One more miracle

Chapter Two

A gentle, muted knock broke through the silence of Mycroft's office. He lifted his head wearily, completely aware of who his visitor was. They were here by his own demise, after all. "Come in, John." His slightly slurred voice carried the message that he had hardly slept, fretting over the situation at hand. The army doctor carefully made his way in, resting a lot of his weight on his cane, more than he had before. Mycroft sighed as he observed the withering man, who continued to waste away as each day passed.

"You wanted to see me?" John's voice was deep and dark, as if it had been dampened by the three years of pain. Mycroft gestured to one of the seats, and John took it graciously, much unlike the first time they met. He was much weaker now, for this man was beyond broken. And Mycroft wasn't sure he could ever fix him.

"Yes, I did indeed." He carefully sat in the chair across from him, now noticing the newspaper tucked carefully under his arm. Of course. It was Sunday. John had been reading each crime and murder to Sherlock's tombstone with great care. He observed each black pen circle that encased the only topics of interest, then returned his gaze to John's stolid gaze. "I have brought you here to tell you..." Mycroft approached the topic delicately, letting a few different sentences spin in his mouth before he selected one And continued. "It's time to move on." He watched Dr. Watson carefully as he continued. "I understand that Sherlock was dear to you, but I think it's better that you put it behind you and try to live your own life."

He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasping together. "Sherlock would want you to move on." Mycroft spoke at a slower pace, recalling how Sherlock expressed his strong disapproval the previous evening. John sat in the same chair that Sherlock had before, causing him to wonder if he possibly sensed any hints to the dark man's previous presence.

.

"Yeah, Sherlock would probably think it was 'ridiculous' and 'unnecessary'." The army doctor brought him back to reality as he spoke with a faint, forced laugh. Mycroft sighed.

"I didn't mean it that way. Sherlock truly valued your friendship. I'm sure he just wouldn't want you to hold so much grief for his sake." John gazed at him, eyes glittering slightly for a few moments. He quickly composed himself, rubbing his face with a hand.

"You're right. It's just... hard." John sighed again heavily and Mycroft patted his back somewhat awkwardly. The stood sat in silence, suspense crackling in the air as Mycroft waited for John to speak again. "I'll try, Mycroft."

John gave a small smile and stood, reaching out a hand to Mycroft. They shook and Mycroft held his steady gaze. "Thank you, Dr. Watson. I hope your day goes well." John nodded half-heartedly as if he already knew it wouldn't, but Mycroft let him leave, watching him until the door blocked his vision. He couldn't help but wonder if he was indeed saving John from himself, or if he may have accelerated his eminent danger to his own mind.

(Sorry if you don't really like the way I write, I just want to make the story. :) I'm still learning.)