Chapter Five

The next day, Sherlock acted completely normal, and it seemed as if everybody had forgotten Mycroft's death, except when someone brought the topic up.  And when that happened, everyone would stop talking and change the subject quickly.  I feared that it would be that way for all of eternity.

That day, I had visited Sherlock again while Mary was with Janine.  Sherlock was as normal as he will ever be, and didn't mention Mycroft once, so neither did I.  I wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible, and forget the events of the day before.

We were sitting, having a chat about what type of milk was the best, which ultimately resulted in Sherlock rambling off useless facts about 1%, 2%, and skim.

Sherlock's phone beeped, and he picked it up to have a look at it.  "What is it?" I asked. 

"Text. From that girl."

I nodded, and took a look myself.  The text read:

From: 1-668-879-4948Mr. Holmes: I found your number on your website, so I decided to text you.  I've had a gun pulled on me, again.  I think I need your help, don't you?Lydia

"Lydia," I murmured.  "She's got a real problem.  You should take her case, forget about Moriarty for a while."

"Mycroft would have wanted me to stay on Moriarty." Sherlock's eyes clouded with darkness, but he quickly recovered.  "I can't waste my time on anything, right now.  John, get Mary over here.  She promised to help me make funeral invitations."

I texted Mary to come to 221B, and she was here in a minute.

"Alright," She said, clapping her hands together.  "Are you ready to design them?" She asked Sherlock.

"Yes," he responded. He cleared off his table, set down his laptop, and they got to work.

Mary pulled up a blank document.  "Now, this looks blank now, but we can make it look however you want." Sherlock nodded, and I never saw him concentrate harder on anything except cases.  Mary typed some words, and clicked a button.  A box with different colours popped up.  "What colour should these words be?"

"Blue," Sherlock said.  "Mycroft always loved blue.  It was his favourite."  He pointed to a medium shade of blue.

Mary then picked the font changer.  "Do you want it fancy, modern, sketchy..."

Sherlock instantly pointed at Homemade Apple.  The words changed, and his lips almost formed a smile.  "That's good."

"Do you want the background to look like anything? Or just white?" Mary was clicking more things.

Sherlock said, "White."

Together, they designed the rest of the invitations, so the end result looked like this:

In Remembrance ofMycroft James Cylon Holmes

Funeral showing at 18112 Park Cr. January 18, 20153:00pm - 8:00pmWill reading and Speeches at 5:00pmGrave digging at 7:00pm

I couldn't help smiling at the fact that I never knew Mycroft's full name was Mycroft James Cylon Holmes.  I was also happy to see Sherlock in such a good mood.

Mary was downloading a PDF when she asked, "Are you going to give a speech, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded.  "I will give a speech, and so will my father."  Mary started printing.

I remembered back to the Best Man speech he gave at my wedding, and how good it was.  I hoped it would be as excellent as that was.

There was a knock at the door, and it was Molly.  "We have the results of the post-mortem on Mycroft Holmes.  He died of a rear foot cancer.  There are records that he visited a doctor, but must have not told anyone else."

Sherlock nodded from his seat.  "Oh Molly, we have the funeral invitations done."  He gave her a sheet of paper.

"Sherlock, it's beautiful!"

"Mary helped," he said.  Mary nodded.

Molly left, and Sherlock sat back down.  "Who's up for Fish and Chips?" Mary asked us.

"Me," I said, but Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm not hungry." Was his argument, and Mary and I exchanged looks.  Sherlock lay down on the couch.  "I'm taking a nap."  I was a little confused because Sherlock never takes naps.

"Janine wants Fish and Chips," Mary said, holding up her phone. 

"You go," I said.  "I'm keeping him company."  Mary stood still a moment, and left the flat.

Since Sherlock was sleeping on the couch, I went into his bedroom.  I was about to lie on his bed, but something was poking out from under it.  It was a red leather bound journal, the pages were filled with Sherlock's scrawled handwriting.  So that's why he was under the bed! It looked like they were letters.  The latest one was to Mycroft.

Mycroft Holmes,

You died last night, and I am sad.  You once told me that my loss would break your heart.  I acted as I would, but I knew you had meant it.I do miss you, and I don't know what I'll do without you.  John still won't understand.  I've tried everything. I've made a list.

Sherlock Holmes

I didn't understand the line that read, "John still won't understand.  I've tried everything." What did Sherlock mean?  I flipped through the pages some more, and found one that had my name on it.

John Watson,

You are my light everyday.  I'm sorry if i've hurt you before, and I certainly didn't understand at the time.I have learned so much from you.  You taught me how to care, how to say sorry, how to love.Why don't you get it? I've tried and tried, and I don't know what to do.  You are married now, so I wonder if there is anything I can do.I need you, John.

Sherlock Holmes

Again, it said, "Why don't you get it?" What don't I get? I must be blind because whatever Sherlock was referring to I couldn't see.

I heard the doorknob turned, and I slammed the book shut and threw it under the bed.  i hastily got to my feet as the door opened to reveal a tired looking Sherlock.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" He asked.  I actually saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but I don't know why.

"I, er..." I searched for a reason.  "I was straightening your sheets."

The hope vanished in an instant.  "Oh, well, I'm moving in here because it's more comfortable."

I noded, and left the room.  Sherlock probably would have pressed me with more questions, but he really did look so tired.  I went out into the busy streets and called a cab.  Sherlock has more secrets than a guy could have if you think about it.  I am still in awe at how good he is at hiding things.