sherlockbbc_fic | prompting part XXIII

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prompting part XXIII

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(short sorry but putting in in the blog format makes it shorter!)

He took a deep breath, there was still one more post. It was titled Going On Holiday, so Mycroft deduced that things had become much better in the 221b household, which eased his pain a little. He hoped he was right as he scrolled up and clicked the link.

Going On Holiday (http://i43.tinypic.com/25ksima.jpg)

This brought a smile to Mycroft's lips. He praised John from the bottom of his heart. This was precisely what he himself would have done. Sherlock had probably not been on a holiday for many, many years, he definitely needed it and no more so than now. But this now posed a new problem, he had no way of contacting John or Sherlock until they came back... unless he spoke to Mrs Hudson! Brilliant!

As soon as he was able, Mycroft decided to stop by 221B and let Mrs Hudson know he was alive. Perhaps, just perhaps he would be able to stay there and contact people in a more familiar environment. She surely would not turn him away, whatever disagreements they'd had in the past. Smiling more than he had all month, he logged himself off the computer and headed back to his room.

When Sherlock initially awoke, a day later, he was quite confused as to where he was. His first thought was that this was not his flat in 221b, the second was to remind himself that he was no longer in London but Paris. His third was that this was not his hotel room but in fact a hospital. But he couldn't figure out why he was in one. Had he had an accident? Been sick? Why couldn't he remember? The last thing he did, that he was sure of was that he had laid down on the couch and... ??? he drew a blank.

He turned his head to get a better view of the room and spotted a form, on the hospital chair beside him, fast asleep. John.....John was fine, though pale, his eyes were very red. So perhaps not an accident. His eyes were red...that suggests it was something bad, so sickness seemed likely out of the question. What had happened? Think, think! He remembered lying on the couch and...and...oh no. The syringe. Had he taken too much? He had been tired but unable to sleep. When he slept he had nightmares. Terrible nightmares.

So he taken the morphine and evidently too much of it. Something must have happened, he'd overdosed. Oh John Im so sorry. A tear slid down his cheek. Forgive me John please. And stay, don't go John...don't ever go. After all that had happened John was still there. John was always there. Sometimes Sherlock didn't understand it. They lived such dangerous lives, but John didn't seem to mind. Like Sherlock he seemed the thrive on it. But lately it had caused the two of them nothing but pain. He stayed watching John for some time, again unable to sleep.

----

When John opened his eyes, a few hours later, his immediate thought was to check on Sherlock. To his complete surprise he was awake and watching him. “Sherlock!” John jumped up, not sure if he ought to call for a nurse or not. John cautiously sat back down, moving his chair as close to the bed as possible. “Sherlock?” Please be ok, you better be ok and not lost like last time.

“John...”

“Sherlock! Thank god! You had me worried! Again!..”

“...I am sorry.....forgive me...”

John placed a hand against his own mouth. Sherlock had apologised and he looked so saddened. “Sherlock...of course I forgive you but I have to know...did you..did you try to kill yourself?” He had hesitated asking and now dreaded the answer. If he said yes what do I do? How do I help him? If he said no, then this was most likely an accident, but he had been reckless, did he care if he lived or died anymore? He stared into his lap, afraid to look into his friends eyes, terrified about what he might find.

Ohh, this is a sad chapter. It really is and I'm curious now what Sherlock is going to answer.

Just got back from school.

This angst is exactly what I've been hoping for all day.

Writing: Amazing

Angst: Crying

Good work: Keep it up

Chapter 35 coming soon! Were the blog posts ok? Not hard to read?

Oh, no, I could read them perfectly fine. :)

Sherlock's eyes widened like saucers, did John really think that of him? He would never, at least he was certain, that he would never try and take his own life. Yes he was quite depressed over everything that had happened but not enough to leave John and this world forever, they were both far too interesting.

“John....I swear it was an accident” Please believe me John..

John breathed a sigh of relief and struck up the courage to look Sherlock in the eyes. He saw there, sincerity and this calmed his heart. So it had been an accident then, that was good, well not good but at least now he knew his friend wasn't suicidal. “Then...why Sherlock? Were you just reckless? Why did you start using again?!” You were going so well, I don't understand.

“.......I wanted to forget” I wanted to make the pain go away...

“Forget whats happened?” Oh Sherlock...

