Chapter Four

Mary woke me up the next day with a crazed look on her face.  "John! John! I've gotten a call, well, it was your phone, but..... John!"

I rubbed my eyes, and sat up.  "What the hell.....it's five in the morning, Mary!"

"I know, but, we need to get to the morgue!"

"Why the bloody hell would we need to go a morgue at five in the morning on a Saturday?!"

Mary's expression changed so fast, it almost frightened me.  "John, last night..."  She breathed in and out heavily.

"What?" I pressed.

"John, it's Mycroft." 

I sighed.  "Mycroft is always causing trouble.  Why at a morgue? Another killing? Did he kill someone? Oh, I bet it was....."  I stopped talking as soon as I saw the pain in Mary's face.  Her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

"John, Mycroft died last night."

I felt a pang of horror so great, I clutched my stomach.  Mycroft? How did Mycroft die?  I guess I had always thought of him as indestructible.  I shook my head slowly.

"What, John?"  Her face was wet.

"I dunno," I look at her.  "What will Sherlock do?"

She shook her head, and more tears slipped from her eyes.  "We need to get over there, now."  Mary grabbed my arm and pulled me out of bed, and wiped her face on her sleeve.  "Come on!"

I was still in shock by the time we got there.  Molly was standing over a sheeted corpse, and I suddenly felt nothing.  There he is, I thought.  Nothing to do for him, now.

Sherlock was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, staring into blank space.  I let out a sigh of relief; I had wondered if he was going to show up at all.  I went over, and sat by him.  He didn't do anything.  I wondered what he was thinking about.  How does Sherlock Holmes deal with loss?

I saw Molly motion me over to the body.  "Do you want to see," she asked.  I nodded.  She pull the sheet to reveal the face, Mycroft's face.  It looked like him.  He was sleeping, only he would never wake up.  He was at Sherlock's party, last night, before he died.  Did he know he was going to die? Maybe that was why Mycroft wanted to have a party: To be with Sherlock one last time.  Molly interrupted my thoughts when she said, "We would prefer in Sherlock was the one to identify him, since he was the closest.  But Sherlock won't move." She sniffed.

I nodded.  "He's in shock.  Mycroft was his brother."  I felt more sadness creep into my blood.  "He's Sherlock, so I wouldn't imagine him to show any emotion, so this is the only thing he can do." I looked back at him.  He was the same as he was two seconds before, but I had to look at him.  I turned to Molly, and said, "Do you know how Mycroft died?"

"The tests and the post-mortem will be done this afternoon," Molly replied.

I nodded, and I went to sit with Sherlock, again.  When I did, he shifted his position.  He stared, again, at nothing.  I moved closer to him, and I put my hand on his shoulder.  He still didn't move.  I felt Mary sit on my other side.  She leaned her head on my body. 

Finally, he stood so abruptly, it knocked me over.  He walked out of the room, and didn't stop.  I wanted to follow him, but I didn't have the strength.

Mary and I went to Baker Street five minutes later because we had no idea what he'd do, and if we should be watching him.  Sherlock was sitting in his chair.  He looked up when we entered the sitting room.  At least he didn't look like a statue, anymore.

"Hello, John.  Hello, Mary."  He stayed staring at us, and I just didn't know what to do.  He was the one to break the silence.  "Weird thing, huh? Mycroft dying."

Mary looked at me.  She had pain in her eyes.  Sherlock continued, "Well, we just saw him yesterday, and he went and died."  There was an emptiness in his voice, and just a hint of sorrow.  I could just see through his emotional veil, and he was, infact, saddened a little.

"Why did Mycroft die?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Sherlock, we don't-"

"Why would Mycroft do that?  He could have been murdered, but that's so unlikely.  He probably was ill, but he didn't tell anyone.  Yes, he was ill, but didn't want anyone to know he was weak.  Smart, but why did he look so well at my party? Why did he plan my party? No, he didn't plan it, he just gave up the date.  He let someone else plan it, he wanted to celebrate my forty before he died."

I sort of did a facepalm.  He was deducing his own brother's death.

Mary took a step closer to Sherlock.  "Are you okay?" She asked.  I sighed.  Never ask Sherlock Holmes if he's 'okay'.

Sherlock looked up at her.  "No, I'm fine.  Are you?"

"A bit shaken-"

"Your brother died, Sherlock!" I spat.  "Don't you even care?"

Sherlock looked at me like I was crazy.  "I cared, now I'm done caring."

I sat down in my chair across from him.  I tried to calm myself.  "Listen, Sherlock," I began.  "I know you are just trying to cover up your emotions, but seriously.  You have to be sad.  If you need to talk about it, I'm free."  He closed his eyes as I said the last part.  "Anything, Sherlock, anything for you.  I'm free."

Sherlock stood, and it sounded like he had just ignored everything I had just said.  "I need a bath."

As he walked out of the room, I turned to Mary.  "I'm going to stay here, with him.  You can go if you like."

"I'm pregnant, ready to pop.  John, is it a good idea to send me away?"

I smiled.  "I have to stay with him, just in case.  Go home, call me if anything happens."

Mary kissed me on the cheek, and left.

I heard the water start running in the bathroom.  Sherlock was taking his bath.  Then, I heard banging.  Is he banging his fist on the wall? My mouth opened as I heard him start mumbling things.  He was mumbling things in a cracked voice.  My heart skipped a beat.  He's sobbing.  He's having a bloody break down. 

I was actually holding my breath.  I could hear him.  That was something I've never heard before.  Then, to my horror, he shouted something, something I thought I'd never hear him say.

"FOR ALL THOSE TIMES I NEVER SAID I LOVED HIM!"

My heart died.  There, Sherlock did love him.  I could just sit and listen to this.  I debated going in.  Well, he's in the bath, but I have to help him! He'll hate me, but I can't just sit here!  Then, the water turned off.  He'll be getting out.

I braced myself for anything, and I slowly got up, and walked to the bathroom door in the hallway.  I lifted my hand, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.  Nothing, so I opened the door.  Probably the worse mistatke I'll ever make.

Sherlock was standing there, in a towel, staring at the wall.  "What do you want?"  You could tell he tried hard to keep his voice steady.

"Sherlock, do you want to talk about anything?" Was what I had asked.

"No. Go away."  He ran his hand through his wet hair, which looked really long when it didn't have the usual shape of curls.  I smiled at the cuteness.

"Sherlock, I think there is something you need to talk about."

Sherlock shook his head.  I could see from my angle that his face was red.  I nodded and left the bathroom.  I went back to mine and Mary's flat, hoping that he would be okay.