The Guilt Of A Brother

Chapter One

AN: So I had to write this. Sorry but I did. Obviously this is an AU and won't happen. Or at least I hope it won't but here it is. Based on the fact that Mycroft doesn't know Sherlock faked his own death xxxxx

Summary: After Sherlock's death, Mycroft thinks about his brother's death. John's words ring in his ears and for the first time in years, Mycroft is over come with the crushing and debilitating sense of guilt. He can't shake the feeling so he takes the matter into his own hands. Unfortunately, he doesn't realise that there is one person who doesn't blame him for Sherlock's death and has surprisingly fell in love with the older Holmes. But can he save Mycroft in time?

"Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, hm? And you have given him the perfect ammunition."

"John, I'm sorry."

"Oh, please."

Mycroft rests his head in his hands, silent sobs racking his body as he tries to compose himself.

John was right, he let his little brother down when he needed him the most. Mycroft had greatly underestimated Moriarty and his 'game' when he had told him the story, thinking that he would just use it to goad Sherlock rather than kill him.

If for one second Mycroft had actually believed the game would go so far as to cause his brother to kill himself, then of course, he wouldn't have told Moriarty the story.

He should have known better, but he was too blinded by catching the criminal and stopping his brother from stupidly continuing to play the game that he had got caught up in it himself and had let Moriarty goad him into spilling all his secrets.

Mycroft picks up the glass of scotch and stares at it, swilling it around the glass a few times before knocking it all back in one gulp. When he stands, his body is shaking as he walks over to the bedside table and with shaking hands; he pulls out the item he's been looking for. His father's pistol.

He flicks it over in his hands a few times; testing the weight of it, fully loaded once again. As he sits down on the bed, his mobile buzzes with an incoming text.

He picks it up with his free hand and opens the message.

Hey Mycroft,

You alright? Do you want

me to come round? You

probably need someone

to talk to. You did just lose

your brother. You shouldn't

be alone. Text me if you

need to.

GL

MESSAGE SENT

Mycroft smiles softly to himself; warmth filling his chest for a few moments before remembering what he did. Suddenly another text message comes through.

Sorry, what am I saying?

You don't need a daft git

like me. I'll probably just

make it worse. Forget I said

anything. But, if you do need

me then I'll listen. Alright?

Greg

MESSAGE SENT

Mycroft smiles again at the inspector trying to personalise the message in an attempt to help the younger man. What he doesn't realise is that he is beyond help. He just gave a psychopath to weapon he needed to kill his own brother. If anyone should have the inspector's comfort then it should be John. He is, after all, the innocent one in all of this. Mycroft doesn't deserve sympathy or comfort, he deserves to be alone.

Despite himself, the older Holmes types a brief but courteous reply.

Thank you, Gregory. But that

is unnecessary. I am coping in

my own way. I think John might

appreciate a visit. He's at a loss

at this time. Have a pleasant

evening, Gregory.

Mycroft

MESSAGE SENT

He puts the phone back on the bedside table and settles himself on his bed before lifting the gun to his head.

"I'm so sorry, dear brother." He says to the room before pulling the trigger.

The last sound is Mycroft's lifeless body as it flops down on the bed.

x..x

Despite Mycroft's text assuring him that he's alright, Greg can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong. He chuckles humourlessly to himself at the memory of Sherlock sending him the word when they worked the Study In Pink case. John's first case, where he shot the cabbie. John still thinks Greg doesn't know.

What he also doesn't know is that Greg let it slide because of the circumstances. If it wasn't the fact that he did it to save Sherlock's life, John would have been arrested on the spot. But Greg couldn't do that.

Because from that moment he knew, just knew, that this seemingly harmless, jumper-wearing short man, would make Sherlock better. And he did. Greg couldn't take that away from John, couldn't take away his need to be needed by somebody.

Greg shakes himself and makes a decision, picking up his keys and coat; he stands up and leaves the flat.

He makes it to Mycroft's house in twenty minutes; which much class as a record time, and when he gets there the feeling of uneasiness becomes stronger.

