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Not even pulling up the collar of his long, old coat made Sherlock feel warmer in his own skin. Not after that day.
The case was a success of course, and John, his co-worker and of course, his best friend was having the (probably) best day of all his life, all of that summed up to the news of his baby being announced. He should feel happy for him. Not only slightly, but extremely happy.
John Watson, the man who not once, but many, several, uncountable times saved his life, made his days, nights and afternoons by solving case by his side, and even had been living with him for so much time now, deserved to be happy, deserved someone who could unconditionally love him and bring him a safe space where he could be wanted, and loved every time he needed.
Sherlock was still struggling with his thoughts, because, even if he knew that he should be happy for John, he didn't feel like it. He felt rather empty. Emptier than before. As if someone just took away from him a warm blanket that had been covering him for a very long period after being cold during all his life, to just, all of a sudden, rip that out of him, leaving him alone and exposed again. He felt weird, alone, vulnerable.
Walking in the streets, with the wind and the rain against his face, he was even worse. Sherlock was heading straight to Baker Street, to his house. The only thing he desperately wanted, no, needed, was laying on his bed, and forgetting that everything today had happened. Maybe tomorrow when he woke up, he'd realise that everything that happened today was just a dream. John would be in the flat with him, making tea, and complaining about his socks being all over the living room. They'd have a little discussion, but it would be fun, and he'd feel warm again.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he suddenly stopped walking. He was now in the middle of an empty park, next to an artificial lake. It was very dark, and there was no reflection of the moon anywhere near the agitated surface of the water.
Sherlock looked around to see if anyone could see him, then took a deep breath, stayed still for a second, and finally punched himself in the face with all his strength, making him fall backwards to the floor, disoriented. Everything felt dizzy at the moment, and blood came warm out of his nose after a few seconds. He let his eyes closed and his head down while waiting till all the blood runned down.
"This is not fair for John '' he firmly said aloud. He should set his greed aside and move on. Sure, they wouldn't be together as much as they had been for this last period of time, and he'd probably had to solve cases alone now, he'd even had to deal with his solitude more now than how he used to dealt with it when he was "playing dead", and he'd miss him… God how much he'd miss him… But, that was all. He'd be back again to be the boring, self centered, and lonely Sherlock Holmes he had always been. Nothing bad could happen.
His phone suddenly started ringing, and drove him out of his thoughts. He took his phone out of the pocket of his coat, and looked at the screen. When it revealed it was John who was calling, as a reflex action, he immediately threw his phone into the water. It made almost no noise, since the rain had opaqued the sound it made. He'd buy another one in a couple of days, Sherlock told himself, it wasn't essential.
Oh John, if only you knew… he thought.
Then Sherlock stood up, and as if nothing had happened, he started walking again. He really wanted to arrive home, if he even could call the flat he lived in home again anymore. It was no more a home without the people that inhabited it.
With every step he took, his body felt heavier, he felt dizzier, and the impulse to collapse to the ground was bigger with all of it.
After what felt like a whole life walking, he entered Baker Street. A small smile of relief crossed his face when he saw how little he had left to finally arrive at his flat.
While he was searching for his keys in one of the pockets of his coat, he stopped walking and flinched his eyes to try to recognise the figure that was standing at his front door with an umbrella. The figure looked as if it had been waiting for him, because as soon as it heard his steps and the sound of his keys, it turned around to see him.
On any other nights, his first instinct would have been an alert, for one, a client, or two, an enemy. Both were common cases in the 221B Baker Street apartment, but this night wasn't like any other night, so, he just walked towards it, and wished for the best. And oh boy. It wasn't nearly what he expected.
"Mycroft?" He said almost speechless when he recognised the figure, who was now looking at him with a joking smile. He then walked enough to be next to him.
"Well yes, brother. Hope I didn't scare you." Said Mycroft while giving his umbrella a little twist, as soon as his brother arrived, accidentally splashing out Sherlock's face.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said, tired as fuck now, with no inch of his body wanting to have a long, mocking conversation with his brother.
"I wanted to congratulate you for your performance in your little case out there. You impressed all those idiots. As always." Mycroft spitted in a disgusted and mocking voice. Although, his expression changed before speaking again. "I also heard that John's wedding was lasting long, and well, we both know, dear brother, you're not the type to spend much time in those kinds of events." He said with no ounce of mocking in his voice.
"Well, you knew well." Sherlock sighed, defeated by his own self. "Now, move, I want to get in." He tried to step inside the entrance, but an arm got in the way.
"Not so fast, Sherl" Sherl, he hadn't used that nickname since they were younger. "You know I don't come here for pleasure, not without a purpose."
With every second that passed, Sherlock felt more impatient and anxious, he really needed to get in, and be away from everyone that had ever met him before, and the thought of them. "Then tell me your purpose and let me go." Now he really sounded desperate.
Mycroft took a deep breath, and his face turned into a firm one. "I came by to offer you a gift."
"A gift?" Sherlock asked, very confused. He had brought no packages or similar with him. He supposed it was for John's wedding, but he said you.
"Yes brother, a gift. A very rare one, I must add. You're, of course, free to decline it, but, being the day that it is, I thought you might find it useful." Mycroft shifted from one foot to another unconformably, but his words were absolutely true.
A short silence took over the place, then Sherlock asked softly "What is it, then?"
Mycroft smiled softly, and strongly breathed in again. He then closed his umbrella, and tied it before putting it aside, letting the rain pour all over him. He turned his face to the sky, before looking at Sherlock again. His face now showed a pitiful picture.
