Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles - A Johnlock Story

Sadness Ends With A Fall

Third Person

Sherlock stood on the top of the building, teetering from the edge. He was so high right now, both on drugs, and on top of a very high structure. He was 32 now, and completely done. He wanted nothing more than to be done. Even thinking about living made him want to vomit. He'd rather die this painful death a thousand times, than continue to live.

He was so incredibly tired of it all, of people's exhausting nature of backstabbing and cruelty. People were so tediously predictable in their brutish, sadistic ways. Sherlock had begun to wonder if all people delighted in other peoples horror and sadness, the way his father had. That would certainly explain a lot, just, not everything, not everyone..

Sherlock always did as the doctors asked, until they let him out of their sight. That's when he started using drugs, his seller promising that it would take all the pain away. It would for awhile, and then when he inevitably came down from his highs, or sometimes when he was still high, it would all come crawling back.

Mycroft had, when he inevitably found out about his drug habits, really before he'd become addicted, Mycroft had put the seller out of business. Sherlock found another one, and the cycle continued. Round and around they went, Mycroft attempting to do what was best for Sherlock, and Sherlock, though acknowledging his brothers intentions, kept going. Most people wouldn't sell to Sherlock now, Mycroft had put that many out of business. Most of the sellers Sherlock went to would show up in ditches, alive, but out of business, money, and badly beaten.  

The view from here was nice. Sherlock thought, his arms out stretched, about to fall. The sun was setting, the sky streaked with pink, violet, and red. It was just dark enough to see a few stars beginning to poke out. A good view to end on.  No note at his side this time, just his actions. He closed his eyes, ready to let go when a soft voice drifted past his ears. "Brother dear," It whispered. His eyes snapped open, and he shook his head. Tears began to fill his eyes, he was so done! He just wanted to die why couldn't he JUST LET HIM DIE!

"Sherlock, please, get down." Mycroft pleaded, stepping closer, ever so slightly. He was too far away to grab him, and lunging might make him slip.  And he wasn't going survive this time, if he let him fall. Sherlock could sense his brother creeping toward him slowly, trying to get close enough to grab him. "Stay back! One more step toward me, and I'll jump!" Mycroft, held his hands up, showing he wasn't coming closer. "Alright, alright." His thoughts were racing, trying to figure out a way to make this work so that he could get Sherlock off the ledge.

"Just let me do this, Mycroft, please." Sherlock called back. Mycroft shook his head defiantly. "Do you remember Victor? Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded, but didn't waver. "Do you remember how happy you were with him?" Sherlock paused for a moment this time, and nodded.

"You were so excited to have me meet him, do you remember that? You told me you loved him you loved him, didn't you?" A sob escaped Sherlock as he whispered "Yes." Mycroft inched closer, and Sherlock tensed again. Mycroft stopped when he tensed again.

"Do you remember what he looked like?" He asked softly, trying to divert his brother's attention so that he could get closer. One. more. step, and he could reach him. "He had red hair, it was shaggy, just past his ears. He had a red five-o-clock shadow, it itched when he kissed me." Sherlock was sobbing down, his hands covering his face.

"He had the greenest eyes in the whole world, an entire forest, and freckles all over his face. He was shorter than me, and his laugh was like music, he didn't care what people thought about him, and he wanted to join the military, and he loved with all his being, and he was-." Mycroft sucked in a deep breath and grabbed him, dragging him from the ledge, and against him. Sherlock screamed in protest, and fought against him as Mycroft crashed into the roof, holding him tightly.

"Sh, I've got you now, I've got you, shh," he whispered to the crying Sherlock. Sherlock, who was still incredibly high, gripped on to his brother, crying. He wanted Victor to be back, he wanted him back. Mycroft knelt on the top of the building, holding his little brother. He was still his little brother, even though Sherlock was 32 now, and he was 40. But it would never change, Sherlock was Mycroft's little brother, in dire need of his help. And Mycroft would always be there.

Sherlocks POV

I had been very high when Mycroft pulled me off of the ledge, and took me back to his flat. There he nursed me back to health, as I had been almost unable to stand, and had actually passed out on the way back to his flat. After a while, I wanted to go back to my own place, which is when he told me.

"Sherlock, I think it would be good for you to be under 24 hour watch. You've been on Suicide Watch for awhile now, but I think it needs to be bumped up to 24 hour watch." I had begged him not to, but I ultimately gave in, it probably was for the best. I'd be on my own, but I would be under watch, at all times of the day.

He sat down with me, and went over all the details, so that I would understand what was going to happen. I was reminded of how much he cared, and how much he would do for me. We also decided to give Victor a code name, a way for me to calm down, or at least not do anything too terribly rash. Redbeard, that was his code name.