Sherlock heaved himself out of bed, begging he hadn't missed any calls from his John. It was early, but Sherlock had been separated from John for two whole days, and it hurt. It had been four days since the 'punching through the wall' incident, and John had gone through a few more stages. Bargaining- in which Sherlock stayed with him- and depression- in which he had let Molly deal with the tears and the hyperventilating. She was made for that sort of stuff. She had an almost motherly nature around her.
The next stage was acceptance. With it being only a week after Harrie had passed, John was moving through the stages unnaturally quickly. Sherlock peered at his phone; nothing but a little text from Molly about John eating more.
Molly had made herself terribly busy. These last two days she had cared for her grieving friend only pausing once to catch her breath. Before, she had concentrated only on her forensic course. She had gone overload on trying to ignore Irene. Or rather, the memory of her. So when she came down the stairs that sunny morning, she was upset to see John making waffles by the oven.
You must understand that Molly of all people had been extremely devoted to two things before the disappearance of her cousins sanity. One was her cousin and the other, her memories. Her memories meant a lot to her. How else was she to remember her father? How else was she to remember all the games she and Irene used to play so that she could teach her children!? But now, absurd things like this seemed simple minded and something of a dream to Molly. Memories were painful to remember and her other devotion is best of dead. One thing struck Molly as odd. No one had helped her. Molly had gone through all- if not more- the grief John had, but she was free from it. She was... Free. Yes, that was the word. Now her job was to help her friend.
Until today.
'House of Wolves' by My Chemical Romance was playing on John's old speakers. He sang along to it, not wincing at the lyric- "Ashes to ashes, we all fall down." Molly raised her eyebrows.
"Hello stranger." She interrupted John's mad dancing and tone deaf singing. He jumped and almost face planted onto the speakers.
"Not a stranger." John commented, smiling.
"Happy John is a stranger to me." Molly smiled. "I'm happy to see him." That last bit was only half true. Molly had basically finished her year at Uni, yet was only a few weeks in! Without a grieving friend, she would have to continue grieving herself.
"Me too." John admitted. "She would have," he paused to breath for a bit. "She would have wanted to get on with it. She couldn't stand it when I cried. She told me it made me look horrific. She uses- used- words like that. Horrific. Terrific. Jolly."
"I remember." Molly smiled, thinking of how posh she had always spoke.
"Want some waffles. I rang Sherlock. He's on his way."
•••••••••••••••••••••••
A young, helpless young boy with locks of chestnut hair ran at his older brother.
"Mycroft!" He hugged him. But something was wrong. Mycroft eyes had an icy, clouded look about them. Unlike they were before, warm and friendly, they had a look about them that scared Sherlock. "Mycroft?" Asked Sherlock. Mycrofts heart ached. It's too easy to just walk on. He couldn't look his brother in the eye. All the pain he caused him. The bomb... He didn't mean it like that, It was only to get to the top.
Mycroft pushed his brother aside. "Grow up, brother mine." He hissed.
A/N
Yes I know ages to update :) don't judge me. Xxxx