Sherlock nodded. “I just wanted to forget it never happened because I can't sleep. When I close my eyes I see it happening and it's always so much worse in dreams then in real life. And sometimes...sometimes he's alive again John and everything is as it used to be and should be but then I wake up and suddenly the realisation comes crashing down that I will never see him again, never hear his voice, condescending or no, never again being relaxed in the knowledge that he is watching over me, over us. There is not one else who is like me anymore John, who really understand how I do what I do..me and Mycroft were the same in many ways and now he's gone. And...I just can't deal with that John...so I took the drug to forget, to have a dreamless sleep but I was tired and I guess I took too much.”

Neither had looked at the other during this speech, it was the most Sherlock had spoken since the explosion. Now John truly understood and he was glad that Sherlock had had the courage to get this off his chest because one look at him told him that he too was relieved to have spoken of his grief. Tears were present in both their eyes as they so often had been during this entire ordeal. John held Sherlock's hand in his own, reassuring his friend and himself.

“I don't blame you for wanting to forget Sherlock... but this wasn't the way to do it. You won't ever forget..I know I never have, I still remember the faces of my friends lost in war, I still dream about it. Yes I may miss the war in some ways but I wish with all my heart that I didn't have to see the faces of my dead comrades when I close my eyes. I can't promise that this will get any easier, but I can promise that you don't have to deal with this pain alone. Promise me you'll talk to me, ok Sherlock?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, he didn't deserve John, not really but he was so glad to have him in his life, that he couldn't even express it in words. With Mycroft gone, he felt this even more, John was the only brother he had left now, the only person on this earth who truly understood him. Of course he'd tell him.

“I promise John”

“Good, now focus on getting better, we still have a holiday to finish!”

“Only if I choose the next place to visit, somewhere not horribly populated with boring tourists and no tour guides! I swear the last one was such an imbecile if you had not been there I would have thrown my guide book in his face”

John laughed, the image coming easily to his mind. “Alright, but nothing morbid or too obscure, this is my holiday too”

“I can't promise you anything except that it will not be boring”

“Thats all I ask mate”

Okay, typing up a response to this before I have to go to bed.

Oh, Sherlock... I love how broken he is (Though saying that makes me seems horrible) and I love how hard it is going for him and the angst and I keep wondering what will happen when he finds Mycroft and... Bwuuh.

;_;

Two day’s later, Mycroft donned the closest thing he could get to a respectable outfit. Black trousers, white shirt, old black vest and jacket. It wasn’t really a full outfit, but it was close enough. Good enough at least that he looked somewhat like his old self, at least that is what he thought. He reviewed himself in the mirror, shocked at the appearance of his face and to a latter extent his body.

His skin was almost as pale as his brother’s, his hair slightly longer than he remembered, he did always like a short, no nonsense sort of style, he had bruises around his eye and upon his cheeks. He still required a bandage around his forehead, though he opted for a patch over the effected areas whenever possible but this wasn’t always the right thing to do. Some part’s of his head were not able to hold a patch.

He’d lost weight too….quite a bit actually, hospital food leaved much to be desired and because of the wound to his side, he simply hand’t been all the hungry. Well…so he didn’t really look like himself, he hardly recognised his own reflection. But that didn’t matter, as long as Mrs Hudson knew him, that was all that really mattered right now. He packed his new, meagre amount of belongings and asked if they could be sent to 221b and then used his crutches to head out towards the taxi waiting outside.

----

Would she hate him? He wondered, they didn’t really get along as well as he would like. He appreciated that she mothered his little brother, god knows he needed that sort of thing, usually as they were growing up, Mycroft had to take the roles of mother, father and older brother, their parents simply weren’t around very much.

Christmas and birthdays sometimes just consisted of the two of them. It was a lonely sort of childhood. So he was very pleased that Mrs Hudson cared so much for Sherlock and concerned that she may not be too happy that he wasn’t really dead. That Sherlock had gone through all that pain for nothing.

The cab stopped, the cabbie helping Mycroft out and then waving goodbye. The elder Holmes stood in front of the door to 221b with nervous anticipation. He paused, his hands above the bell, a noticeable bullet wound still through it’s heart. No replacement yet, his lips twitched slightly upwards as he raised his fist to the door instead. Now he waited. What would he do if she wasn’t home? Mycroft looked up, hearing footsteps coming towards the door, he took a breath. This was the moment of truth.

The door opened.

“Hello Mrs Hudson”

RR:
Oh no no no, you can't just stop here, that's evil. *giggles*
Need to know how Ms. Hudson will react.

Evil.

You are pure evil.

How could you-

In a place like-

...

I'll give you one thing, you certainly know how to keep my attention.

Silence. Mrs Hudson took a few steps forward, as if testing the vision before her. Surely this wasn't real. Having Sherlock has a tenant must have finally driven her mad. Of all the people she had expected to be behind that door, Mycroft Holmes was not one of them.

