The Days After

Coats, Shirts, and Brotherly Advise

A/N: Hello! I just wanted to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the votes, reads, and for all you amazing writers for following me! It is an honor and privilege to see that you are reading. So yep. I know I keep changing perspective and POV all the time, but i dont know, I just cant find what I wanna do for POV. And a personal shoutout to Pixiiefication for really being my role model and inspiration for writing this story! Love ya girl! So yep. oh and one more thing! Last time i accidentally said 2 years. I meant 3. SORRY! :( But anywhom, LET THE SHERLOCK CONTINUE!!

John woke up on the cold, wet, green grass. He was greeted to the sight of the marbley gravestone of Sherlock Holmes, that was as black as Sherlock's coat. This instantly triggered John's memory on the day Sherlock fell. Remembering his black coat flailing wildly in the wind as Sherlock fell to his death. His arms waving furiously in the air, as if that would stop his fall. But it didn't. Nothing did. John remembers seeing that beautiful coat, with an even more beautiful man wearing it, drenched with a sickly dark blood. Sherlock's curly mop of brown hair, now wet and heavy with his own blood. And not only that, but Sherlock was wearing the purple shit of sex that day. That shirt, that beautiful,gorgeous shirt that made Sherlock look even so much more attractive if that is even humanly possible, was soaked with blood. That shirt had gone through some wonderful times with John and Sherlock, and had always made John instantly happier when seeing his best friend wear it. But now...this shirt that had once given John joy...now gave John pain.

A small, yet jam packed, emotion filled tear, quickly slid down John's dirt smudged face.

-----

Sherlock had been in intensive care for the past 3 weeks after the drug overdose. Mycroft sat by Sherlock's bed, quietly discussing with him about an upcoming and urgent situation that must be done.

"Sherlock. Its been 3 years! Dont you think its time already?! You have suffered too long."

"Oh shut up, Mycroft. I dont care how I am! I dont care how long Ive 'suffered'

"John has suffered too long."

That comment shut him up.

"You need to understand, dear brother, while you have been smoking, drinking, and using....needles to wipe away your pain....John hasn't been doing very well either. After his attempted suicide last year, John has resulted to drinking more and is constantly found laying at your grave, dear brother. John hasn't been seeing his therapist lately, but he still blogs all the time. And, I warn you dear brother, that since you are too drunk or unconscious from your substances, and haven't checked John's blog even once since after the Fall, that John blogs about how terrible life is without you. He misses you...terribly, and is lost without you. I am afraid to tell you that John has recently been cutting himself.....he carved your name into his left arm. His state is slipping, Sherlock, and Im afraid that he may attempt to try and commit another suicide."

Sherlock just stared back at Mycroft, his mouth gaping wide open in shock. If there was ever a time Sherlock needed one of those orange blankets, it was now.

"He...he fancies you, Sherlock. He loves you. And nothing will stop him from being with you...dead.....you need to tell him."

And with that, Mycroft stood up, grabbed his umbrella, swung it in his hand, and walked out the door.

Sherlock stared in astonishment.

Mycroft then peeks his head back though the door.

"Oh, and one more thing, dear brother.

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.

... But...perhaps caring this one time, is."

And with that, Mycroft left Sherlock to sort through the thousands of ideas and thoughts that racked his "hard drive."