HAHAHA I TRIED HARDER WHAT NOW KADENCE?

Sherlock Holmes, 19 years old, was sat on his bathroom floor, in his small and dirty apartment that he very rarely left. In his hand, the boy had a bottle of depression medicine and on the floor, next to him was a bottle of water. It was now or never. If he didn't do this now, he would never be able to do it. He chuckled bitterly. What an ironic way to die. To die because of the medicine that was supposed to stop exactly this from happening. Maybe Mycroft would even laugh a bit at his funeral, at his little brother's last joke.

With shaky hands, the young man opened the bottle and poured his hand full of pills. This was the last time he'd have to eat these goddamn disgusting things that made him feel like nothing. He took a deep breath, threw the pills in his mouth and drank water on top. He had to chew some of the pills but he managed to get them all down and leaned against the shower wall. Soon he would feel dizzy, he might have hallucinations and then he would just stop being. That thought calmed him down and the fear of death was slowly starting to disappear completely. He knew that the meds started working when he started feeling empty and scarily calm, aside from the crazy pounding of his heart. He had read that his heart could expand too much and basically explode as a result of the overdose. It was kind of scary, but Sherlock told himself that this was the easiest way out. After this there would be no more tiredness, no more sadness. No matter what happened after death, Sherlock would finally stop being so damn tired and that was enough for him.

He distantly heard how a door opened and closed somewhere and someone called out his name. He was calmed down by the thought of someone coming to take him away from this life. Would there be something after death or would this 'someone' that was coming to take him away just grab him by the hand and lead him to blissful nothingness? He fought to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see who was coming to him from the other side. The bathroom door opened and someone stood there, but who? It came closer. Sherlock heard noises, but they felt like they were coming from somewhere very far away. The figure was now crouched in front of him and was shaking him. Who was it? Sherlock tried to focus his vision.

"Sherlock, wake up!" Rang out suddenly, bright and loud, through the curtain of mist that seemed to be covering Sherlock completely from head to toe and the stinging pain on his cheek felt like it had really happened. Was he still in the real world?

"Sherlock Holmes, now you will keep your eyes open! Don't you dare die, do you hear me?! Don't you dare!" Felt like it came from right next to his ear. Mycroft? What was Mycroft doing here? Was his brother dead too. No, no, he couldn't be. Was Mycroft really here with him or was he seeing and hearing things that weren't really there?

Another painfully loud noise pierced through the veil of numbness. A siren. It was really close now. An ambulance? Hands grabbed him and lifted. No, no, no, they were going to keep him alive. Sherlock screamed, but he wasn't sure if he even made a sound and he tried to fight back, but he could barely move. He was set on his side and he felt himself throwing up and trembling all over.

"The situation is critical," He heard, before he drifted into unconsciousness.

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When the young man woke up and opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was. Everything was bright and white. "Help," he gasped out and coughed, shaking as he felt panic and anxiety taking over:" Is anybody there?"

He tried to get up but his body felt weak and a disgusting feeling came over him like a wave. Was he alive or not? He hoped not.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Came a high-pitched voice from somewhere near him and he was pulled into a hug. A sweet smell filled his senses and he felt warm. His mother. For a moment he almost felt happy, until he realized that if his mother was there, it meant that he was alive. He had failed, even at ending his own life.

"No," he whispered and tried to push his mother away. When the woman let go of him and stepped away, a worried expression clouding her kind features, Sherlock said even louder: "No!"

"Sherlock," The woman said strictly an shook her head, sighing: "It's not your time yet. You're not meant to die yet. Otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have found you in time. Everybody has their time to go and yours isn't here yet."

"I don't care if it's not my time yet! I wanted to die and Mycroft shouldn't have intervened," Sherlock said bitterly and wiped his eyes on his arm angrily, as tears started to gather to the corners of his bright eyes. His mother sounded so very tired when she asked:" Why, Sherlock? Why would you want to die?"

"Because I'm tired mom," Sherlock replied, looking the other way. "What are you tired of?" She questioned, looking incredibly sad.

"Just this. Life. Everything," Sherlock sighed deeply, turning his icy gaze back to her and said coldly: "I want to speak to Mycroft now. I'm tired of you too."

HIs mother nodded and let out a heartbreaking sniffle, turning on her heel and walking out of the room quickly. After a few minutes or so, the door opened again and Mycroft came into the room, looking angrier than ever. He shut the door after himself and glared at Sherlock.

"Beautiful day, isn't i--" Sherlock started, trying to lighten the mood, but was interrupted by Mycroft who started speaking, gritting his teeth:" Save it, Sherlock. What you have just done was extremely irresponsible and absolutely idiotic. I never thought you would stoop this low."

"I can explain," Sherlock tried. Mycroft scoffed and laughed bitterly:" Of course you can. There is always an explanation with you, Sherlock. However I'm tired of your poor attempts at trying to justify the way you act. You are not a child anymore and I'm so very tired of looking after you like you are one."

"Well I guess then you should've just let me die," Sherlock replied angrily: "You should've just left me there to die and you wouldn't have to worry anymore. Problem solved!"

"Quit playing the victim, for God's sake, it's pathetic," Mycroft spat: "Poor Sherlock, he's so misunderstood! It's time to grow up and get over stupid things like a dead dog!"

"Don't speak about Redbeard like that," Sherlock said quietly. Mycroft laughed again, though he obviously saw nothing funny about this situation and shook his head: "It's time to start living in the moment, brother. You can be a cold and a hurtful person, Sherlock, but don't forget that I can be just as cold. You will stay here on suicide watch and I will make sure that even if you get a million panic attacks, you will never use depression or anxiety medicine again. Quit pitying yourself and get a grip."

And when he was done speaking, his raised his hand to silence Sherlock who was about to protest. Mycroft turned on his heel, sighing deeply and walked back to the door, opening it. He looked back once more and said: "Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it." And then he left the room, slamming the door after himself, leaving Sherlock, really truly alone again