“Is it really you?” She queried, not even sure if she would received an answer. It looked like him in any case. Paler, thiner, clearly been badly hurt, but put those things aside, he really did look like one Mycroft Holmes. The man before her nodded, clearly not sure where to begin his explanation. She moved closer, raising her hand as if to stroke his cheek, instead giving it a very, hard slap, that almost knocked over the poor man.

“Mrs Hudson!” Was all Mycroft could say, he was shocked, that had been the last thing he'd expected. Violence was a reaction he was expecting from John and Sherlock but not from kind, old, Mrs Hudson, clearly here was a side to her he didn't know about. She turned, her eyes fuming but didn't close the door, definitely an invitation then. He limped inside with aid from his crutches, able to hear her pottering around upstairs.

-----

She was in their flat, making tea it appeared, when Mycroft finally made it up all those steps. He sat down on one of the armchairs, laying the crutches beside him, wincing as pain shot up his leg. Mrs Hudson kept glancing at him as she brewed the tea, still not convinced he was real.

Because how could he be? He'd been killed in the explosion, she knew, she had to watch his little brother mourn, something that had broken her heart. If Mycroft Holmes was indeed alive and sitting in this flat she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
Mrs Hudson picked up the two cups and sat down opposite Mycroft, handing him one of the cups.

Mycroft took it hesitantly, have expecting her to throw it in his face. “So then, Mycroft Holmes, you better have a very good reason for not being dead” Or so help me you'll have me to deal with. He coughed on his tea, almost hacking up a lung. She waited and then leaned over hitting him hard on the back. "T-thank you Mrs Hudson" He wiped his mouth and tried to figure out where to start this story.

"I do have a good reason, thank you very much, simply put I didn't find out that people though I had perished in the explosion till it was too later, they gave me a newspaper while I was recovering in the hospital, thats how I found out. By then I suppose there was little I could do to put things right, at least not until I'd recovered completely and was sure Moriarty was not watching"

"You could have called"

"I had no money, no phone, how do you suppose I would have been able to do such a thing when I have only recently been released?"

"You broke his heart"

"......I know"

She sipped her tea. "You don't look well...you were badly hurt weren't you?" It was the only explanation in her mind for not contacting them earlier. He nodded, his eyes focused on the floor. "They were not sure I would make it. I wish I could have let them know, John and Sherlock...I read John's blog..I know some of what has been going on"
Oh Mycroft dear...he looked so sad, so full of regret and worry for his little brother. Sherlock needed mothering, it was clear to her that Mycroft needed that just as much.

Oh, Mycroft...

*Wibble*

This is going to take a lot of work to fix, isn't it?

lol probably...dude what happens when kink meme runs out of page....it's almost there now....lol XD what do i do?

I believe that's what the overflow post (Linked in top) is for.

aah... i don't understand what to do lol....but i have the next chapter ready...so what do i do?

Well, you could either keep posting here or move to Overflow. If what you're mainly concerned about right now is how tiny length-wise the comments are then you could probably post them in reply to an earlier chapter, they'd still show up at the bottom but wouldn't be so thin.

like in reply to the first chapter?

“Well you're here now and that's what matters, but If you read John's blog, then you know they are overseas?”

Again Mycroft nodded. “I..have nowhere to go, I was hoping perhaps I could stay here until they came back or until I was able to get back in contact with my people. I was hoping for a few days rest before I do such a thing.” The sooner the better in his mind but his body disagreed.

“You need a lot more rest than just a few days, Mycroft Holmes” replied Mrs Hudson as if chiding a child. “You can take Sherlock's room, it's the neatest. Which is a bit odd really, considering the state of the rest of this house.” Mycroft gave her a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you Mrs Hudson, I promise I won't be in your way” She dismissed this with a wave and a warm smile. “It looks like I better go and buy some groceries for you, goodness knows what's in their fridge right now, I dread to think” She stood, forming a grocery list in her mind, she had no Idea what sort of food Mycroft liked, so he will just have to be satisfied with what ever she brought.

“...I am glad you're alive, I don't ever want to see poor Sherlock like that again. He'll be happy to I expect, once he's gotten over the initial shock” I hope so Mrs Hudson, I hope so.

He watched her leave, relieved that he now had somewhere to stay, somewhere familiar. He picked up the small bag that contained, at the moment, his whole life and lugged it towards Sherlock's room. It was very neat, even his bedroom as a child had not been that neat. But Mycroft supposed that now that he had more rooms, he could evenly spread around his life.

