•Teenlock•Parentlock• If All Else Fails

16• Grief

John sat on the sofa with his head bowed. They were too late. A few tears ran down his cheeks and onto the floor. A chubby man and a tall ginger woman entered his living room. The woman glared at the grieving boy and halted by the door frame.
"John." The man said, his voice low and upset. DI Coles had an enormous sense of empathy, it was his biggest weakness. "We're so sorry. We did everything we could." He rubbed John's back with his hand. John pushed it away.
"No you didn't." John said, a new emotion starting inside him. "You didn't let Sherlock help you."
"He isn't qualified..." Fields started to say but John cut her off.
"He found her in six minuets straight."
"We thought he'd be better off with you." Coles said, it was more of a suggestion.
"Bullshit!" John yelled, standing up and almost kneeing Coles in the face. "Bullshit bullshit bullshit!" He repeated. "He stayed with me and now she's dead!" He screamed, his eyes starting to water. "Because of you I don't have a sister anymore." He collapsed on the sofa, crying into his hands.
"I'm so sorry, John." Coles whispered, tears brimming at his eyes. He hated himself.
"Just go." He said to the officers. "Leave. And get Sherlock." He added.

"Sherlock." Fields said sharply. "John wants you." And she left.
Sherlock jumped of the kitchen counter and went into the living room where he saw his John crying. His heart melted. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. He scooped John up in his arms and sat down on the armchair, near the sofa. John lay across him and sobbed into Sherlocks muscular chest. Sherlock stroked his boyfriends beautiful hair while he let him grieve. John slowly but surely fell asleep. Slowly, but then all at once. Sherlock gave a sad smile in the direction of the window, where he could clearly see Fields and Coles peering in. The scars on his chest started aching a little from where John, still sobbing in his sleep, was rubbing against them. He remembered the explosion, the pain, the hospital, Mycroft crying over Sherlocks lifeless body, the recovery. And then, well, the boys never being close anymore.
And they didn't have an uncle to visit. That was for sure.

Sherlock picked up John and took him into his bedroom. Sherlock lay him carefully on his bed and stroked his hair as his gorgeous boyfriend slowly fell into a deeper sleep, and the crying and shaking stopped.
He looked so perfect laying there, still. Sherlock lay next to him and looked at John's perfect face. They must have latex there for hours before John awoke. It was nine in the morning, and all noise from outside had gone. John must have remembered why Sherlock was there, and groaned externally.
Suddenly, the peace was interrupted by Lestrade, Molly and Mary coming through the front door. "I hope we're not disturbing anything!" Lestrade called.
"We brought breakfast." Molly said, kindly putting her head round the door. She smiled reassuringly at John.
"News travels fast." He muttered, burying himself of the sheets. Sherlock patted his back and smiled at Molly.
"Get the guy some breakfast, Mol." Mary said. Sherlock heard the rustle of plastic bags and Mary disappeared with a sympathetic smile at Sherlock.

Half an hour later, Mary appeared with a plate full of food for John. "We know you don't want it." She said when John turned away. "But you've gotta eat."
"Plus if you don't I will." Lestrade smiled kindly. "How many Waffles Sherlock?" He asked.
"None." Sherlock answered dismissively, turning his attention back to John.
"Sherlock." John said, his eyes poking out from the sheet.
"Four." Sherlock admitted, feeling hungry all of a sudden.
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It was an odd occurrence when John reached for the plate of food. John decided eating would make him tired and then he could fall asleep and forget everything.
No one flinched when he reached for the plate, but everyone shook when John spoke.
"She's not dead." He said, shaking his head. "She can't be."
"They found he body John." Greg said, the mood dropping down. He lowered his voice. "She's dead."
"No." John took a bite of one of his pancakes. "She's faking it. Moriarty's smart. He wouldn't kill her."

"First stage of grief if denial." Molly whispered to sherlock as she try left half an hour later. "He'll come around."
"How long will it take?" Sherlock asked. "He refuses to do anything other than sleep. He doesn't even want to do that assignment that he was do keen to do." Molly didn't look shocked, she had hardened herself (stop giggling, reader.) to everything now she knew Irene wouldn't return. Irene couldn't protect her forever.
"There isn't an exact number on it, Sherlock." Molly said, furrowing her brow. Sherlock put his head in his hands and groaned. "But if John does as well as I think he can, the first stage will be over within the week."
"What's the next stage." Sherlock asked as Molly walked out he door. She turned to him and sighed.
"Anger."