A collection of Johnlock oneshots

(M) Heartbreak

See end for authors note!

One bullet to the chest. A tiny, deep red hole, standing out on his white shirt.

He knew his job was risky, he came into contact with guns and such on a daily basis. But this was the first time. The first time he had been properly injured. And it was to be his last.

As he fell to his knees, gravity forcing him to flop down onto his back, he just caught a glimpse of a tall man to his left. Shock, anger and love written across his face. Mycroft.

He dropped like a stone onto the wet pavement beside him, rain soaking his hair and immaculate suit, running down onto his face. To say he was upset was an understatement.

He was screaming. Screaming his name. Over and over. Calling for help, calling for someone, anyone. But it was muffled, all he could hear was the sound of his voice, echoed through his mind. Blurred. Unclear. Helpless.

He reached up, a weak, shaking arm, gently grazing his lovers cheek. Trying to calm him.

"Mycroft." He gasped, struggling to see properly because of the tears in his eyes. "Mycroft look at me. Look at me, please."

The other man stopped panicking and leant down, holding the dying mans face in his hands, trying desperately to hold himself together as best he could. He didn't let go, not even to wipe away the floods of tears pooling out of his eyes.

"I'm here. I'm here Greg. Don't you worry, I'm here." His usually stead hands were shaking as he brushed a single tear from the mans face. "I'm here."

Greg reached his hand out once more and placed it over the top of Mycroft's unsteady one.

"I'm not going anywhere." He continued, uttering the same words again and again. He wasn't aware he was saying them.

"I love you, Greg. I love you so much." Mycroft's voice broke, letting every single emotion pour out into the open as he held him, Greg's head in his lap.

"I love you."

Greg tried to hold on. He really really tried. For Mycroft, he told himself. But he couldn't. He simply couldn't. And as he closed his eyes that one, final time, his hand dropped from his partners, and his heart broke when he heard the cry that came out of his mouth.

---

At that moment Sherlock came running round the corner of the deserted street. He saw Mycroft, he sprinted.

Bent over the body of Greg Lestrade. Hands over his face. Body shaking with sobs. Voice screaming in pain, and heartbreak, and loss.

Sherlock dropped down next to him. A possessive arm wrapping around his brothers shoulder. Fingers gently stoking. Reassuring.

Mycroft looked up at him. Eyes red and bloodshot. Face soaked in tears.

In that moment he broke. Turning to face Sherlock completely. Arms snaking around his neck whilst Sherlock's were round his middle.

He clung on to him for dear life. His face buried deep within his shoulder as he continued to sob. Mourning the recent loss of his partner. Greg Lestrade. His Greg Lestrade.

Well, not his anymore.

The pair stayed that way for exactly seven minutes and thirty-two seconds until John arrived, totally shocked at what he saw. But he understood, that's all that mattered.

----

Two days later it was exactly the same.

Except, it wasn't Sherlock reassuring Mycroft at the loss of Greg. No, it was John reassuring Sherlock at the loss of Mycroft.

The loss of Mycroft. His dear brother, gone. Forever.

He had died 'peacefully' in his sleep. The doctors didn't know why, the idiots. But Sherlock did. Mycroft Holmes had died of heartbreak. And it was anything but peaceful.

(A/n okay okay! So that wasn't exactly JOHNLOCK but if you read it, thanks 😉. I only posted it on here because I knee if I just posted it by itself no one would read it. But thanks anyway!)