sherlockbbc_fic | prompting part XXIII

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prompting part XXIII

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The visitor had already made their way up the seventeen steps and pushed open the door. “Anthea” Breathed John, she was the last person he expected. Sherlock brought his head up immediately. “What are you doing here”

Where were you, why weren’t you watching? He paused, taking in her appearance. Her clothing was awry, as was her hair. Her eyes were red and there were tear tracks mingled with mascara on her cheeks. She was all in black. She was mourning...

John stood, fetching her some tissues and limping her over to one of the armchairs, turning it so it would face the couch. “Thank you” It was odd to see her, without her phone, to see her actually looking at them. “I came to see how you were” She blew her nose.

“I'm fine”

She stared at him, anyone with half a brain could see he was anything but fine. “We had a late night meeting scheduled after the Diogenes club... I was waiting at his flat when I heard the blast....I couldn't believe it” John had left to fetch her something to drink. “Thank you” she replied again. John took his place next to Sherlock.

She took out her phone. “I got this, just before it blew” Anthea handed it to John, who handed it to Sherlock. “What is it?” He asked without looking at it. “H-he sent me a message but some of it was to you, I don't think he had time to write another and send it to you personally...” Sherlock turned on the phone and opened the message.

Anthea,
I believe there may be a bomb in this building. Have sounded alarm, believe a blonde man in M's employ delivered it. May not make it out in time. You know the protocol, follow it exactly, find M's man....thank you for working with me, and tell my brother...tell him I love him.

Mycroft

Sherlock took a breath, blinking back tears. “He knew, he went to look. The idiot why didn't he leave...because he's a Holmes. I'd go look.” He answered his own question, forgetting there was anyone else in the room.

“Whats the protocol?”. Anthea wiped her eyes again. “Use the facial recognition software on the CCTV footage, we have a list of people who may be in Moriarty's employ. The club has cameras just like everywhere else. We, myself and the others working...who worked for your brother have to try and track down this bomber.”

Sherlock placed the phone on the coffee table and brought his hands under his chin. “Lestrade said a blonde man delivered the clue in Montague Street. This is someone Jim trusts completely...someone he doesn't mind seeing his face or hearing his voice. John, remember the pool, someone else was holding the rifle. He trusted this person, he had to, he was the same person who killed all those other people. We have to find this man, he will lead us to Moriarty Im certain”

John was pleased that Sherlock was beginning to seem like his old self but it was too soon for him to start rushing into things just yet. “I'll tell Lestrade later ok? You need rest and relaxation before we go running off half-cocked.” “But this man killed my brother!” John sighed, leaning over.

“I know Sherlock, ok? I know but neither of us are in any condition to do anything right now. I'll tell Lestrade and he can work together with Anthea ok? Is that ok?” He directed the last question at Mycroft's assistant. She nodded. “Anything to take this man down.”

I'm going to go cry tears of blood, now.

DDD: !

Chapter 21 will be up soon ;~;

(I hope this eases everyones pain a bit...)

Sherlock sat at the end of the table, eating as slowly as he had before. John sat on one side, Anthea and Lestrade the other, Mrs Hudson sat at the other end of the table. They all ate in silence. The meal was delicious but Sherlock had other things on his mind, like finding this man and beating him to a bloody pulp.

He'd always considered himself a pacifist, certainly not a violent man, but hurt someone close to him and there would be hell to pay. This man had killed his brother and nothing was going to get in his way.

“Thank you Mrs Hudson that was delicious” Praised John, Lestrade and Anthea nodding their agreement. Lestrade had turned up as soon as John had messaged him, which he only had known to stop Sherlock pestering him to so.

The DI left the kitchen with Anthea, the two deep in conversation, Sherlock remained at the table, still thinking. He was begging to accept that his brother wasn't coming back. But part of him was still trying to think of ways he could have survived.

Surely, someone as smart as Mycroft would have found a way. No, no, I have to accept he's gone.. even if it were possible, how would he have survived? I saw the wreckage, theres no way...”Sherlock?” He shook his head, clearing it. “You alright mate?” He nodded, giving John half a smile, who matched it. “Just thinking John... Just thinking”

Just maybe....

------

A few days ago...

