Aftermath

Mycroft's POV~ 22

"Dammit Greg, not only is my brother missing, but his BOYFRIEND is too!" I yell.

"Well, he can't have gone far! Where could he be? Hm? Think Mycroft!"

"How can I think when my brother and his boyfriend are missing?"

"Because you are the smartest man in the country and a self-absorbed arse! You never care about anyone but your bloody self!"

I stop pacing and look at him. "Is that really what you think?" I almost whisper.

"No, but it did get you to stop pacing," he replies with a smile.

"Oh, how can you smile?" I ask with a worried look. "If Sherlock loses John, he'll kill himself, and John loses Sherlock, he'll kill himself. They're so in love that if one of them dies, they other will quickly follow. They're like a modern Romeo and Juliet. Or Romeo and Romeo."

"Would you do that?" Greg asks.

"Do what?"

"Kill yourself if I died?"

"And remove one of the greatest minds of the century from this world?" I look at his face. He's about to blow up. "Of course I would."

"You know and THAT'S why everyone thinks you're a self-absorbed...," he stops and looks at me. "What did you say?"

"I said of course I would. Not right away, of course. I'd make sure Sherlock and John would be fine, without actually telling them, and then I'd kill myself. I used to think love was pointless as it turned people into idiots, but now I understand. Love doesn't turn people into idiots, it changes there priorities. Puts someone else's life before their own."

"Mycroft... I..."

"It's okay. I didn't think I had a heart either." We both laugh.

Greg walks over to me and wraps me in his arms. "I know you have a heart. You just like to hide it." He laughs and his chest shakes. It's that shaking that breaks something inside of me. Some wall crumbled. I can't show this weakness... this feeling. Greg can't see this weakness. But I can't hold back anymore.

I sob into his chest. I can feel his muscles tense up. He doesn't know what to do. 

"Mycroft?" he asks tentatively. "Are you... crying?"

"No," I sob.

"Okay." Greg knows. He knows I'm crying, and I'm scared. But he also lets me have peace about it.

"I can't lose them... I may hate them most of the time, but they're family."

"I know. Look, why don't we try to find John. If we can find him, we can find Sherlock, ok?"

I nod.

"Now, where could he have gone?"

"Baker Street?" I mumble.

"Good. Let's start there." I nod, and Greg lets go of me, and looks me in the eye. "They'll be fine, Mycroft." I nod. He grabs my hand and we walk to the elevators.

When we arrive at Baker Street, I see the door is slightly open. 

"Ms. Hudson?" I yell as I walk in.

"In here, dear!" I walk into her kitchen to find her sipping on a cup of tea. "Hello Mycroft! Hello Greg! How are you boys?"

"Ms. Hudson did you know your door was open?"

"No! One of the boys must've left it open when they left. I heard them leave just a few minutes ago. I haven't been home that long myself."

Me and Greg look at each and run up the stairs.

"Mycroft? What's wrong?" Ms. Hudson yells as she follows us.

"The boys are missing," I answer. When we get to the flat, we see the door is open. I walk in and gasp. There's so much blood... It's everywhere.

"My carpet! What's your brother gone and done now, Mycroft?" I ignore Ms. Hudson and walk around the flat. There's footprints leading to the kitchen. They're Sherlock's judging by the size and gait. Then there's a smaller set, John's probably. Then two more sets that I'm not familiar with. They came in carrying something...not too heavy, and left carrying something weighing about as much as Sherlock. There's more of John's footprints that seem to just wander around. I notice a piece of paper with a pair of bloody handprints on it. It's a note written in Sherlock's handwriting. It's to John. I read it through and nearly break down again.

Greg must notice something's wrong.

"Mycroft, what's wrong? Why's there so much blood?"

"He's killed himself..." The note flutters out of my hand to floor. "Sherlock's killed himself."

"What? Are you sure? I mean he's done this before."

"No. It's not a trick. He left a note. And look at the blood." I notice more footprints. This time on the stairs. They're John's. John! He must have been alive if he walked out of the flat. I begin to follow them. They don't lead far, just to outside the door. Think! Where could he have gone?

"The hospital!" I hail a taxi and tell the driver to go to St. Bart's. I only notice Greg's in the cab when were about halfway there.

"He can't die, Greg. He can't."

"Oi. You noticed I was here. Didn't take as long as I thought it would." I give him a look. Then my phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Mycroft? Is that you?"

"John? Yes of course it's me. Where are you?What's happened to Sherlock?"

"It's kind of a long story. How soon can you get to the hospital?"

"We're already on our way. We'll be there soon. What room number?"

"Eight oh seven. Eighth floor. What do you mean we?"

I hang up instead of answering.

"Well that was kind of rude," Greg says.

"It'll be fine," I mutter. "He can't die, Greg. I can't lose him."

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Well, John didn't sound hysterical on the phone did he?"

"Well, no."

"Then make a deduction."

"Well, if John wasn't hysterical then that must mean Sherlock must be, at the very least, alive."

"Well, there you go. He isn't dead, at least not yet."

"Yet being the key word." Greg leans over and kisses my forehead.

"It'll be fine, Mycroft." I just look at the window. It seems we're there in no time. I rush out and into the hospital, leaving Greg to pay. I press the elevator button and by the time it arrives, Greg's right behind me. I push the 8 button. The elevator can't seem to move faster than a snail, and we seem to stop on every floor. Finally, we get to the eighth floor. I walk down and count seven doors, to number 807.

I can't move. 

I can't walk in, can't do any of the things I thought I would. Slam the door open and start yelling about the stupidity of my brother, but I just can't.

"Mycroft? Aren't you going to go in?" Greg asks.

"I can't. What if something's wrong?" I look at Greg and almost break down again. He wraps me in his arms, and it's his smell, his unique smell, that gives me the strength to move. I push open the door, and see two beds. I walk closer, and I see they are both occupied, and quite close together. I see my brother's mop of black curls, and John's small blonde head. I sigh with relief. Neither are dead, but they are connected by tubes that seem to send John's blood into Sherlock's veins. How fitting.

I slump into a chair and fall asleep almost instantly.