Then he opened his arms.
He said no word, and added no other gesture, but Sherlock understood.
It took him a couple of seconds, after looking him dead straight to his eyes, for him to feel weird again.
All of this year's fights and discussions, over and over and then… this. So, he never stopped being the guy who looked up after him to see if he had any bruises after going outside to play in the dirt on a rainy day, knowing full well that he'd get hurt.
Without hesitation, he walked towards Mycroft, and thinking no more, he threw himself in the arms of his brother.
The hug went tight from there, and Sherlock started crying, crying uncontrollably over his brother's shoulder.
Mycroft couldn't help, neither understand, but he was there. He was always there. He held firstly his brother, who was collapsing under the weight of his own emotions in his arms. He'd never seen him like that, and his expression after realising what was happening, how big the elephant in the room was, was devastating.
"Oh, Sherlock." He whispered, stroking his hair.
"I know, I know…" Sherlock cried even harder, letting all, water and tears and mucose flow over his face. He didn't care how awkward this might look from outside, or how loud he was crying, he couldn't hold it anymore.
They spent like that many minutes, getting even more soaked with the rain's water, but they didn't care.
After a while Sherlock was just sobbing, uncontrollably, but only sobbing, and Mycroft's almost absent tears couldn't be distinguished from the rain, so, Sherlock separated his face from his brother's shoulder, and stared at his face. His eyes hurt from how hard he had cried, and his throat burned like hell for the screams he threw, but he didn't care, and neither did Mycroft, at least, not in a way that would stop them from having this moment.
"Come, let's get into the house." Mycroft said, no more explanations given. Sherlock only gave a gentle and tired nod, before handing him the keys to his house. Mycroft already had ones, but he took them anyway. He then picked up his umbrella and entered the keys into the door.
They both got into the building. While walking up the stairs, he took a quick glance at his brother's face. He had his face red, and his wet curly hair sticked to his head. He looked broken, devastated and more, carrying a dead expression in his eyes.
He convinced Sherlock to take a quick warm shower and change to warmer clothes while he prepared a cup of tea for both of them. After changing into new clothes (borrowed from his brother's closet) putting the kettle on, and making sure he could hear the water running in the shower, he took his phone from his pocket, and opened the unheard voice message John had sent him an hour ago.
He had to lower his phone volume when he played it. The audio was clearly recorded from a crowdy place, loud music could be heard in the background, as well as voices everywhere. He could even distinguish Mrs Hudson's voice, singing along to the choruses of "Love of my life" from Queen.
"Hey Mycroft, hope it catches you well. I'll go straight to the point. I can't find Sherlock! I'm at my wedding and he's not around. I know he doesn't like being around this many people but… I don't know, he seemed fine a couple of minutes ago! I've tried to call him, but he doesn't answer. I know it's probably nothing and he just went home, but, this behaviour is not that common of him. Could you just, maybe check on him? Go home if he's there, maybe? Thanks in advance. Oh! And if you see Sherlock, tell him that he's a very good friend, actually, heh, the best I've ever had in all my life… I don't know where I'd be without him… Tell him that, ok? That I appreciate him a lot... Thank you."
Mycroft sighed and began typing:
"All in control, Sherlock's home."
"We have a lot in common, Dr Watson." Mycroft thought to himself.
Then placed his phone on the coffee table. When he heard the water begin to boil, he entered the kitchen, took it off the stove, and poured the water in two tiny cups. Then placed the tea bags and poured 4 spoons of sugar in only one of them. He knew Sherlock didn't like tea with sugar, so he stored it in its place, then took both cups to the living room.
Not much after, Sherlock came out of the bathroom in his warm pajamas, and sitted in the opposite extreme as Mycroft was seated on the long coach. Then carefully took the cup of tea between his fingers and stared into the cup, he then began to blow the liquid to make it a bit cooler.
"Thank you." He whispered. "For being here." Now he was looking at Mycroft. Seeing him in his pajamas stole a smile off his face.
"Told you, it was a gift. No need to thank me." Mycroft said before sipping from his cup.
They stayed like that for several minutes, at least until Mycroft felt tired. He told Sherlock he arranged everything so he could stay "for this night, and only this night", just in case he needed anything. Sherlock just nodded and indicated out where John's room was, so he could sleep there.
Suddenly, the screen of Mycroft's phone lit up and briefly showed a message from John on the screen, saying "Thank you."
Before going upstairs, Mycroft gently squished Sherlock's shoulder and ruffled his hair under his fingers.
"Good night, Sherlock."
"Good night, Mycroft." He then heard his brother's steps going upstairs, and some noise he made when entering the bed.
After making sure Mycroft wouldn't hear, he took his phone from the table, and introduced the password. "R3d V3LV3T ''. It was his personal phone, so, apart from being easy to access to, there was nothing to hide, apart from his family's telephone numbers, and Lestrade's, and… John's.
He clicked the chat, and saw the previous message. Then clicked on the audio…
Hearing it felt like a bliss, mixed up with a kick in his stomach. It hurted, but at least he cared.
Sherlock then turned off all the lights, and went to his room. When he finally reached his bed, he hid himself under the sheets, where he curled up over himself, hugging his knees, letting silent tears run over his face.
Thousands of good memories with him and John flew over his mind, but the very last thing that crossed his mind before going to sleep, was how good it felt to let it all out with his brother, moments ago.