A tall figure poked at the light switch with the broken arm of a chair, turning it on. It swung dangerously from side to side. He could here the sounds of broken stone and unstable structures above him. He was safe for now, he had everything he needed to survive the next few days.... but he was badly injured and worried he may not make it that long.

He pulled out his phone but it was too badly damaged. He leaned against the wall, nursing his side and prayed someone would find him soon and then he realised, no one knew of this place but him....except maybe one person.

“Find me Sherlock..”

I shall continue to cry blood until long after the story is complete.

~~And the beatings shall continue until morale improves.~~

I'm tired, I don't know why I typed that.

Anyway.

Angst.

Yes.

Good.

DD: im not sure crying blood is a good idea....

yes yes angst

probably more

thinking about the time skip soon

Random Reader:
Oh yes, yes! My pain is eased now, a whole lot! Thank you so much for writing this!

yay Im glad! you're welcome! I just had to drag it for as long as possible~

Two day's later and it had almost been a week since...the explosion. Sherlock by now had given up any hope that his brother could have survived the blast. He rested against the cane he was now forced to use until he got better.

He'd allowed himself that small sliver of hope, because he knew if he believed it whole heartedly, then his heart would be broken to pieces once more, when he found out he was wrong.

John hovered by his side, trying to fix the stitches Sherlock had accidentally pulled out in his sleep the night before. His poor friend had not had a peaceful nights sleep since they'd returned home. And it was all John could do to not cry himself, when he heard his friends anguished cries the night before.

John had been asleep himself at the time and was awoken by the sound of yelling. Panicking he'd grabbed his gun and rushed from his room, only to find Sherlock tossing in his bed, crying out for Mycroft and yelling in at least two languages at Jim and then he'd sobbed, cradling his pillow and sobbing into his sheet.

The doctor had wasted no time in sitting on the bed and hugging his friend until he stopped crying. He'd even fallen asleep there. The two of them had held each other tightly as they slept.

And it had been during those tossing moments that Sherlock had reopened his stitches. So John was now trying to fix them, if only his friend would lean over or sit down, he was so bloody tall. Satisfied with his work he then examined the bandage on his arm, the wound was healing nicely. He was pleased with his friends progress.

------

They'd already talked about scheduling the funeral. Sherlock wanted no part of it. It was too painful for him to think about, so John had done it for him, it was to be tomorrow. Some small part of him hoped he would move on soon, when he was healed, he hoped he would go back to his work, he needed it. John knew that much and it would be a distraction. The other part of him worried that he may never see that smile of his again. Most people never saw it, John was privileged to be one of the lucky few.

“Sherlock?” Mate, look at me.

“No John” Don't ask me John, please.

“You don;t even know what I was going to say” Of course you do, you always do.

“You wanted to talk to be about the funeral, I said I wanted no part of it” I can't handle it, it would be all to real. Don't make me John.

“Sherlock...not even to say a few words? You are going though, you have too” It'll help Sherlock..

“What would I say? The last time we spoke together it was to share insults... it's been a long time since we were ever truly close.” A very long time.

“Still, Im sure he'd want you too”....he knew you cared mate.

“Im sure he would” Just to watch me squirm...oh Mycroft...I miss you so much, you bastard.

John pulled his friend down to the couch.

“Tell me about him”

A few days ago....

-----

The bunker was moderately sized and liveable for a few days. If he lived that long. It had several beds, bathroom facilities, food and the most important thing, at least in his mind, a first aid kit. He'd used it immediately to bandage his side, thigh and shoulder. He knew he probably had a head wound as well, it would explain his occasional confusion.

His new suit was completely ruined, though that was not really important, just terribly annoying. It was painful to stand, making travel towards the food and drink incredibly difficult. He hoped someone found him soon, or that he would be able to escape this..tomb himself. Though that was looking increasingly unlikely.

He lay on one of the bunks, resting his leg on a pillow. It probably was not a good idea to sleep right now, but the movement outside had ceased, his pocket watch told him it was night. In the morning, he would try and make himself heard.

----

Present Day...

-----

The funeral was packed, not that John was surprised when you considered Mycrofts occupation in the government, minor indeed. Everyone seemed elegantly dressed compared to himself. Everything seemed elegant. Even the empty coffin.

