Chapter 12: It is right to seek peace for the dead. You and I both know there is no peace for those who live after.

Mycroft never woke up again. Those were his last words to Sherlock. They said that the internal bleeding between the brain and membranes was too severe. Blood vessels were ruptured, leaking blood had gradually built up inside the skull which increased pressure on the brain, causing subarachnoid hemorrhage. The doctors were surprised to know that Mycroft still stayed lucid until his last minutes. After hours of monitoring and many EEG results, their conclusion finally came: the patient was brain dead. Mycroft Holmes' most powerful weapon was gone, now his body was only clinging to his heart - which he said he did not have.

Sherlock didn't believe in what they said, he kept saying that Mycroft was still there, but he didn't let them touch Mycroft anymore. Sherlock refused the nasogastric tube. He was scared of the thought of them trying to put more tubes in Mycroft, he was afraid that they might hurt him even more. Looking at his motionless brother struggling on death's door, he felt miserable because he couldn't even pray for Mycroft to wake up again, he knew no miracles would happen. He just wished for his demise to come soon. Sherlock wondered if Mycroft was still feeling pain? If Mycroft couldn't sense anything anymore, that would be great; but if he still could, he would have been touched to know that Sherlock insisted on holding his hand and wouldn't let go. He kept whispering the things he remembered, the things they had said to each other, the quarrels, he apologized for the times when he was too wordy. He said he would never forget, Mycroft couldn't ask him to, no matter how painful it might be, he would always remember.

Neither John nor his parents could force Sherlock to leave Mycroft, or make him eat or drink anything, not even water. He even refused to sleep. The doctor said that theoretically, Mycroft would stay in this vegetative state for about five to eight days before the organs began to fail altogether. Everyone was worried about Sherlock. They were afraid that his body would not be able to ignore its needs for that long, if he continued to refuse any refreshments like this, it might shut down on its own. But Mycroft seemed to hear their worries, too. Just one day later, multiple organ failures occurred simultaneously. Mycroft Lane Holmes' heart truly stopped beating on a cold afternoon of October. Although his death was of prediction, the fact that it happened at such an early stage still surprised every doctor. Only John understood. Mycroft had taken care of his brother with such a last act. Mycroft was certainly still there, to the very end.

Sherlock did exactly what Mycroft wanted. They didn't hold a funeral, they just cremated Mycroft. His ashes were scattered in the river where they used to play throwing stones when they were children. Mycroft had always liked this little river; he said his mother named him after it. A water stream by a small field. Certainly, Sherlock was the spreader. Holding handfuls of white ashes in his hand, Sherlock felt bitter. Mycroft was only 42 years old. Things were not supposed to be this way. They should have been together, in flesh and blood, Mycroft should not be just a handful of ashes in his hand like this.

The house and most of Mycroft's savings were settled in accordance with the will. Before selling the house, John and Sherlock had to come to sort through Mycroft's personal belongings. John looked up at the pictures on the wall, still stained with blood that hadn't been wiped clean from their wicked prank, he felt horrified at himself. There were times when it suddenly dawned on him that the things he'd done without much consideration – which he thought were just jokes – actually had a great impact on other people's feelings. John didn't dare to look up at those streaks of color anymore.

Mycroft left nothing special. Sherlock kept the family photo frames, the leather notebook that Mycroft always kept in his pocket, his umbrella, and his pocket watch. He found all the lists he ever made in Mycroft's bed drawer. He also found the DVD set, the family album collection, in which there were many pictures of small Sherlock and Eurus, including some of their paintings that Mycroft managed to gather after the fire. Sherlock didn't forget to look in the bookshelves, he found both the Dunno Adventures and Greek Mythology, along with a few other worn-out storybooks which all had his childish signature SH scrawled on their half-title pages. Mycroft kept them all. Sherlock could not understand why, for years, he had never discovered any of these precious memories that Mycroft was always keeping just inside his bedroom, Mycroft never hide them too well. You can observe but you do not want to see. Sherlock remembered he always said that he respected Mycroft's privacy, but was it merely respect or actually the lack of concern, he thought now he knew.

It was only a month later that Sherlock was able to visit Sherrinford. He wanted to inform the news to her sooner, but he just couldn't pull himself together to face the girl. Looking at Eurus, now he was her eldest brother. He felt pressured, he didn't know what to say, where to start, or what songs to play. Sherlock was confused, he remembered when Mycroft was still there, how safe and secure he always felt. When he still had his big brother watching over him. Sherlock felt his tears silently fall, how he missed his brother today. Eurus looked at him and something stirred inside her. She turned to see her parents were holding hands and avoiding her gaze. Perhaps Eurus understood. She turned away, saying nothing, nor did she play with Sherlock that day.

