But Imagine Sherlock coming home from the wedding. He has been trying to hold it together, but he just can’t do it anymore. Tears begin to fall down his face, as he listens to A Time for Us, as he prepares his syringe. His hands are trembling.
Soon enough, the music drowns out, and he falls to the floor. His eyes are glassy, and empty.
And the last conscious thought he has iswas there ever really a time for us, my love?
you need to stop being satan.
Mycroft, knowing that this was a danger night for his brother, quickly leaves work. Dread grips him, as different horrid scenarios begin to play in his head.He quietly enters Baker Street, to find his borther’s limp body on the floor. He looks like a broken child.
Mycroft falls to his knees, next to his brother. His eyes sting, as he caresses Sherlock’s curls. He softly whispers
"Sherlock, what have you done?"
Anthea walks into the room, and hopelessly looks at Mycroft.
a single tear escapes Mycroft’s tight control as he says “Get me Doctor Watson. Now”
fuck you both very much
John answers the phone. He was ready to get on the plane.
"Doctor Watson" says Mycroft, his voice is tight. John hears him sniff "You might have to postpone your honeymoon for a while"
"what? Why?" John is becoming more and more anxious by the second. Mycroft never called to give good news "Is Sherlock okay?"
Mycroft didn’t answer immediately “I think it is best if we discuss this in person, John”
"No Mycroft, tell me if he is alright" said John, starting to panic
"A car is waiting for you outside" said Mycroft before hanging up
LEAVE MY LIFE
The car takes John to St. Barts, much to John’s dismay. He can hear Sherlock’s Goodbye John in the back of his head; his leg is hurting a lot.
He finds Mycroft pacing in the ER’s waiting room.
Mycroft looks… broken. His eyes are full of worry, and concern. His shoulders are hunched and he is as pale as a ghost. His usual flair is nowhere in sight.
"Please tell me he is alright" whispers John
Mycroft says nothing. He just stares at John, as tears begin to fall down his face.
"Mycroft please tell me what happened"
"Is he…"John gulps. He needs to know, but he can’t bring himself to say it.
”I don’t know”
John’s stomach churns, and he has to support himself on the wall, as his legs threaten to give out. Mycroft looks away. He is having enough of a hard time controlling his own emotions; he doesn’t need to see John’s fresh and raw sorrow.
They booth hear footsteps, and turn to see a young doctor walking towards them. His face is grim.
Mycroft straightens up and tightens his grip on his umbrella “What happened?”
the doctor clears his throat and says “You might want to sit down, sir”
"he likes girls too much to be gay"
wait hold on i have an idea
what if, no, hear me out, what if
Favourite Australian saying: “have a good one”. Have a good what? We’ll never tell. You’ll never know Australian secrets.
who’s gonna take the 82 hour trip down to no where land to tell these people half the english speaking world uses their apparently exclusive phrases