John sat with the Holmes family, Sherlock had insisted. He did not want his mother crying on his shoulder, so had placed John in between himself and her. It was cold, but John suspected it was out of his own grief that he did so. So now John had Mrs Holmes crying all over his jacket.

Many people spoke about Mycroft, mostly collegues, one ex-lover, even Anthea spoke. Sherlock was still unsure if he should say anything or not. After all... what would he say? Anything he said would be something he'd rather keep private, even from all his family. But John was right, talking about his brother could help ease the pain.

The podium was empty now, John looked over at Sherlock and nodded, holding his hand in reassurance for a few seconds. Sherlock took a breath, stood and made his way to the front. What to say, what to say...

He stood now in front of everyone, suddenly frozen. A memory from earlier slipped into his mind, making him smile ever so slightly.

“Mycroft...was someone who had always been there for me. Even as a child. When I was growing up I always looked up to him, he read to me, played games with me, taught me so many things. I...loved him with all my heart...” His voice broke, dammit Mycroft look at what you are making me do! You're making me express my feelings, I hope you're happy!

“Without him I would not be the man I am today. He has helped me through the most difficult periods of my life and been with me during my best....I'll miss him very much.. I just wish I'd told him how much he means to me...just once..” He couldn't go on from there, his hand reaching his face, trying to hide his tears. John must have followed him, because he now felt his arms around him, leading him from the podium and back to his seat.

Everything after that seemed a blur. He felt so numb.

The RR (Random Reader)^^ :
I'll use Sherlock's own choice of words here to say 'you better be alive when they find you, Mycroft, you bastard'. xD
It's so sad to read how Sherlock is crying.

It made me cry, I dont think many things could drive him to be so emotional, but this would, at least in my opinion. Its kinda hard to explain the time switch but it will make sense eventually.

John and Sherlock held their own small wake in 221b. With John moving about, talking to people, getting drinks. And Sherlock, sitting alone in his chair, ignoring everyone. His mother had handed him an old photo album, before returning home. It was filled with pictures of him and Mycroft.

Here was Mycroft holding his baby brother for the first time. A tear in his eye and a proud smile on his face. Another photo showed the two of them on the couch. Sherlock had curly hair even then. The two sat side by side, Mycroft reading him Jules Verne, Sherlock listening intently, but his eyes on his brother not the book.

Sherlock turned the page. His first day of school, how he hated school, so mind numbingly dull and the children had all teased him because of his intelligence and abilities that even then he had. Mycroft had his arm around him, teasing him about something. They both looked so young...

“Whats that?”

Sherlock jumped, slamming the book shut. “You startled me John...” John took his chair opposite Sherlocks. He held out a cup of tea. “Sorry mate, just... worried about you thats all” Sherlock took the drink gratefully, resting the book on his lap.

“I have nothing to say to these people, I wish they'd just leave” John patted his knee and glanced at the book. “May I?” Sherlock shrugged, he might as well. Mother had already tried to force down pictures of little Sherlock the last time they'd visited.

“You two were adorable” Muttered John, giving a small laugh at one of the more amusing photos. It showed teenaged Sherlock, pouting and broody and Mycroft, looking every bit the gentlemen, except for the fact he was poking the corners of Sherlock's mouth trying to make him smile.

Sherlock the elder smiled at this memory. Mycroft had forever been trying to make him smile back then. It was sad now, when he thought about it. Always looking out for him.

“Do you think he suffered John....”

“What?...No... I think it would have been instant, I don't think he would have felt anything Sherlock”

“Thats... something reassuring I guess...”

“Yeah..”

-----

A few days ago....

------

He screamed, yelled at the top of his lungs for help. It seemed as if no one would ever hear his voice.. until he heard the machinery stop. Please, please, please.

“I think we got a live one down here!”

Oh thank god. He continued to shout until he was hoarse and until he could see clearly his rescuers face. And then he fell into oblivion, utterly exhausted.

My emotions.

My visions gone all swimmy. Keep up the good work.

Next chapter up soon!

Don't leave me here! Oh god, Mycroft's finally getting rescued! I can't wait for their reunion! :,(

Another week had passed. Sherlock was slowly getting used to the fact his brother was gone, never coming back. For a small while he had considered turning back to drugs, but John, ever faithful John was there to make sure this did not happen. Lestrade had even sent over some cold cases so his mind was occupied, distracted. Most however were easily solved, though one or two had needed a trip to St Barts.

