John POV: As John watched Mycroft burning there was almost a sense of power looming around him, a sense of need. Mycroft had pushed Sherlock around for so long, he had forced Sherlock to do things he didn't want to do and he forced him to stay away from anyone who tried to force him to feel any positive emotions. It was sickening, but John felt as if he were Sherlock's savior. As soon as John came into Sherlock's life, the tables turned. As soon as Mycroft tried to do to John as he did to Victor Trevor, he paid the price. John was Sherlock's angel, his protector, and now as he watched his demons go up in flames, John felt as if he were sent from God to just this, to protect Sherlock Holmes and to liberate him from his brother's cruel grasp.
"Why does Mycroft hate love so much?" John asked, his head leaning against Sherlock's shoulder and his hands holding the ones wrapped around his stomach.
"That is the question, isn't it? What made the Wicked Witch so wicked in the first place? Every villain needs a backstory." Sherlock sighed. John nodded, watching as the flames danced in side of Mycroft's now empty eye sockets.
"Why did he make you kill Victor, why did he want you to kill me?" John asked.
"He said that love was dangerous, and it wasn't really love at all. He said that it was just greed, that people only loved another person for the promise of being loved back. Obviously he's never been properly in love to realize that it's pure and it's beautiful, it's the only feeling on this earth that could ever motivate me to do something this extreme." Sherlock admitted.
"What turned him away from it? A bad break up or something?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed doubtfully, John could feel him shaking his head.
"No John, Mycroft was never in a relationship. He said that right after I was born...that my father was having an affair." Sherlock muttered. John strained his neck to look up at Sherlock in sorrow, seeing the boy gazing blankly into the flames, as if trying to convince himself it didn't matter much.
"I'm sorry Sherlock." John muttered.
"I found out the night he found out about you. I was cowering in the corner, he was smacking me with his umbrella, he was so angry." Sherlock whispered, his voice quivering.
"And they died in a car crash?" John asked. That was what Sherlock had told him after all, but he felt Sherlock shake his head again.
"No, not a car crash. According to Mycroft, my mother found out. And she caught the two of them and stabbed them, through the hearts. Then she slit her own throat. Mycroft was seven years old, I was just born, he found them upstairs, bloody and dead, that was what started it for him I think. The madness." Sherlock muttered. John was silent for a moment, trying to image Mycroft as a child, finding his parents dead with another strange woman. He suddenly felt a strong sense of pity for the man in the flames, who had paid so dearly just because his family life was so messed up. "And then our uncle came to live with us, to take care of us. He was a drunk; Mycroft would never tell me everything about him, only that he was abusive. I don't think he beat me, since I was so small, but mostly Mycroft, he lived with us for about two years, probably grieving his sister's death, probably subconsciously blaming us for the tragedy. I don't know how a nine year old was able to take down such a horrible old man, but he did it. I never really knew, Mycroft had told me when I was young that our uncle had run away, it wasn't until Victor, until I saw the other body in the freezer, that I got suspicions." Sherlock admitted.
"I hear all of these stories Sherlock, of how your life was such a tragedy, how everyone you've ever known has hurt you, and I just want to fix you. I want to kiss all of your bruises, all of your scars, I want to piece you together, piece by piece, until all of this hate and hurt in your life has been repaid by love." John insisted.
"That would take an awfully long time." Sherlock admitted with a small laugh.
"I have all my life." John assured. "And all of yours."
"I know you won't hurt me John, and I hope that you know I would never hurt you. As long as Mycroft stays dead, there is nothing on this earth that would motivate me to kill you." Sherlock assured.
"And there's no coming back after this." John decided. Sherlock shook his head in agreement, the two of them gazing at the burning flesh in the fire pit.
"Let's sit down, my legs are getting tired." Sherlock decided.
"Are we going to sleep out here?" John wondered.
"It's not terribly cold, but it's up to you." Sherlock shrugged. John sat down, waiting until Sherlock sat next to him before he lay down, pulling Sherlock close so that Sherlock could lay his head on John's chest, like they had done in the freezer, so they could wrap their arms around each other and never let go.
"We could camp out under the stars, by the light of the dying fire." John decided with a small laugh.
"This really is messed up." Sherlock muttered with a laugh.
"It's necessary though." John insisted.
"Yes, maybe." Sherlock agreed with a small sigh, letting John twirl his fingers in his soft curls, pressing his heart against his chest so that he could feel his heartbeat. John just smiled, staring up at the stars, the smoke that was mixing with the night sky, feeling Sherlock's comfortable weight onto of him, holding him as close as he could. He had grown up on tales of true love, and fairytales where the prince and the princess were so in love that they would do anything for each other, and they always had a happy ending. This was John's happy ending, except this time the two princes fell in love. This time they had done everything for each other, and this was true love. John had his own fairytale, and he could only hope that this was the ending. With Sherlock's head on his heart, his arms around his neck, and the world fading away into the night sky.
