Chapter Text
Chapter 2
Sherlock paced the waiting room as John and Mary waited with him for any update on Mycroft’s condition. Anthea had arrived with a medical team the second Mycroft lost consciousness. They had quickly gotten the older Holmes into a private facility where they were now waiting.
Sherlock had remained quiet throughout their journey. The amount of blood Mycroft had lost did not do anything to help calm his nerves. John did not voice any reassuring words -- because the man knew that Sherlock would shoot them down just as quickly. There was no use sweet coating what was happening.
His brother had jumped in front of a bullet for him. If it hadn’t been Mycroft, it would have been Mary. Why were people risking their lives for him? Why would they do something so stupid--
Sherlock stopped and both Mary and John turned to him just as he swung his arm and made to punch the nearest wall.
John quickly grabbed his arm and roughly pushed him to sit down on the nearest chair.
“Breaking your hand isn’t going to do anything, Sherlock,” said Mary, coming to sit beside him.
“Stupid. My damn brother chose the most inconvenient time to be stupid.” whispered Sherlock as he covered his face with his hands.
“He wasn’t the only one ready to jump in front of a bullet for you,” said Mary to which Sherlock looked up to her sharply. “If John had been there, he would have done the same thing. And you know that for a fact.”
Sherlock turned to his best friend who was at first glaring at his wife but then turned to Sherlock who only shrugged and nodded. “She’s right. If it’s not Mycroft, then it would be Mary or me or you in surgery right now.”
“No one needed to be in danger if I hadn’t provoked Vivian Norbury,” argued Sherlock as he stood and began pacing once more.
“She was going to drag anyone down with her, and you know that,” replied Mary. “Whether you didn’t voice out your deductions or not, she was still going to fire that gun. Why do you think she even brought it with her?”
Sherlock remained quiet as he finally stopped and sat back down between John and Mary. He sighed. “I never thought...I always thought that Mycroft would always--” He cut himself, not wanting to finish that train of thought.
John and Mary exchanged a look as both laid a comforting hand on the detective’s back. It was an hour or so later when Anthea finally appeared in the room with an update. John and Mary both had a deathgrip on Sherlock’s arms when Anthea had said that Mycroft had flat-lined but the doctors had easily stabilized him once more and that everything went smoothly after that.
“Can Sherlock at least see him?” asked John and Anthea turned to Sherlock.
“I’ve been trying to arrange that,” began Anthea but even with her usual calm and neutral expression, Sherlock could read that something was amiss. “Given recent developments, I was instructed to wait until the arrival of--”
“What?” asked John. “He’s recovering -- they can’t just replace him that fast.”
“She said recent development,” said Mary, eyeing Anthea then back to her husband. “It has been a couple of hours. I’m guessing we’re waiting on the person who will be temporarily doing Mycroft’s job while he’s recovering.”
“And there’s only one person they would trust to take care of Mycroft’s job, that is not Anthea,” said Sherlock with such fury that John had never seen his friend's face before. “When was he contacted--”
“Half an hour ago, made contact fifteen minutes ago,” replied Anthea. “He’s due in the next twenty minutes with Lady Alicia Smallwood and Sir Edwin Blake.”
“And ordered you to stop me from seeing my own brother,” hissed Sherlock.
“My hands are tied, Sherlock,” replied Anthea quickly. “You know as well as I do that I would do anything for your brother but there will always be an exception.” She paused and turned to her phone. “That exception is currently heading to this room. And you know Mycroft would tell you not to antagonize the dragon.”
“Sherlock, who--” began John but Sherlock turned to walk out of the room, no doubt to try and see his brother. “Anthea, who is coming to take Mycroft’s job?”
“Temporarily, Dr. Watson,” remarked Anthea, but sighed as she received a text and stopped Sherlock with a hand on his arm. “You have ten minutes, Sherlock. Tom will take you to his room.”
Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice and quickly left without another word.
“Alright,” began John again. “Who is temporarily taking over Mycroft’s job as a minor government official ?”
“The person who trained him to be one.”
He had never seen his brother look so fragile in his entire life.
Mycroft was always bigger and taller than him. To see him dwarfed by the hospital bed, with all the medical equipment attached to him was more disconcerting than Sherlock had expected. And he had expected it. He had been shot not too long ago and knew how he looked to visitors.
But that still did not prepare him for seeing Mycroft this way.
Maybe because he never thought anything would put Mycroft down like this. Nothing could hurt the Ice Man -- well nothing except his younger brother.
Sherlock could still remember the look on Mycroft’s face during the whole Bond Air incident, and of course the Magnussen case, a fresh failure in all their minds. Sherlock had always figured that nothing, not any form of global crisis or political scandal or any physical torture would hurt his brother -- until he finally realized what could crack the Ice Man facade, let alone melt it. It stared back at him whenever he looked at a mirror.
Your loss would break my heart.
Sherlock entered the room and walked over to stand by the bed. Mycroft had always been there. Annoying as it seemed and no matter how many times Sherlock had voiced that he didn’t much care for Mycroft, Mycroft had still been there, always ready to drop everything the moment Sherlock called.
And Sherlock had called and Mycroft had risked not only his reputation and career, but his life as well.
His train of thought was disrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. Anthea said he had ten minutes. Surely---
“For Mycroft’s sake, I suggest you leave now, Mr. Holmes,” said Lady Smallwood hurriedly, as she entered the room. “I doubt Anthea and Edwin will be enough of a distraction for --”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “He has no right banning me from my own brother’s hospital room.”
“Would you really want your brother waking up to the sound of a row while he’s recovering?” fired back Lady Smallwood. “Now is not the time for --”
“Brotherly compassion, especially coming from you,” said the rich, booming voice of an elderly gentleman who had just entered the room. “Either you leave or I have someone escort you out.” The man stared down Sherlock with an arrogant smile. He was older, evidenced by his thinning short grey hair. His still grey eyes underneath heavy brows tore through Sherlock who only stared back with equal intensity.
“Put on some weight,” remarked Sherlock with a glare, mentioning the man’s stouter appearance. “Retirement is a good look on you. Do us all a favor and stay retired for the foreseeable future. Mycroft--”
“Is in a hospital bed because of your stupidity,” fired back the other man. “Always had to have your older brother clean-up your messes, don’t we William?”
Sherlock glared but remained quiet. Lady Smallwood turned to the older gentleman. “Maybe we should take this outside.”
“There is nothing to take outside, Alicia,” replied the other man, looking at Sherlock over his aquiline nose, a family trait. “My nephew was leaving.” The man, Rudolf Vernet, turned to Sherlock with a pointed gaze. “And I trust he will not be bothering his brother for the foreseeable future.”