Mycroft pulled Sherlock into an awkward hug, the younger brother didn't try to pull away, he didn't react, and he didn't say a word. Instead, he relaxed into Mycroft's arms

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said, his voice muffled in the elder brother's jacket,

"Yes?"

"I Miss John."