He was still using the cane, but not for much longer. His leg was much better, to his relieved friend. John still hovered around him, like a cautious bee. He was there to make sure Sherlock ate, to make sure he slept, to make sure he was alright. All the things he normally did, it just seemed to mean more now. What would he do without John? Sherlock knew he was so lucky to have him in his life, he never truly realised just how much until now.

Sherlock sat, his knees brought up to his chest, staring at the file on the table, still deep in thought. It was an average case, but Scotland Yard had not been able to find the murderer. Sherlock was close though, it was still dull, boring, average. Would he ever regain that spark again?

------

A few days ago....

----

He wasn't sure just how long he'd been in hospital for. He'd given them a false name. He worried that Moriarty might still be keeping tabs on those rescued. For safety reasons he used an alias, borrowed from a random list of names, Robert Adair. In his current, vulnerable state it was best he stay undercover until he was certain of his own safety.

His injuries, he had concluded, consisted of a head injury, burns, however not serious, a broken wrist and broken leg. Plus numerous cuts and bruises. And one rather serious wound on his side.

He sighed, picking up one of the papers the nurses had been kind enough to leave him. There was a few articles on the bombing. His name was mentioned...they thought him dead..well that had partly been his plan, but it was still a surprise to see his name in the list of the dead. There had been a few survivors, from before and after the bombing, that was pleasing to see.

He turned to the obituaries, shocked to see several for himself. One from his mother, others from friends and colleagues, a few were using aliases, for obvious reasons, it should not be known just how high up his connections were. But there was one that caught his eye.

To the wisest man we ever knew,
You will be sorely missed.

221B

I know that I should probably give this a really in-depth list of why I'm currently flailing about as such, but all I can bring myself to type is the following:

ALL OF MY FEELINGS.

It's ok i understand! working on chapter 26 now!

I think we're on the home stretch...but idk

depends on my baker street muses

RR: This part was sweet and I'm really looking forward to the one where you reunited the two brothers.

I still have no idea how, where or when Im going to do that

He prodded Sherlock with his foot. “Eat, come on, it's good!” Sherlock gave him a dubious look but did as he was told. “Do you think we should go on vacation or something? Might be nice” Was John saying he wanted to leave? For a split second Sherlock panicked.

“You want to go away..?” ...Have I done something wrong?

“Yeah, change of scenery might be nice..”

“...I expect you'd want to visit your sister too” Please don't leave.

“Yeah I haven't seen her in awhile, she wanted to come down but wasn't able too”

“I see...well.. by all means, if you feel thats best. It's getting colder here, perhaps some place warm?”...you really intend to leave don't you?

“Yeah, somewhere warmer would be good! Maybe somewhere with a beach perhaps...”

Sherlock nodded, sipping his drink and finishing his food. “Fine, go then, I don't care..”. John looked confused. Did he think... oh the bloody idiot. No thats not what I meant!

“You're an idiot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Im not going on vacation by myself, you're coming with me”

“You...what?”

John shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “Like Im leaving you alone, after all thats happened. No you are coming with me, where I can keep an eye on you”. Oh..Im stupid aren't I John. I should have realised...he understood if John didn't want to be around him, especially right now, he was hardly good company.

“Oh.. you..together ?”

“Yes Sherlock, we both need some fresh air, you especially”

“Well.. I suppose...yes I'd like that, I haven’t been on vacation...well in years I suppose”

“Then it's settled” John finished his meal and what Sherlock had left over. "Ill take a look on the internet when we get home, you don't mind if me visiting Harry though do you?" Sherlock shook his head, John should spend as much time with his sister as he could, Sherlock only wished he had done the same with his own sibling. Now it was too late. He'd never get that chance again.

Together they left the little restaurant.

A few days ago.....

-------

He was doing much better now, there was talk of him being able to leave soon. Something he looked forward. He knew that his flat would still be as he left it. Too many classified items to be catalogued, too much paperwork, he was sure it would still be there when he was discharged.

He had considered, several times, contacting someone to let them know he was alive, but he felt far too weak and still worried that Moriarty would be watching. It was still to dangerous in his current condition. Best to be safe. His thoughts turned to his family.

