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Chapter 10: We will meet again, my brothers. Everyone dies, whether today or fifty years from now.

John and Sherlock, who were still sitting on the bench, were startled to see his father running outside.

"Sherlock... Sherlock... He's having a nosebleed."

John and Sherlock ran in. His mother was helping Mycroft to sit up. Mycroft looked even worse than before, as the blanket was pulled down revealing more of the pale skin of his chest with larger bruises. His forehead was covered in sweats. He was holding a handkerchief to his nose, probably his father gave it to him to stop the bleeding. Seeing his brother's panicked expression, Mycroft only smiled.

"Just a nosebleed, nothing to worry about, right, doctor?"

John felt like he didn't know how to respond. He knew Mycroft's condition, and he knew Mycroft surely did, too. To Mycroft now, his remaining time could only be measured in hours, which was in the most optimistic calculation; and in these stressful moments, he did not think that Mycroft could still joke with his health like that. Whether that was self-contempt, or bravery, John did not know.

Sherlock slowly walked to the hospital bed, he said softly.

"A nosebleed is not to be underrated if it cannot stop. Let me see."

Mycroft kept holding tightly on the cloth, he avoided Sherlock's hand which aimed to touch his face. He felt a bit embarrassed if he let his younger brother do such act of concern in front of so many people. Everyone looked around, they all knew that Sherlock must have a lot to say to his brother, and no matter how cold they appeared to be, deep down they still cared a lot for each other. They needed their alone moment. John spoke first.

"Mycroft, so... if it's nothing, shall I go out?..."

John was surprised when Mycroft suddenly called after him, he tried to speak louder but his voice was still hoarse.

"No John, please stay. Mom, dad, I would like to talk to my brothers for a moment..."

Marie and Siger looked at Mycroft and nodded silently. They leaned against each other and walked out of the room; looking at their backs, Mycroft felt bitter. His eyes blurred with tears, he closed them tightly to force the tears fall quicker. He hoped Sherlock didn't see.

Mycroft turned to John and Sherlock. John was surprised when Mycroft called him "brother", but he said nothing, he just looked at Mycroft with emotion showing clearly on his face. As if reading John's mind, Mycroft smiled again.

"You're family, John. And I am really thankful for being able to talk to you before..."

Mycroft suddenly stopped talking. He realized that his word choice was inadvertently making the atmosphere tense. Before he dies, Sherlock bit his lip. Mycroft patted the bed, indicating John and Sherlock to sit down next to him. He continued.

"John, Sherlock. You two need to be more careful from now on, because I won't be there to watch over you and get the privilege for you anymore. I hope..."

"Mycroft, if you're really that worried about us, you should not be dying right now." Sherlock suddenly raised his voice. Mycroft was also surprised by his brother's statement, he did not know how to answer to it, except to say...

"... I am sorry, Sherlock, for choosing this way to ease out my pain. I know you may think of me as a coward and irresponsible brother but..." After a pause, Mycroft continued in a slightly pained voice. "You know what, you're right, I have no word to defend myself, I am truly a terrible coward, and that's why... that's why I hope my death will not bring you much pain. Because I don't deserve your mourning, Sherlock."

John looked over at Sherlock, he saw his friend was trying his best to fight the emotion threatening to come out of the corner of his eyes. Mycroft didn't look up, he avoided Sherlock's gaze. John helped to ease the situation.

"Mycroft, don't talk like that. You know it's not true. You..."

But Mycroft spoke up to stop John from continuing, he looked straight at his eyes with a sad but stern look.

"John, thank you but please don't feel the need to talk good about me. It's not needed, and it's not correct either. I know all the bad things I've committed all along, and though I am shameful with myself, I still hope for your kindness to... to please listen to me this time only, as after this I will not and cannot bother you anymore. I just hope that you two can try to stay safe, and no matter what the future holds, please don't give up on each other. Because, John, it's very true to say that Sherlock has never put as much trust and care in anyone as in you, so I apologize if I'm being too much, but I beg you to always stay by his side. I'll feel very grateful to you, John."

This shocked John. These words, if Mycroft told him alone, he wouldn't be surprised, but Mycroft was saying this in front of Sherlock, making John momentarily didn't know how to respond.

"Of course, I'll always..."

"Mycroft, stop it." Sherlock suddenly said. Mycroft smiled at Sherlock, then at John. He tiredly leaned back on the pillow, closed his eyes, he sighed.

"Ok, it's all I wanted to say. John, thank you for taking over my responsibility as an older brother to Sherlock. I feel thankful, I do."

"I will take care of Sherlock, but you don't have to thank me. Anyways... How are you feeling, Mycroft?"  John asked worriedly.

"Like dying, John, and it's not really a news to anyone, so we don't need to mention it, am I right?"

"Can you stop being a jerk, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped back.

Mycroft fell silent. He also didn't realize he was acting mean for no reason at all. He had no reason to. He wasn't feeling envy with John for taking his place, was he? If any, he was supposed to feel lucky for having John to take care of his brother when he left. But why did his heart suddenly ache at the thought? Mycroft looked at John, his voice was soft and thin.

"John, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I don't know what I'm feeling. Just really really tired, a dull pain constantly in my stomach, my head throbbing and dizzy, but it's fine, I guess. I just want to sleep, but then of course I don't want to sleep my last hours away. So... I don't know."

"Your hands are shaking. Do you feel nauseous, Mycroft?"

"A little, yes."

"I think your kidneys are failing. I will go ask for your doctor."

Mycroft grabbed John by the shirt, holding him back.

"No, don't. I don't have much time for their medical research anymore. And... John, I want to die, I mean to die, you know that. Don't prolong the inevitable."

John looked at Mycroft without saying anything. Sherlock turned away, avoiding his brother's gaze. He was afraid that he could not hold back his tears anymore, if he looked at the pain clearly showed in Mycroft's face. Suddenly, John stood up, he looked Mycroft straight in the eye and held out his hand indicating a handshake. Mycroft was also surprised, he took a moment to look intently at the man then grabbed his hand. He recalled the first time they met, he also asked John to show him his hand, now this would be their last handshake.

"It's been a privilege to know you, Mycroft. Farewell brother, I don't know of your true reason behind this hurtful choice of yours, but I respect you, and your choice. You have been a good brother to both Sherlock and me, and I'm thankful for that. Please trust me, I will take care of Sherlock, the best that I can."

Mycroft smiled at John.

"Thank you, brother. The privilege is mine. I feel blessed for having you in our lives."

They held each other's hands for a few more seconds, then John turned and hurried out the door, leaving Mycroft and Sherlock in the room. God knew they needed their final moments together.

"Who else is still outside, Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed.

"Anthea. Lady Smallwood was here all the time, but she just left about one hour ago. She said she could not face you; and said you wouldn't want that too."

"Yes, that was what I said to her yesterday. She should not see me in this condition, I don't want to leave her the impression of me as a pathetic dying man..."

Hesitating for a moment, Sherlock decided to ask.

"Is there anyone else you want me to call for you?"

"Eurus."

Mycroft tried to joke, but Sherlock looked tense with his lips bit hard. Then Mycroft smiled at his brother, his smile was sad.

"Sherlock, you know I have no one... Please ask Anthea to come in for a few minutes."