Sherlock One-Shots

Redbeard One-Shot #1

WARNING: SUICIDE AHEAD

Eight

It has been a couple of years since I've seen my brother in that cafe. He still didn't get a flat share. I'm visiting him in his little apartment. I don't know why, I just feel like I have to.

I was about to knock on his door when I found it slightly ajar. I frowned. My brother isn't stupid. He would've locked it.

I open it, gripping onto my umbrella. Darkness floods my senses. A faint light was emitting from the bedroom.

It was closed but not locked. I turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open.

I was met with my brother, sitting on his bed, a gun in his mouth. In his other hand he held an envelope.

In a flash, I dropped my umbrella and tore the gun away from him, throwing it to the other side of the room.

I drop down onto my knees, and looked up to his face. He was crying. I was crying.

Suicide. What a word.
Taking ones own life, why? Wouldn't it just be succumbing to your lowest state, submitting to weakness?
If you had to go, the best way would be by age or someone else's fault.
If you took your own, that's stupid. That's the weakest form of weak. And every human being is born strong, and they only grow stronger. It's just a matter of maintaining it.

I gulped.

I suddenly see my brother as the young child he used to be. Emotional, open, full of love and innocence. His walls were down back then, just like it was now. He was just there, being himself, with no care in the world. He would cry freely and openly, with full trust in whoever he was confiding to. He was my little brother.

I suddenly see my brother as the middle aged teen he used to be. Still emotional, but a bit closed off.He was confused with the world. He didn't know his purpose, his cause. And he became desperate, resorting to extreme measures. He was alone and depressed. He was tired and helpless. Hopeless and bored.

No words were said as our crying calmed down, and we both washed our faces so it wouldn't be so obvious. It was total understanding silence as we went out of the apartment, walked to a restaurant, and ordered some chips. We were quiet as we ate, and after took a stroll to the park.

We were quiet because no one really knows what to say in situations like these. We were quiet because we both knew that the mere presence of one another was enough. We were quiet because somehow, after years of neglect, silence was still best antidote.

We were staring into the lake, when Sherlock said something that will be seared into my memory for years to come. "Thank you."

Too shocked to answer, he gave me a gentle, loving hug, then walked away.

I smiled. The first genuine smile I've had in years. I knew he won't do it again. I knew he's learned his lesson. I'm proud of him. Very.