Mother would no doubt have gone to visit relatives and Sherlock....who knew with Sherlock, without being able to use the CCTV footage to keep tabs on him, he had no idea what he'd be doing. Anthea had been telling him a few hours before the blast what he'd been doing. He only hoped he was safe now.

------

“John...”

“Sherlock...”

“I received this message from Anthea.. she wants me to take a look around Mycrofts flat.. for anything that myself or my mother may want to keep..” Should I go?

“Oh...do you want me to come with you?”

“Please”

“Alright then”

John stood, helping up his friend. This was going to be hard on him, so there was no way he'd let him go through this pain alone. They hailed a cab and made their way over. John was surprised by the location of his flat. Right in Pall Mall. “He lives here...?” Sherlock nodded. From the car window he could see in the distance, the ruins of the Diogenes Club, oh Sherlock, don't look.

The cab slid to a halt. Sherlock stepped outside, using his cane, he made his way up the footpath to the his brother's building. Anthea was waiting outside. She gave them a little smile, it didn't quite reach her eyes and then she opened the door. It took a flight of stairs, which Sherlock had difficulty with, before they found themselves at Mycrofts front door.

It was a beautiful flat, well looked after, it looked expensive too. It suited Mycroft. John paced the living room, looking at the few photos on the mantlepiece. One was of Sherlock and Mycroft, it was the same one he'd seen earlier in the photo album. Sherlock had limped through every room. Why was he here? How would he know what mother would want to keep. The photos obviously, but apart from that...

His eyes fell on an umbrella, Mycroft had several but there was one or two he prized above all others. This was the one Sherlock had given to him as a child. He leaned down and picked it up from it's resting place on the floor. This, he'd keep this and perhaps some of his books. His brother still had some of the books that he used to read to Sherlock as a child...

Sherlock ran his fingers along the bookcase, taking several books from the shelves and then went to find John.

Present Day...

-----

He'd managed to persuade them to let him out early, it helped that he was able to run circles around them with his mind. He was able to walk now, with the aid of crutches and was told to come back for a checkup very soon. He didn't intend to. His suit was ruined, so the hospital staff had kindly provided him with some clothes. Nothing expensive, nothing in his taste at all. Something borrowed from one of the male nurses.

Jeans and a hoodie. Really, jeans and a hoodie. Thank goodness no one could see him or he really would die, but of embarrassment. Yes they were comfortable but he was certain they didn't suit him. He probably looked ridiculous.

Oh well, the sooner he was home, the sooner he could dress himself in one of his three piece suits. Something bespoke. Anything but this, hopefully no one would recognise him just yet. The last thing he needed was Sherlock or someone else seeing him in this hideous attire and never letting him forget it.

------

Back in 221b, Sherlock and John were packing. Though it was more John was packing for the both of them. Sherlock had odd ideas on what one brought with them on ones holiday.

“You can't take the microscope Sherlock!”

“Why not?”

“One, it won't fit, two you won't have room for much clothes or anything else and three, its a bloody microscope!”

“I fail to see a good reason why not”

“I just told you!”

“A 'good' reason”

John wrung his hands in frustration.

“You aren't taking it and thats final!”

“You're not my mother John”

John ran to Sherlock's case and grabbed the microscope. What resulted was a chase around the flat before John finally hid the microscope in his room. “Why can't you bring some books or something, you're bringing your laptop, you don't need anything else!... I mean besides clothes”

“I am bringing books!”

“The history of british serial killers is not something one reads on vacation!”

“You are never satisfied are you?”

John flipped open the closed suitcase.

“And another thing, you are not bringing the skull!”

“But you said I could bring something so I'd feel at home”

“Yes but not the skull!”

Sherlock knew a way out of this situation. He pouted. “But it's my friend, John..” John rolled his eyes. “That make work on some people but it won't work on me. Think of customs Sherlock! You can't go on vacation with a skull, we'll be arrested!”

“You're overreacting”

“Look, just....” He was so frustrated but pleased that they were getting back to the light hearted banter he was used too.

“I can't bring the skull, I can't bring my microscope, won't don’t you just pack for me?”

“You are not getting out of this that easy”

“Just watch me”

Aslhalks

I can't believe I'm only getting on here now.

As always, this is amazing. I find myself simultaneously loving what you've written and cursing the high heavens that it isn't complete.

So amazing.

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