He placed the bag on the bed, his eyes been drawn to a corner of the room. There, against the wall, lay an umbrella. He picked it up, studying it. This was his, the one Sherlock had given to him as a child...so they had gone through his home then. He held the umbrella against his chest for a moment, before putting it back down. Sherlock....please forgive me...

-----

Meanwhile back in Paris....

----

Sherlock had just been released from Hospital into John's capable hands. More than ever, rest was paramount and John wasted no time in searching the entire hotel room for any spare syringes. Sherlock maintained it was the only one but as much as John would like to believe him, he didn't.

The man in question was again lying on the couch he'd nearly died in. John shuddered, dismissing the thought. The sooner they left Paris the better. He took out some bread and butter and began to make a sandwich. Sherlock needed to eat. Still so thin. John handed Sherlock the plate of food and did not move until he began to eat.

“I'm alright now John”

“Bullshit”

Sherlock couldn't think of anything to reply to that statement. John was probably right, he wasn't ok, but he would be. It would take time, but he would be.

Boooooooooysssss

;_;

Mrs Hudson had expected Mycroft to be much easier to deal with than his little brother but he was anything but. He was just as bad. He didn’t play the violin at three in the morning and he did eat, usually. But he could sit for hours on end thinking, completely ignoring everything and he had begun to complete a few of Sherlock’s left over experiments out of boredom. Clearly this was a Holmes trait. He could be just as rude and arrogant as Sherlock, though usually only if he was stressed and in pain.

She placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, he was reading in Sherlock’s armchair, he wrinkled his nose at the food before him, as he had a lot lately. He considered his palate far too sophisticated for…scrambled eggs. But food was food, and he was hungry.

“Don’t turn your nose up at it young man, you eat what you’re given”

“You’re not my mother Mrs Hudson and I am not my brother”

“Clearly you both need mothering, so get used to it Mycroft Holmes”

He had noticed, from the week he’d spent here so far recuperating, that she had a habit of calling him by his whole name when she was frustrated with him. It was some what annoying but also quite touching, he was beginning to see why Sherlock was so fond of her.

“You don;t happen to know at all when they plan to come home?”

She shook her head. “Soon I hope, they’ve been away for awhile and those two can find trouble just about anywhere. I have been thinking of giving them a ring sometime soon…maybe I should today? See how they are” Mycroft shrugged.

“Don’t mention that I am alive, it’s better for the both of them to see me face to face, I would not want to cause them the pain of anxiously waiting to get home.” Mrs Hudson shook her head tsking. “They need to know soon, how long to you plan to keep up this charade, Mycroft Holmes”

“Until I am well, It is much safer for myself to stay low until I can be sure that Moriarty is not still watching, he’s a crafty fellow”

“Well… I think I’ll go give them a call right now”

——

They’d packed and left Paris a few days ago, now they were in Rome. John could see Sherlock enjoying himself a lot more now. They’d already visiting several places, some slightly morbid but Sherlock seemed happy and fascinated so John didn;t really mind. But they were really creepy places.

First they’d visited a crypt full of the bones and skulls of monks. Sherlock was fascinated, pointing out the different patterns to John, occasionally trying to guess what they died from. Then they’d visited the catacombs, that had seriously freaked John out, Sherlock was having the time of his life however. After that they’d visited some normal tourists sites, like the Colosseum and the Pantheon. John had taken so man photos he’d needed to upload half onto his computer before continuing.

Here was a photo of Sherlock in the crypt, his eyes lit up, pointing at a morbid chandelier, talking to John. Here was another, taken by Sherlock this time. John was in the corner, looking slightly freaked out and uncomfortable. Another photo, John was wearing a roman helmet, Sherlock was next to him laughing, another with Sherlock wearing the helmet looking less than amused, John however was beside himself. They’d found a fellow tourist from London to take those photos.

John turned off the camera, glancing back at his friend who was yelling at the television, some things never changed. And then the phone rang. That was ….odd, even Sherlock turned to look. John picked it up, wondering who on earth would be calling , they were on holiday!

“Hello?”

“John dear! It’s Mrs Hudson!”

“Who is it?” Tell them to go away John

John moved the phone away from his mouth. “It’s Mrs Hudson” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell her anything, you hear?” Not relising that across the sea, his brother was alive and making the same request of Mrs Hudson. John waved a hand at Sherlock and continued talking.

—-
(need to figure out how to post the whole thing on overflow...)

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prompting part XXIII

Re: Oh Brother Of Mine 33/?

Re: Oh Brother Of Mine 34/?

Re: Oh Brother Of Mine 34/?

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