My first ever fanfiction. Still getting used to the idea. I'll do a cool JohnxSherlock one next, but I've had this idea of what Mycroft's reaction to Sherlock's suicide would be for a while now. So, here it is! Hope y'all like it! Review pretty please!
~ Sherlock, You Were Loved ~
How many times had he told him that he was worried for him? How many years had he tried, fruitlessly, to create a positive relationship with him? To what length shad he gone to try to keep him safe? It didn't matter now. Sherlock Holmes, his precious baby brother, was dead...
Mycroft hid himself, his umbrella closed in his hand despite the rain, and watched speak to his brother's grave. Now, the elder Holmes prided himself of being well detatched from emotion, but the heart broken voice and words of his younger brother's best, and only, friend made tears burn in his eyes.
"Just...don't be dead, for me." the retired army doctor pleaded. Mycroft could feel his heart being crushed. Never before had Sherlock had a friend. And when he finally did, one that truly loved and cared for him, he was gone.
He stayed hidden until John had gone, then, he slowly approached the black head stone. His baby brother's head stone. It was a foreign idea in his mind still, that he would see his brother buried before him. It was so...wrong. Mycroft cleared his throat several times, trying to find his voice. A steady voice, and not one wracked with the sobs of grief he'd been suppressing. He had so much he wanted to say. Too much. But he had to say something.
"Sher-" he tried to begin, but his voice cracked. With a grounding breath, he started again. "Sherlock, my dear, dear little brother, I am so sorry. I'm sorry for the pressure I put you under. I'm sorry that I didn't play with you more when you were a child." he chuckled a bit at this part. "You always wanted to play. No one would believe me if I told them now. I was busy, but I should have been there for you. I blame myself for what's happened to you. You were driven so far. Your heart was so dark with sorrow. I couldn't save you from it. And...and I'm so sorry, Sherlock." he choked on the last part. He'd held it in until now. He hadn't let anyone see him affected. He hadn't cried at all. He did now. He cried more tears than the rain coming down.
Mycroft's sobs shook his body violently, and he fell to his knees in the mud as his umbrella fell from his hand beside him. He brought his hands up to his face and cried into them. Never before in his life had he cried so much. Not even as a baby. He had always been the big brother: numb, unfeeling, in control... He wished now that he hadn't been. He wished that he hadn't waited until it was too late to care for Sherlock. To worry about him and love him.
"You were my baby brother." he gasped, speaking to the grave. "I always loved you. I worried all the time! I was so stupid. I should have been there for you. I should have been able to protect you. Oh Sherlock, please, please forgive me."
From behind a tree, tears rolled down Sherlock Holmes's cheeks. John, his best friend. Now Mycroft, his only brother. When Sherlock was fourteen years old, he had stopped eating enough and done too much cocaine. Mycroft had asked him if he ever thought about what it would do to people if he died from it. "No one would miss me." he had told him. He had been wrong. So very wrong.
The tears disappeared into the rain, and so did Sherlock. Soon enough, he would be able to show John and Mycroft that he was alive. And he would never take them for granted again. As he turned away from his brother, crying at his fake grave, a smile spread across his lips. What younger brother doesn't long for the love of their big brother? Sherlock Holmes was exceptional, but he was not an exception to this. He felt loved.
Please Review, and thank you :)