Staying Alive - Sherlock (BBC)

Epilogue

****

Sherlock quietly entered the living room. The windows were pitch black, the brightly lit room made them seem even darker.

He didn't notice his scowling older brother as he flopped onto the large sofa, a smile caught on his face.

"You went to see her singing didn't you?" Mycroft scorned. "You know she told you not to go."

Sherlock said nothing, he just recalled the memory of her stood in the green dress, still fresh in his mind.

Mycroft gasped suddenly, drawing Sherlock back to his senses. "You love her don't you!" His voice soured at the word. Sherlock's silence confirmed his assumption. "You idiot. This will only end in pain. Love is a chemical defect found on the losing side, what have I told you before?"

The boy stood up and stomped towards the door. "I'm telling mother. She'll kick Lizzie out of our lives and you know it."

Sherlock stood up like he had been given an electric shock, "No Mycroft." He exclaimed. "Please, don't. You care for Lizzie don't you?"

"Yes, and I also care for you little brother. I'm doing this because it would be better for both of you." And with this Mycroft strode out of the room, Sherlock running behind him.

The next day Lizzie would not be allowed to step into that house ever again. The next time Sherlock would see her, she would be stood at the door of 221B.

*****

The Holmes' brothers were sat opposite each other once again. The curtains were closed although it was the middle of the day so the dim lighting cast sharp shadows across their faces. There was a comfortable silence sat with them, but it held an air of unease.

Sherlock was in his blue dressing gown, it was stained and unwashed, along with the rest of his clothing and the man himself. His face was visibly drained, he was startlingly pale, red bags hung underneath his dead eyes which seemed to have lost their colour. Mycroft had never seen his little brother look so defeated.

"Sebastian Moran was found near the Reichenbach Falls, nearly dead, 3 weeks ago. He had plummeted off the edge and narrowly escaped dying." Mycroft said as if he was reading it out, Sherlock's expression remained blank. "After much questioning he stated that he had posed as Moriarty in an attempt to bring you down. I am afraid that Moriarty remains dead, dear brother, the trail you were following had been placed by Moran." He sighed deeply. "It has been a month. No evidence of her has been found. We have to assume she is dead."

Sherlock was staring at Mycroft, but it was like he was staring through him, his mind was elsewhere. "I predicted something like this would happen," Mycroft sighed. "As soon as she strolled back into your life I could tell it would end badly. That's why I had separated you in the first place."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his unresponsive brother. "I had warned you. But here we are again."

Earlier that week Mycroft had been called by a distressed Mrs.Hudson informing him that Sherlock had locked himself in his room and had not been seen for days. When he had finally broken down the door, the sight that lay before him was not pretty to say the least. Although it was not the first time he had seen his little brother in such a state, it still struck Mycroft like a train.

Only she could break the most intelligent man in the world in such a way.

Now Sherlock was out of hospital, the colour was back in his skin and he was allowed back into 221B. But his mind had been crushed by such a blow, it was Mycroft's job to rebuild it.

"I never got to tell her." Sherlock spoke, his voice strained but harsh.

"Tell her what? That you loved her? I'm pretty sure she's known for a long time."

Sherlock took a big breath and looked to towards the sofa in which she had been sitting not a month ago.

"Elizabeth-Louise Parker is a memory, Sherlock." Mycroft began. "A memory that managed to beat you down to your knees. Do what you wish with that memory, in that mind palace of yours. But I advise you to either learn from what happened or forget it."

From that day Elizabeth-Louise Parker was an unspoken name, her life may as well have been a made up story. Sherlock Holmes refused to acknowledge her existence despite the influence it had had on him. He chose to forget, or at least he said he had.

But one thing's for sure, there is more than one padded cell in the basement of his mind.