Somedays I'm build of metal, I can't be broken
But not when I'm with you
You love me real, we have it all
Can't leave me now
Sherlock's eyes finally opened, and the pain that ran over his globes was devastating. His neck was hurting, and he almost couldn't breathe, since his chest was heavy and full of pain.
What the hell has just happened? Why was he laying down in a bunch of trash in a dirty alley?
He couldn't even deduce in which side of the town he was. Sherlock's last memory was related with John Watson, that was clear. But... What really happened? What could have happened to bring him into that alley?
He raised his hand, smelling his trench coat. Dirt, traces of whisky, pure alcohol, cocaine and ecstasy, besides the odor brought to him by the trash around him.
"What happened, what happened?! Why the heck I can't remember?!", his head was hurting, but Sherlock wasn't giving a shit about it. His mind palace never forgot a single thing, ever. So why he wasn't able to remember?
He decided to get up, ignoring the rounds his head was giving and tried to stay on his feet. A few short steps after, and his stomach couldn't handle the sudden moves his body did. Sherlock thrown out everything he had on the inside, and he was definitely unable to examine his own puke.
When he finally reached the end of the alley, a covered on snow Baker Street showed up in front of his eyes, and he couldn't understand why he wasn't on his home, puking on this own bathroom and having his hangover day inside his own bedroom.
On the other side of the street, in front of 221B, Mycroft Holmes was waiting. He turned his head into Sherlock's direction and gave him a short and sadly smile, crossing the street to reach his little brother.
Something was wrong. Mycroft have never in his entire life given that kind of smile before. Not even when Redbeard died.
"I can see that the new really shocked you, my brother. I am deeply sorry for your lost, I really liked that man. He was a good person, and your best medicine."
"W-What? Wh-What man, what are you talking about, Mycroft?"
Sherlock's hands started shaking. It was soft and, for those who hasn't a really good eye, imperceptible. But, unfortunately, that was not the case of Mycroft Holmes.
"I'm talking about John, Sherlock. I gave you the new yesterday.", Mycroft's voice was soft and delicate, a thing that was scarring the hell out of his young brother, "He was hit by a car when he was coming to see you, and he could not handle the injuries."
Mycroft took a deep breath when he saw how catatonic Sherlock was. Inside Sherlock's head, the only word that was passing through his eyes and brain was "lie" and "your fault".
"John... John is dead, Sherlock. And we from MI5 think that it was Magnussen's order to kill him."
Suddenly, youngest Holmes' knees weren't able to hold his weight. Suddenly, his whole world was falling apart. Suddenly, he felt empty, lonely, lost in the darkness again.
Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes thought that death was his first enemy.
And now, she was also a beautiful and tempting invite to be reunited with his beloved one again.
