BLUE LIPS by REGINA SPEKTOR
Sherlock fell to his knees when he read the paper Mycroft had given him. It was a letter from John, and it was speckled with teardrops and the corner was red with blood. The letter said this:
Dear Sherlock-
I got tired of waiting for you. So I'm on my way to find you now. I can't take this anymore, Sherlock. I love you so so much... I can't help it. I have to find you.
-John Watson
Sherlock's ocean eyes were swollen and red from the tears streaming from them. Sherlock looked up to his brother for answers, but Mycroft merely looked away. Sherlock slammed his fists into the ground as a memorable coldness filled his stomach. John had killed himself to see him again. John was dead and it was all Sherlock's fault. John was dead... Dead... Dead... Dead... Sherlock started to scream at the top of his lungs for John to come back, to kiss him, to hold him again. Mycroft held the unstable man down as he started thrashing about, reachng for a gun one of the guards had. Anthea ran from the room to get one of the guards, but it was too late. Sherlock had gotten hold of one of the guns.
Sherlock and John met once again on a fringe of clouds. No words were exchanged as Sherlock grabbed John's hand. John smiled widely as Sherlock's own mouth curled into the most serene smile John had ever seen. They were together. Forever.
