The Death of a Watson

Spiraling Down, Down, Down

AN: Warning: Drug use and suicidal talk

Sherlock felt nauseous. He had felt that way for days, weeks, he wasn't even sure how much time had passed. The only measurement of time he had was how frequently Billy popped by to keep his stash full, and he even stopped counting that. Just as he was beginning to feel better, as though he was beginning to forget, he got an unexpected visitor.

"Oh goodness Sherlock, I knew it would be bad but I wasn't expecting it to be this bad. What a mess you've made Sherlock. Mummy would be so disappointed. Speaking of Mummy, she forced me to come over here to check on you and, if necessary, get her on the phone to straighten you out. Of course, she never has to know. Check yourself into rehab or I will call her," Mycroft deigned to say, looking disdainfully at the pile of Sherlock lying near his feet.

Sherlock managed to look up at Mycroft through his hooded eyes and said, "Piss off," before passing out on the floor.

"Pathetic," Mycroft muttered, snapping his fingers and calling his goons in.

"No, no no," Sherlock muttered when he regained consciousness, seeing as they were no longer in 221B Baker St. Just as he comprehended that thought, he realized that his vision was already fading and he was out again in a second.

"Sherlock. Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" Mycroft screamed, trying to rouse Sherlock from his drug-induced haze. Unfortunately for Sherlock, he woke up.

"God damn it Mycroft, why can't you just butt out of my personal life. You basically said it yourself that I'd be better off dead. Why can't you just let me get on with it?" Sherlock petulantly asked.

"Oh brother mine, if only it were that simple. As I said before, Mother sent me to check on you. I never believed her that you'd be so stupid as to actually quit eating, but I obviously pretended to care and check on you, just for mummy. Believe me when I say I don't care at all what happens to you. Greg has been upset for weeks, and I can't help him because my own brother killed his friend. What's even worse is that you're pretending to care. We all know that you were the sociopath. No matter how much I taught you to be one, you didn't need it. I did. I was the weak one, the one who needed to distance myself from emotion. We both knew you were a sociopath."

Sherlock felt the tears dripping down his chin and realized that he'd started crying a while ago. When he wasn't sure but it definitely was a while ago as he could feel snot alongside the tears. Why was he so weak? It had only taken Mycroft 2 minutes to make him completely brake, which was a record as it used to take at least 2 hours of verbal abuse before he broke down. He was getting slow. Right now, Sherlock didn't even care about that as much as he would've before John... John left him.

"Listen Mycroft," Sniffled Sherlock, "I don't care what you think, but just for the record, I never killed John Watson. He was the best man I had ever met, and he was everything I could never be. I just wish he were still here... I'd give anything just to see him again..." Sherlock trailed off, sad and alone.

"Brother mine, cut the act. There's nobody here but us. I've investigated John's death, and he sent you a text message. Of course, the "Great Sherlock Holmes" couldn't be bothered to look at his phone, so yeah Sherlock, you killed John Watson. You and Jim Moriarty. What did he offer you, hmm? Did he say he'd let you live if John died? Did you just do it to get rid of John in a way that couldn't be traced back to you?" Mycroft sneered down at Sherlock.

"Wait, John texted me?" Sherlock asked innocently. "I threw my phone as soon as he left and it shattered against the wall. I haven't used my phone since... that day because I knew I would get death threats... Of course, I still do," Sherlock said, looking in his pockets to make sure the phone wasn't hiding in there after some drug-induced rage.

"Why lie brother mine? We all know you did it, and you did it on purpose. There's no need to try to hide it anymore." Mycroft said pointedly before summoning his goons by knocking twice on the wall.

"Carry him out to the car, and load him up. I'll tell you where to go once he's in the car," Mycroft ordered his men.

"No," said Sherlock, "I'm not going with you. I want to go back to 221B now."

"Oh brother. You act like you have a choice."

AN: Howdy! It's been a while! I finally powered through the last 300 words of this chapter, so I hope you enjoy! The next part should be out soon, but I have no clue as to a specific day. Thanks for reading!