Mirrors

Chapter 20: Aftermath

 Sherlock padded into his and John’s shared flat. The detective paused to take it in, and sighed softly with joy that he had not felt in a long time. “Go shower, I will go get you some fresh clothes.” John said motioning to the bathroom. Alone in the bathroom, Sherlock takes off his shirt. Seeing his reflection in the mirror caused him to suck his breath in sharply. He had seen the scars before, but this was the first time he had seen them with his empathy returned. The first time that he could truly process what happened with a sound mind, clear at last.

 Sherlock traced a scar on his chest with a shaking hand, the floodgates opening. He leaned his palms on the counter and let out a loud cry of despair. John, heard the sound, and came running. “Sherlock? Hey are you alright in there?” John called through the door. When Sherlock didn’t respond, John burst into the room to see Sherlock leaned up against the counter. “Sherlock? Hey mate, look at me.” John sighed and gently spun his friend around.

“Look at me, John. Look at what they did to me. You don’t know what it was like, to be screaming out for help. To be a slave in your own mind. I remember everything, everything they did to me. They turned me into him, and I couldn’t even process and mourn the loss of what they did to me. Oh God! Look at me, I am nothing but damaged goods.” Sherlock cried.

“I want to show you something.” John said softly and removed his shirt to show Sherlock his bullet scar as well the others earned from war combat. Sherlock’s eyes widen at the sight as he looks over the sight. John very carefully moved in closer and puts a hand on both side of his friend’s face. “Sherlock, you are my best friend. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you. This changes nothing between us. You are beautiful inside and out, and if anyone disagrees I will punch them.” John said softly.

“When did you become so sentimental?” Sherlock coughed out a laugh. “Like I said, you are my best friend.” John shrugged.

Sherlock looked up to meet his best friend’s eye. “You know I recall everything, and if memory serves me, one thing stands out.” Sherlock began. “Oh?” John raised an eyebrow. "Theret is one thing that I very vividly recall when I went dark. You told me that you once loved me. You should know the feeling is mutual. You saved my life, John. You saved me when I didn’t know I needed saving. I owe you everything, I owe you my life.” Sherlock said softly. John smiled. “That’s what it means to love someone, to put their life above your own. You are my family. You are all I have left in this world” John answered.

 A short time later, Sherlock was resting in his chair when Hudson comes storming into the flat. “Where is he?” She yelled, as looked around. Her eyes settle upon the sheepish looking detective and her mouth goes wide. “Oh….so the rumors are true. You are alive.” She gasped as Sherlock moved over to greet her. Sherlock half expected the woman to slap him. He winces, expecting the strike only to have the woman yank the detective into her for a bear hug. John watched with a small smile as the significantly taller man allowed the shorter woman yank him down so she could tuck his head under her chin. Sherlock bended his knees and stooped to allow her to cry into his hair, saying incoherent things through her tears of joy. Sherlock gently patted her back, allowing her to cry. After a short time, she pulled away to pat her face free of the tears. 

“Please move, I need to see him.” A new yet familiar voice entered the scene. Sherlock looked past Mrs Hudson’s head to see and all too familiar face of his brother. Sherlock rose to his full height slowly and the two brother’s eyes meet across the room. Mycroft’s eyes are blown wide and a dozen emotions cross over his face. There’s a second where neither of them move out of shock at seeing each other alive. Much to everyone’s shock it was Mycroft who makes the first move. Mycroft, who never was one for legwork, promptly sprinted across the room to nearly tackle sherlock into his embrace, the beloved umbrella tossed unceremoniously off to the side in Mycroft’s haste.

Mycroft pulls his little brother into his arms to bury his face into Sherlock  hair. John’s mouth hangs open wide as Mycroft Holmes cries into the crook of Sherlock’s neck. This was no dignified soft silent crying. No, this was loud, ugly crying of someone the most genuine relief and joy that anyone could ever experience.

“Shhh, shhhh, brother mine.” Sherlock purred softly in a voice strangled with tears, rubbing Mycroft's back with the arm that was not pinned down at his side by the force of Mycroft’s arms around him .John wondered who was comforting whom as the two brother’s hugged. 

“I thought you said that caring isn’t an advantage.” John said quietly.

“It isn’t voluntary either, Doctor. But I have spent my entire life caring about Sherlock Holmes.” Came Mycroft's response after he pulled back to give Sherlock some air.