Sherlock POV: Sherlock woke up and immediately felt as if something was wrong. John was still asleep underneath him, his heart still beating slowly, their arms and legs tangled together and the fire was dying behind them. But something wasn't right. Sherlock sat up, thankfully John didn't seem to notice the loss of weight, he didn't even stir, which made Sherlock suspect that this was a dream. Of course it was a dream, but it wasn't a normal dream. It was like the one he had had in the freezer, a dream, almost like an altered state of consciousness when he could talk to the dead, when he could talk to anyone really. And just as Sherlock started to expect he might see some paranormal visitors, he saw a figure standing by the fire, gazing over it with an almost satisfied posture.
"Victor?" Sherlock whispered, getting to his feet. He couldn't make out the face, only the silhouette on the other side of the fire, shrouded in fire and smoke.
"Think again, brother mine." Mycroft's voice said. Sherlock stumbled back in fear, but his brother made no moves to come closer, in fact he seemed almost calm. The Mycroft that was pleasant to be around.
"I won't hurt you Sherlock. I think those days are over." Mycroft assured. Sherlock walked closer, seeing the blackened, burnt remains of his brother's body lying in the flames and seeing Mycroft upright and alive, on the other side of the human barbeque.
"What do you want?" Sherlock whispered. Mycroft's laugh was quiet, but for some reason Sherlock could almost hear it from all sides of him, echoing through his brain as if it were swallowing him whole.
"I don't think I'm in the position to want anything. I would like to talk though, Sherlock. We ended there on a rough note, not the way I want you to remember me." Mycroft insisted. Sherlock walked closer, around the fire to see his brother clearer through the darkness. He was wearing the same suit and tie as he was at dinner, no blood, no wounds, he looked as healthy and as able bodied as he was when he was alive.
"I remember you as you were. As a tyrant, a blood thirsty monster." Sherlock snapped. Mycroft sighed, as if he had expected no less.
"That is why I am here." he agreed.
"To clear your name? Mycroft, the image I have of you is so tainted and so stained, I can never look at you as a peaceful, loving brother again." Sherlock growled.
"I know. That's because I never loved you, I couldn't love you no matter how hard I tried. You were my younger brother, just a baby when I had to take care of you, a burden that grew to be more of a pest, of a nuisance. And that was before all of these boys, all of these pathetic feelings you started to get, all of this spiteful love." Mycroft insisted looking into the flames with disgust.
"Then why didn't you just kill me? That seems to be the answer to all of your problems." Sherlock snapped.
"Oh there were days when I considered it, but I decided that wouldn't be how mother wanted me to do. You were the baby born without love, born on lies, but I knew that your mother had wanted the best for you. So I kept you, and I raised you, and I protected you. And you killed me." Mycroft pointed out.
"I had to; you were going to kill John." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft just laughed, looking across the fire where John was still asleep, his arms fallen to his side as he had no one to hold.
"And what makes you think he's so worth saving?" Mycroft asked with a laugh.
"He loves me, he'd do anything for me, he has done everything for me." Sherlock pointed out. Mycroft just laughed, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Sherlock someday the thick veil that you see the world through will be lifted, and you'll see that the people you want to love the most are the people that end up hurting you the most. He may claim he loves you, that he's given everything he has, but he really hasn't. You've sacrificed your only family and all of your freedom, and he got rid of his meager three friends and the sport he admitted meant nothing to him. He hasn't paid his debt, not like you have, and if he's not willing to give more for your love, then he doesn't care as much as you." Mycroft pointed out.
"What else can he possibly give? His parent's haven't done anything wrong." Sherlock insisted.
"I don't think his parents deserve to die, I don't think they've done anything and they won't do anything to prevent you two from being together." Mycroft sighed.
"Then what? What else can he give up to prove to you that we're meant to be?" Sherlock asked doubtfully. Mycroft sighed, watching his blackened flesh shrivel on his bones, melting and falling deeper into the flames.
"If he's willing to give up his life to be with you, forever, then he really will be." Mycroft decided. Sherlock stared at his brother for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious or not.
"If he's dead, how can we be together?" Sherlock insisted. Mycroft laughed, looking over at Sherlock as if that were the most obvious question he had ever asked.
"You ask that question to your brother whom you just burned." Mycroft pointed out.
