A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

17) Sorry

Silence. Sherlock sat there stiffly in his bed, his heart sinking all of a sudden. Of course it had to happen now, when he had finally met someone that made his life worth living.
"I'm sorry Sherlock," Doctor Holland whispered sympathetically.
"I really am."
He slowly got to his feet, eyeing the boy before him nervously. The curly-haired boy said nothing, just stared down at his bedsheets.
"Your brother has agreed to come and visit you today," he continued with a heavy heart, folding his arms.
"I'll leave you to have some alone time...but if you ever need anything then please don't be afraid to ask."
The doctor gave a small sigh before collecting his belongings and heading out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

It didn't happen immediately, but soon Sherlock had began to cry, miserable tears had begun to dribble down his pale face and his breathing had become shaky and quick. He clasped a bony hand over his mouth to try and hide the noise and bowed his head, watching as the salty tears splashed onto his duvet. After about five minutes, the curly-haired by managed to pull himself together. He cautiously propped himself up and moved his legs to the edge of the bed, noticing the sudden jolt of pain that accompanied it.
"Get a grip," he hissed to himself, his sadness turning to anger.
Sherlock forced himself from the bed and at once collapsed onto the wall, wincing slightly. He gave an agitated huff before slumping back onto his bed, rolling up into the duvet and burying his face in a pile of pillows. It was only the sudden, sharp knock at the door which caused Sherlock to awake from his daze. He turned his head up to see two figures entering: one being his brother Mycroft, and the other being John who was trailing behind him.

"What is it this time?" Mycroft asked snidely, pausing beside his little brother's bed.
"Too many cigarettes? Oh Sherlock I thought you would have learnt from your past mistakes."
He folded his arms arrogantly as John pulled a face from behind him.
"Mycroft he's sick," the blonde boy snapped, making his way over to his friend and giving him a quick hug.
"How're you feeling?" He asked calmly, managing to give a small smile.
John hadn't slept a wink last night, 221b without Sherlock was the strangest thing ever and the boy's head had been filled with horrible thoughts.
"Better," Sherlock agreed, nodding his head slightly and clutching to the duvet.
"I'm sure I'll be out of here soon enough."
The oldest Holmes watched Sherlock skeptically before taking a seat besides him, crossing his legs and huffing.
"John would you get me a coffee from the cafe on the first floor?" Sherlock asked his flatmate smoothly.
The blonde boy quickly nodded and scuttled from the room, leaving the two brothers alone.

"So tell me the truth then Sherlock," Mycroft hissed, his expression suddenly becoming one of distaste as he leant back in his chair. The curly-haired boy turned to him, his face faltering slightly.
"They found a tumour."
The words instantly caused Mycroft's face to turn and pale, sickly cookout and he stared at Sherlock in horror.
The room was filled with a tense silence for a moment before the oldest boy managed to speak up.
"The same kind?" He asked in a deadly whisper, holding one hand over his face to stop himself from vomiting.
Sherlock solemnly nodded to his head and stared down at his sheets.
"And does John know?"
The curly-haired boy gazed up to face Mycroft just as John re-entered the room, carrying a cardboard cup of coffee.
"Thank you," Sherlock muttered, snapping his head away from his brother and receiving the cup.

"No problem," the blonde boy mumbled with a small yawn, leaning against the wall watching Sherlock.
"I should get going then," Mycroft explained stiffly; getting to his feet and giving a curt now to John before slipping on his coat.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, believe me this time."
He lingered for a moment before striding from the room, slamming the door behind him leaving John to rush over to Sherlock's side.
"W-why's he sorry?" The blonde boy stuttered, gazing at his flatmate with wide eyes.
Sherlock simply closed his eyes, his expression becoming one of fear and disappointment.
"The doctors gave me a diagnosis this morning," the curly-haired boy whispered, giving the room an eerie atmosphere.
"I-I was...scared to tell you."
John's face suddenly faltered, as if the world around him had begun to crumble.
"Please Sherlock just tell me what it is," he hissed at the boy, fighting to keep back tears.
Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at John for a moment, before taking a long sigh and explaining.
"They've found a tumour. It's
safe to say that it's cancer."

The blonde boy didn't react at first, he just stood there, his mouth open as he swayed slightly on the spot.
"Look John I'm sorry, I should of told you," Sherlock whispered, his head sinking miserably.
John clutched a hand over his mouth and staggered against the wall, obviously in complete shock. After he had regained himself, the blonde boy stared up at his flatmate as his bottom lip quivered.
"How bad is it?"
The words were sharp and deadly and caused Sherlock to frown slightly.
"I-I don't know," the skinny boy replied almost awkwardly.
"The doctor's haven't given me all of the statistics yet and I-"
"Oh for god's sake Sherlock...how fucking bad!?" John cried, his cheeks burning a furious red, leaving Sherlock to watch his hopelessly.
"It's well," he began croakily, his gaze turning towards the floor.
"It doesn't look good."

John watched the boy for a moment before cupping to hands over his face and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him in a furious-manner.
"John wait!" Sherlock called desperately; but it was too late, he had gone.
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