He tries to find a spare key so that he can get in and after five minutes of searching, he finally finds it and unlocks the door. He looks around the house for the younger man before coming to his bedroom and decides to take a look.

His heart nearly gives out at what he sees; Mycroft is lying on his bed, blood straining his pillow red as the gun lies in his hand.

Greg gasps brokenly, walking over to the bed and checking for signs of life. He knows it's useless; a gunshot to the head would have killed him instantly and he's already started to go cold.

Greg pulls out his phone and texts John, too afraid his voice will break if he rings.

Come to Mycroft's.

Immediately! I have

some bad news, John.

I'm sorry.

Greg

MESSAGE SENT

Greg reaches for Mycroft's free hand and squeezes tightly, trying not to break down in tears.

"Oh, Mycroft. I'm so sorry. I should have come round sooner. I should have told you … that I love you. That I am in love with you. I should have told you that it wasn't your fault and … you're not the bad guy. I let you down ... I'm sorry. I wish you'd come back."

Greg doesn't know how long he's sat there, holding Mycroft's cold hand and sobbing to himself, before there's a knock on the door and John enters.

"Oh, God." John gasps, gripping the doorframe. "Greg, what … what did he do?"

"He shot himself."

"I can see that, Greg." John snaps, glaring at the older man.

"Sorry. Um, I texted him and he said he was alright. But I felt like something was wrong. I couldn't understand why so I came to check on him. I found him like this."

"I'm sorry, Greg. I know you … ya know. What's that, on the table?" John asks, eyeing the envelope.

"I don't … know. I didn't look at the table when I came in. I just sat down here. Let's see." Greg replies, picking up the sealed envelope and ripping it open.

"Dear Gregory, I want you to know the truth. I got caught up in Moriarty's game and unknowingly set my little brother up to commit suicide. I'm deeply sorry for that. Contrary to what everyone believes, I love my brother dearly … and worry about him constantly. I never meant to hurt him. I was merely trying to prevent him from … killing himself playing Moriarty's game. I know how deeply he means to John and I only wanted to protect his safety. Unfortunately, I have failed. I'm leaving this note because … isn't that what people do? When they want to end their life? I knew it would be you … Gregory, who would find this letter. My brother teased me saying that you are … 'stupidly in love with me', his words, not mine. And I never believed him. But if you are reading this now … then I know he was correct. I'm just sorry that I did this to you." Greg reads aloud, his voice breaking occasionally before he takes a deep breath and continues.

"I never meant to hurt you either. But given what I did to my own brother … you are better off without me. But know that I love you too, my dear Gregory. I have for a long time. Tell John that I am sorry … I never meant to kill the man he … loves, I truly wanted to protect him. And I hope for his sake … that Sherlock had a plan. And I hope that he somehow comes back. But maybe that's just wishful thinking. I just cannot wait until he 'returns', the guilt is too much ... for even me to bare. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Gregory, my love."

"Greg, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I said some awful things to him before Sherlock … before he, ya know. I was angry. I didn't think he'd …" John replies, his voice breaks and a sob escapes his lips.

"It's alright, John. I don't think anyone knew." Greg whispers, looking up at John with soft eyes.

"You did."

"No, I knew there was something wrong … I didn't think he'd … kill himself."

"I am truly sorry, Greg. Sorry for your loss. If there was anything I could do …"

"I couldn't save Sherlock, I think this is only fair."

"It's not about fair. It's about love …" John snaps until Greg interrupts him.

"I guess this is what you get when you tangle with the Holmes' boys. Always so dramatic." Greg replies, a broken smile appearing on his lips.

"Let's go. Come back to Baker Street, please. We've both lost the men we love, neither of us should be alone." John whispers softly, moving over to Greg and gently touching his arm.

"Yeah." Greg nods, looking back at Mycroft. He leans over and places a kiss to his lips, "I love you, My."

x..x

Greg awakes with a scream, tears streaming down his eyes. He lying on the couch were he fell asleep a few hours ago watching tv.

He sits up and looks around trying to steady his breathing.

He stands up and grabs his keys, rushing out of the flat.

He knows where he has to go and who he has to see.

Mycroft Holmes.