When We Were Young (kidlock)

He's Not.

"Sherlock are you even listening to me!" Mycroft practically screamed across the room at me. God, he was so pretentious and bossy! Why couldn't he just leave me alone for once?

"Sherlock!" His face was red and his eyes were too. Cheeks puffy and lined with a layer of salty liquid.

"What do you want Mycroft?!" I finally answered, not really caring, just trying to shut him up.

"You know damn well what I bloody want, Sherlock Holmes." He said in an authoritative manor he only used while talking to me.

I looked up at him. Face blank. He just stared back. I knew he would beat me if we just stared so I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head slightly as if to say, well go on then, what?

Mycroft let out a slow shaky breath and he clenched his fists on top of the table. It looked like that was the only thing keeping him up straight.

"Sherlock," his voice was quieter, not gentle but I could detect a trace of sympathy. "Mummy is... Well, you see she has..."

"Mummy has what? What's wrong with mummy?" My interest and concern suddenly pricking up as I heard him mention our mother.

"Sherlock," he made as little eye contact as possible as he continued, "mummy is dead."

My heart stopped. Literally stopped.

She can't be dead. No no. No no no.

No mummy is definitely not dead. Definitely not. I only talked to her... 3 months ago? Oh no. Had it really been that long? How had I not talked to her in so long? Shit this is my fault.

Silent tears splashed from Mycroft's face down on to the table.

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. Mycroft knew. He knew how I thought. He knew what I was thinking.

"I... I'm sorry." He apologised.

"Sorry?" My voice was shaky. "S-Sorry for what?"

He looked at me one last time. Walls down. Ice melted. Emotion, obvious and raw, burning through his eyes and face.

We locked eyes.

"I'm sorry." He barely whispered before turning leaving the room.

"Mycroft?" My voice cracked and I was empty. I had let my walls down and all of my emotions and feelings that I usually kept hidden away had escaped out and were laid down on the table for everyone to see.

My mother and I were close most of the time. She understood how my mind worked. She helped me on my bad days clear my head and think straight. She was the closest thing to love I have ever felt.

Now that love had been ripped from me.

I was empty.

I am empty.

--

My mind raced back to to the last time I saw him. Well, last time I saw him alive.

Two weeks ago.

I should have seen this coming.

Stupid boy.

Stupid stupid Sherlock.

He always used to say he was the smart one. I believe him now.

But not it doesn't matter.

No, because now he's not.

He's not here to compare myself to.

He's not here to be smarter than me.

He's not alive.

And it's killing me.