"I just spoke to your brother," the DI informed Sherlock.
"How is he?" he asked softly.
" He's a bit shaken up, that's all," Lestrade replied in a louder voice, trying to be heard over the commotion around him. "She didn't hurt him; she just locked him up in her old cell."
"What goes around, come around," John commented ironically.
"Yeah, give me a moment, boys," Greg said absently, turning to leave.
Sherlock started, and turned his gaze on John. For a moment, he just looked at him, his gaze thoughtful and introspective.
"What is it, Sherlock," John probed gently.
Sherlock turned his gaze towards the approaching party. Eurus was being led away, looking lost and confused. "I said I'll bring her home, but I can't, can I? I lied to her, John," Sherlock said quietly, intensely.
"Sherlock, you did what you could," John reassured him.
Sherlock gave his friend another intense look. "I wonder when that will come around to me."
"Sherlock, that's not what I meant... I mean, it was Mycroft...'" the doctor stuttered, flustered.
Sherlock gave a small sigh. "I think we all need a good night's rest." He walked over to the DI and tapped himy on the shoulder. "Greg, about John. Can you make sure he's taken care of? He is not as strong as he thinks he is."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of him. Any suggestions to where he can spend the night?"
"I think you should take him to Mrs. Hudson's sister, where our landlady has temporarily moved to. If anyone can use some maternal fussing now, it's John. They'll be good for him."
"Right, I'll suggest it to him. Where would you like to go now?"
"I need to see my brother."
"I'll have that arranged as well," the DI promised.
As the consultant detective went back to his friend, Lestrade turned back to the police officer he had been speaking to and remarked, "No, he's better than that. He's a good one."
Sherlock found his older brother lying in a hospital bed, attached to several monitors. Mycroft looked up at his arrival, his expression showing surprise.
"Sherlock?" he questioned.
"That's still my name. Unless you've been hiding something else from me?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked intensely at his brother.
"Look, Sherlock, I know you must be very angry at me -"
"Shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted him, his tone flat. "For once, just shut up."
The younger man flopped down on a chair and observed the beeping monitors. Then he scanned his brother's face, as if searching for something. After a moment, he gently took hold of Mycroft's wrist and felt for a pulse. He held it for a long moment. The older man looked at him in confusion, and before understanding dawned, and then spoke up.
"Yes, I'm still alive and kicking, to everyone's misfortune," he said with a touch of his usual ascerbity.
"I don't intend on remedying that," Sherlock retorted, quietly and firmly. His brother tried to read between the lines. Was he offering an apology? A promise? It probably contained a bit of both. Mycroft sighed and and tentatively placed his other hand on Sherlock's, still holding his.
"Is there anything I can do for you now, brother mine?"
Sherlock appeared to be considering that, and then answered, "Just tell me where the hell I can get a cigarette right now."
Mycroft gave a weak chuckle, and told his brother, "Let's make a deal. You get me out of here, and I'll give you one."
"The real thing this time," his brother insisted, glaring at him.
"Alright," the British Government capitulated, with a small smile.
"So, you're being treated for acute stress reaction, I assume," Sherlock looked to his brother, who confirmed it with a nod.
"You're pulse is only a bit above normal, and all your other vitals are within normal range. You still are pale, but that's only because you prefer to sit on your backside and leave the legwork to us hardworking folk. I believe I can get you released into my custody," Sherlock smirked.
"Whatever, just get me out of here, I'm really not fond of hospitals."
"Neither am I," the detective responded. The Holmes brother's found that hospitals gave them both sensory overload, what with all the blinking lights, sounds and smells. They both suffered from sensory issues due to their acute senses, which continuously bombarded them with information. Sherlock dealt with an overload by retreating into his Mind Palace, while Mycroft, who was even more sensitive to stimuli, built the Diogenes Club. They both agreed that hospitals were one of the top ten offenders to their senses.
After consulting with Mycroft's doctors, and promising to keep an eye on himy, the younger brother returned to the room. "Come on, brother mine, I'm taking you home."
"This is quite a turnaround, isn't it?" Mycroft grinned sardonically. "You getting me released from the hospital, with a promise of good behavior."
Sherlock grinned back, the tension in his face easing a bit. "As someone has told me today, what goes around, comes around."
A/N: I might add another part to this, describing more of the brother's discussion when they come home, and also Sherlock addressing John's attitude towards Mycroft in TFP. I have never seen that addressed before. Let me know if you'd like to see that.