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Mycroft kneeled and gripped Sherlock's cold hand. Tears slid down his face and landed on the detective's still body.
This was the first time Mycroft had seen Sherlock since ‘the accident’. Well, it wasn't really an accident, someone shot the detective, and Mycroft wasn’t there to save him. Guilt and pain gripped his heart like a cold metal spike.
“I'm so sorry...”
The words echoed around the white hospital room, as hollow as Mycroft Holmes’ heart.
“I'm so sorry.”
Mycroft sobbed again
He took a deep breath.
“I love you, Sherlock, and I'm sorry for all of the times I've said that you're not good enough. I'm sorry for all the times I've made you feel like I don't care about you. I want you to know, I do care about you. I love you, and I'm sorry I never said it before.”
He ranted to the body lying before him.
A few minutes passed of hollow silence, only broken by the beeping of hospital machinery and the sobs of the older Holmes brother.
“I’ve always tried to protect you, keep you safe.”
He paused.
“Dad didn't even have to tell me. This was always just my responsibility, you know?”
Mycroft stood up, breathing shakily. He gently cupped Sherlock's cheek, and tried to smile through the tears.
“It's like I had one job.”
He choked on the words.
“I had one job.”
Another tear.
“And I screwed it up.”
“I blew it.”
Mycroft leaned in, clutching his dead brother tightly. He put his mouth close to his ear.
“And for that… I'm sorry.”
He whispered.
With that, the older Holmes sibling stepped back and gazed at his dead brother.
He wiped his face with a sleeve, grabbed his umbrella and coat, and turned to walk away.
At the doorway, Mycroft paused for a moment. Then he turned to face the bed.
“Good bye, brother-mine.”
With that, he exited the room, the rhythm of the footsteps on the ground pounding the harsh reality into him;
Mycroft Holmes failed to keep his brother safe. He failed to protect Sherlock when he needed him the most. Mycroft failed his little brother and because of that, he was never going to see him again.