Alright guys. Here it is.

Since no one else replied and the only one who did wanted both, I'm putting both up.

So, here they are. First to come- the bad ending.

-Line Break-

John sat there looking at his friend. Watching as his face stayed perfectly clear, but his eyes became a storm. Everything falling apart inside of him. He could hear the shattering of the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. The darkness returning in his eyes to keep himself calm. John finally tore himself away and felt Mary's head slid on to his shoulder. He held her as she began to cry and Sherlock turned away. He walked out of the graveyard and headed home. Ms. Hudson seeing him slam the door, she closed hers and prepared herself as she sat there crying. He took the stairs two at a time. Threw his coat to the floor and picked up his gun. He shot once then again. Then soon it was just repeatedly. Fire, reload, then fire again. He didn't know if he was hitting the mark anymore, he was blinded by tears, and shaking. John ran up the steps and Sherlock continued to fire on an empty clip. John took the gun from his hand and threw it over his shoulder, he grabbed Sherlock and hugged him. Sherlock stood there with John at first resenting it, but then his words, the same ones he told Max came back.

Its okay to let go every now and then.

So he did. He cried and cried and soon both of the men were sitting on the couch crying. After a while John went to get Ms. Hudson and she sat with Sherlock. Now she laid the tea on the table, heading off to bed to end the horrible day. Sherlock laid on the couch staring up at the ceiling. John offered him some of the tea, but he refused. John had called Mycroft, and when he showed up John left to watch after Mary. Mycroft sat in his brother's chair and stared at him.

"She worked for me, when the little boy showed up."

Sherlock's head twitched slightly. So Mycroft continued.

"She was brave, and strong, the top of her class. I can honestly say that I did everything in my power to make sure she didn't become an enemy."

Sherlock slowly rolled over to look at his brother.

"Did she work a lot of missions?"

Came his hoarse voice. Mycroft froze at his little brother's voice. His eyes held even more sadness than when Redbeard died. Mycroft's heart, already in so much pain, felt right then that it could burst and he'd be more than happy to accept it. He shouldn't have to feel this much pain and live through it.

"Lots of them. She was my best one. And she was caring."

The brothers looked at each other and then Mycroft sighed.

"Sherlock, she was actually a dear friend of mine. She left to the United States because I begged her too. After what happened at the facility, I begged her to leave. I loved her like a sister, so I do understand how much this hurts brother mine. So if you feel like having a dark night... know that I am more then willing to have you call me. It won't only be help to you. And I don't think she would appreciate it if you turned down that road. She would always get so upset when I smoked."

Mycroft gave a small smile at the memory. With one last look at his younger brother he stood up.

"Goodnight, little brother."

To his surprise, he heard a reply.

"Thank you and goodnight, brother mine."

Mycroft hesitated and then slowly walked down the steps. After a while Sherlock stood up and walked to his room. He closed the door softly and fell onto his bed. He moved to his side and saw the little box. He hadn't slept very much when Max disappeared or when Moriarty showed up. He'd almost forgotten about this little box. He lifted up and placed it in his hand. When he opened it he saw the ring. He took it out and looked it over. Not to big and showy, but not to small and weak. Mary had to help him find the ring because he had been lost. So many rings, the choices, it had been so frustrating. He had gotten this for her before she had disappeared. His hand was beginning to shake again and he felt the tears run down his face. He put the ring back in the box and gently put it on the dessert. A little piece of paper lying on the floor. Sherlock picked it up and saw her handwriting sprawled across it.

It would be my honor, Mr. Holmes, to be know as Mrs. Sociopath. P.s find a better hiding place.

He read the words over and over. More tears streaming down his face. With shaking hands he reached for his phone and dialed a number for the first time of many to come. She would have said yes. She had loved him. She had loved the high functioning sociopath.

And God how he loved her.