The Aftermath of it All

This is a fanfiction for the show, "Sherlock" on BBC. Takes place after season 2, episode 3, aka the final released episode. Includes bits of my theory for Sherlock's death.

Rating may change later on.

Enjoy xx

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3. Chapter II, part I

    Before he knew it, he arrived at a tall and ominous, but familiar, building.   

John, using all his energy and whatever will power he had left, tumbled out of the car and up the stairs. He slumped through the seemingly never ending hallways, honestly not caring how bad or depressed he looked. He was greeted by Mycroft himself at the end of the hall, who wasn’t pleased to see John’s poor appearance.

“I told you to look decent.” He huffed, annoyed. John rolled his eyes. “Trust me,” Mycroft spoke as he started walking, “This trip is worth it.” John trotted behind faster, his words perking his interest. He cleared his throat.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Mycroft didn’t answer; just smirked. This made John even more curious.

“You’ll see. Be patient.” John scoffed; patience wasn’t one of his greatest virtues. After what seemed like forever from anticipation to poor John, the two men finally stood in front of a big grey door. Mycroft inserted a key card through a slide slot and it flashed. A click was heard, signifying the door unlocking, and they entered. John gaped and looked around in curiosity. They were in gigantic room with little rooms within. John only remembered being in this room once or twice, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was used for. He wondered why they were here now, what was so important, why it was securely locked. Chills came through him as he remembered Bakersville, and the eerie locks they put on everything there. It also reminded him of Sherlock, and so he shakes the memory off. Mycroft leads him to a far hidden lab room. He unlocks the door and steps in, John following close behind.

John cringes as he walks in, his heart aching, his head throbbing. The room was filled with pictures of Sherlock; not him in general-- his death pictures. John was so tempted to turn around and walk straight out, but he held his ground. He didn’t really know why he did, other than he knew it was of extreme importance, as Mycroft so convinced him. But now he wasn’t so sure he could handle it.

“Wh...” He barely could get a word out. “Wha.. What... is this?” Mycroft pressed his lips together and folded his hands behind him, seemingly ready to bare big news.

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