Marie Lynn Holmes and Timothy Siger Scott Holmes never returned London. Except when they visited Eurus in Sherrinford, they only lived in the Holmes residence. Sometimes, they would go back to Musgrave and sit on the water's edge. Marie would put a bouquet on Victor's grave, and scatter more flowers in the water. But Mycroft never liked flowers. Perhaps Marie didn't know, or she once did but had already forgotten about it. It had really been a long time, with too many things happened. Perhaps, the things she used to know, the things she still remembered or already forgot, none of them were important anymore. What was still important? She didn't know either. They used to have three children. But now they were all alone. They used to think that their only daughter had died, and then the second child had to fake his death and lived away from home for years. Now they were forced to face the real death of their eldest child. Marie felt angry, but then she thought she had spent her whole life being angry at Mycroft, maybe she wasn't allowed to do that anymore. So she didn't understand how she should feel now. Marie and Siger said nothing to each other, but when they looked down at the water, they both felt an emptiness inside. They leaned against each other, slowly turning back. Mycroft, mom and dad will visit you the other times.

Anthea could not stop crying as she read the letter that Mycroft left her. He did not say much about the remaining work. He only talked about the things he'd like to say thank for all these years, and that he believed she could move on. Mycroft left the ring in the envelope, which he always wore on the ring finger of his right hand, like hers. Those rings he had bought on her first field trip with him, when she was still inexperienced, he had thought it would be safer to let her play the role of his wife so she would draw less unwanted attention. Then after that, they switched to wearing it on the right hand, he had secretly put a small amount of poison on the back of the rings, their job always required to think about different bad situations like that. Poison! It had always been his chosen method.

Holding the ring in her hand, she found herself unable to hold back her tears. This ring was a memento of her and him, the boss she cherished and cared deeply about. Anthea remembered the last time she talked to him in the hospital, he looked really tired, but she could still see a warm glint in his gray-blue eyes. He just smiled and told her not to repeat his mistake, he wanted her to work independently from now on, she could do better than just a small PA position. He said, Lady Smallwood would help. At that time, she could only cry, he said goodbye to her with a small kiss on the forehead. Anthea wasn't sure if he'd ever known that there was a part of her that had always had a secret crush on him - more than just a boss - but she'd always told herself to keep it a secret to avoid his worries. Anthea knew her boss wasn't heartless, he just didn't want to get involved in feelings and relationships. Therefore, she always tried to keep her limits with him. Now perhaps it was no longer needed, she put his ring on the ring finger of her left hand, wiped her tears, she smiled.

Lady Alicia Elizabeth Smallwood continued to work until the end of her life. Actually, her wish was to quit this job, she was also very tired, but she wanted to use her little remained strength to redeem Mycroft's guilt. Together with Anthea, they continued to prevent many bad intentions of criminals, many people were saved. These two women were talented and strong, they both have no weaknesses. There was no one they cared about anymore. Alicia and Anthea both avoided mentioning Mycroft, but they never really forget. True to her promise, Alicia handed over the control of Eurus to Sherlock, and she never let him know of the reason behind the suicide. Thinking of Mycroft, she sometimes smiled. That man thought coldness would protect him, but she knew, love was a stronger force. Love had always been inside him, even if he never let anyone know.

Notes:

I choose Mycroft's full name to be Mycroft Lane Holmes for some reasons, I feel like I need to explain to you my dear readers!
- In HLV, the book that we supposed Mummy Holmes wrote was "The Dynamics of Combustion"- a book about mechanical engineering or physics (?!) while she was a mathematician. The book author was M.L.Holmes. So my theory is, it was of her, or Mycroft was the one who wrote that book. Maybe, who knows? Thus, Mycroft L. Holmes.
- Mark Gatiss' middle name is L. He signed his work with M.L.Gatiss. I recently found out about this, I felt really excited about that discovery.

So, I want to make Mycroft's name look more like his mother's, while Sherlock has a 4-words name as his father. Sorry, I just live in my imagination.

About the ages in this fic, some may feel that my choice of Mycroft's age to be 42 seems a bit... quite young. But actually, according to Baker Street wiki, Sherlock's birth date was 6Jan1983 (John's was 23Apr1971, he was even older than Mycroft, you can PM me for more proofs, haha). So, Mycroft's birth year would be 1976. Season 4 aired in 2017, so it was when he was 41. This fic is post-Sherrinford, so, 42 years old.

I'm sorry if I'm becoming mouthy. I just can't help myself!

The final words, I would like to thank you - all my kind readers who have stayed here with me to follow this pic. Thank you so much for your kind reviews and kudos, you really made me feel better. This fic is actually written to heal myself too, I hope the suicide theme is not too dark for you. I hope you had a good time reading this, and I'm sorry for any grammar errors or bad word choice, writing in English is really hard for me. Once again, thank you!