Sherlock preferences

It's terminal

A/n- Ok people, this part gets very heavy. This story includes a plot revolving around cancer which is not appropriate for all audiences. Please, if you find this upsetting, do not read on. Cancer is something that everyone will face in their lifetime, either first hand or through a family member. It is horrific and not something to be taken lightly. With that said, please... enjoy?
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Although Mycroft had his good days, quite often, the two of you would fight... Usually only small affairs like why you don't talk as much as you used to, or why Mycroft was always so uptight. The one thing, however, that got Mycroft mad was your late night disappearances...

It was a gloomy Sunday morning in London and the clouds were so tired and grey, they had forgotten to part, leaving the sun encapsulated by an eerie shroud of water vapour. You and Mycroft had risen and were sat at the mahogany breakfast table eating. Well, you were eating. Mycroft was just stirring an empty bowl with his teaspoon whilst staring at you with aggressive eyes.
"I noticed you slipped into bed at half midnight last night..."
You swallowed and lowered your head, suddenly fascinated by the glossy, melting butter on the crust of your wholegrain.
"Where on earth were you??" He pried angrily, allowing the spoon to fall, creating an unearthly clatter against the expensive porcelain.
"I was at work..."
"That late?! I don't believe you." He spat, leaning forward over the table and pushing the chair out from behind himself with his tensed calves.
"It was personal business" you muttered, pushing your breakfast across the tabletop and getting up from your seat, turning away to hide in the bedroom.
"Personal? How personal? You are never here anymore!"
You begin to seethe inside, completely forgetting your...condition.
"I do not have to explain myself to you Mr Holmes! I am not a child!"
He approached you rigidly, his emotions flying off the rails
"Well you are certainly acting like one! Where the fuck did you GO?!"
Your heart began to beat loudly in your head and your brain twinged, sending a shooting pain down your spine into your feet.
"Gah!" You screeched in pain as you stumbled "if you must know Mycroft, I was in hospital getting late night chemo so you DIDN'T FUCKING WORRY ACOUT ME!!"

Suddenly, you were knocked breathless. That last scream tipped you over your breaking point. You reached up, trying to clutch into invisible ropes in an attempt to keep yourself upright.
"(Y/n)? Precious!" Mycroft called, running towards you, sensing your delirious faintness. Your head throbbed and before you could even mutter:
"Mycroft..."
You collapsed. Caught, last minute, in his shaky arms.
"Shit... What the hell have I done?..."

When you awoke, the first thing you experienced was the industrial dazzle from huge, white operating lights. As you adjusted to the glare, you found yourself in a rigid hospital bed, various needles and tubes protruded from your arms like you were a machine running on chemicals. You sat up and gave out a slight whimpering groan as you clutched your head limply. Slowly, you scanned the room, looking for something, anything, which might bring you comfort.
"Mycroft?..." You croaked, squinting at a figure hunched over in a chair beside the foot of your bed "Mycroft is that you?..."
Your eyes had adjusted now, it was indeed Mycroft but there was something different about his character. His eyes were puffy and red from crying, his breathing was barely there and his knees were quivering like a fawn in spring. He straightened up in the metal seat and rose, approaching your side helplessly.
"I have nothing to say..." He whispered, defeated. "I am so... So sorry (y/n)..."
Suddenly, the door of the medical room creaked open, revealing an incredibly solemn looking doctor; smart, yet tired in appearance.
"Is this the room of Miss (y/l/n)?" The doctor spoke in a low, sincere tone.
"Yes" Mycroft replied steadily.
"Miss (y/l/n), it is incredibly difficult to tell you this but we have recently run some tests on you and... The chemotherapy has been ineffective. Your cancer has spread to your brain... It is now terminal. There is not even much hope of you surviving the night...I am so, so, very sorry..."

Mycroft's heart skipped a beat. Then another. Then another. His world had just come to a grinding halt, his pilot condemned to death. His eyes slowly closed and tears erupted from him, causing his body to collapse back into the chair and wrench with sorrow. The doctor left, offering you some privacy. Mycroft wept beside you like a child who had just lost his best friend. He leaned towards your bed and kissed your hands, tears falling into the thin, polythene duvet.
"Mycroft.." You whispered, causing him to look up suddenly, his water filled eyes gaping like two keyholes into his cracked soul. "Mycroft, look at me... It's fine. Everybody dies... It's the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do"   Mycroft wretched again.
"No...NO this is different! It can't be you! Anyone but you!"

"Mycroft. You have to manage without me. You have Sherlock and John and Mrs Hudson and Molly and Lestrade... All people who love you... Your life really won't be much different once I go."

"But... I w...won't cope..."

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the l-"

"On the losing side. I know... But I would choose the losing side a million times over if you could stay with me..."

"Kiss me Mycroft... One last time... For good luck"

"(Y/n) don't make me do this.."
His actions became feverish and panicky, the reality of what was happening really setting in...

"Please... Grant a dying girl her parting wish..."

Mycroft swallowed the heavy, iron lump in his throat and gallantly wiped away his tears. His legs were still quivering. Gently, slowly, passionately, he leaned in towards you, placing his arms round you in embrace and planting his lips against your cold mouth. You smiled into him, as if trying to leave a permanent impression on his lips. As you kissed, you whispered...

"Goodnight Mycroft... I treasured being your goldfish..."

He held the kiss for a few seconds more until you pulled away and your head fell angelically back onto your pillow.

The red line laid flat.

"Goodnight precious..."

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A/n- fuck...