"Think about it Sherlock, have we ever left you?" asked a new voice behind him, a warm hand being placed on his shoulder. Sherlock turned around to see Victor behind him, looking just as alive and healthy as Mycroft, a soft smile on his face.
"I was willing to die for you, and there hasn't been a moment when we were apart." Victor insisted.
"You killed us and you thought you would never see us again. Quite the contrary Sherlock, we're always here, we've been watching over you." Mycroft insisted.
"And do you really think that John is the one for you? He refused to let you kill him, he was selfish, he made you kill your brother because he didn't want to die at your hands, he didn't want to make the ultimate sacrifice." Victor insisted.
"And I let you kill me. Because even though I didn't love you, I never wanted to have to hurt you again, I didn't want to watch you suffer, I didn't want you to blame me for all of your problems. You think freedom is the answer, you think that the moment the breath leaves my lungs that you are free to love and live however you want? You think that by giving everything to John Watson in my blood that all of my ideas had somehow melted away?" Mycroft laughed.
"Sherlock soon you will realize that your brother had always been right, that love is poison. But the dead keep vows the living cannot." Victor whispered.
"If he lives, he will leave you, he'll betray you, because all humans are capable of horrible acts. They are unable to think of someone else's emotions, they want nothing more than their own happiness, and the happiness of others is irrelevant." Mycroft pointed out.
"He'll move onto other things, like your father did. He'll find other men, other women to love once you are incapable of providing him with the pleasure he requires." Victor insisted.
"But he won't do that, he said he loved me, and only me!" Sherlock defended, looking over to John's sleeping form.
"Our father said that as well! Think of the life he had built with our mother, he had a house, children, a wife, and he threw it all away because he wanted more, he wanted to be loved more than he wanted to keep his promises, even though he was loved the whole time. Our mother never saw it coming, they fell in love just as you had with John, thinking they were on top of the world and the only reason they were grounded was because his heart wandered onto younger, prettier things." Mycroft snapped.
"What will you do when John leaves you?" Victor whispered.
"This is crazy, I can't kill John, I love him, he loves me!" Sherlock defended.
"Our mother found that the only way to prevent her husband's betrayal was to kill him, and it worked. Our father never had another affair again. How are you supposed to prevent things you cannot control in this life?" Mycroft pointed out.
"I can prevent this, I can love him with all of my heart, I can make sure that no one tempts him!" Sherlock insisted.
"He might be thinking the same things. I loved you with all of my heart, and even though I have followed you and protected you, you still fell in love with John." Victor insisted.
"He doubts you Sherlock, and you even doubt yourself. Why, if you love him, do you still lust for Victor?" Mycroft asked.
"And if, in the midst of your true love, your heart is able to wander, what's to say his isn't as well?" Victor whispered, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's chest just as John had done, pressing soft kisses to the side of Sherlock's face to prove a point. And Sherlock didn't pull away, that might have been the point being proven because Victor's lips were so tempting, so loving, even as Sherlock's heart yearned for John, he was unable to deny himself the love that Victor was providing him. What's to say John would be able to pull away from other women? He was bound to have crushes, to have other loves, just as Sherlock did; maybe he wasn't strong enough to stay loyal, just as Sherlock wasn't strong enough.
"I died for my love for you, and it hasn't subsided, there is no one in the afterlife to pull me away from my one true love. I've been dead for a year now; no one has found out, no one has come after me. They could never part us now, and I could never leave you even if I wanted you. Is that not a promise John couldn't keep? If you kill him then you two could be together for as long as you want, and I will be here as well, and Mycroft. Death isn't final Sherlock; it's not over once you stop breathing. You are tied to the people you love and the people who love you back; it is the basis of loyalty, of respect." Victor whispered.
"If I kill John, he could never leave me?" Sherlock whispered.
"Never." Mycroft agreed.
"If he dies, I could still see him, just as I can see you two?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"Every time you close your eyes we are as real as we were before we died." Victor assured.
"If I kill John, we could be together forever?" Sherlock asked. Victor sighed, almost sadly, but nodded.
"And no one will tempt his heart in the afterlife, even though it will wander in life." Mycroft assured. Sherlock took a deep breath, looking over at John's sleeping form on the ground, realization burning in him like the flames he stood by. John was so precious, so beautiful, what they said made sense, if Mycroft and Victor were still with him after all of this time, what's to say it would be any different for John? He could be eternally beautiful, they could be together forever, and John would have no choice but to stay. The ultimate sacrifice for the purest of loves. It was only too appropriate.
"Then he must die." Sherlock decided. Victor pressed more kisses to Sherlock's face, and Mycroft smiled triumphantly.
"Finally brother mine, you finally see it my way." Mycroft insisted.