Getting There
A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for giving this FanFiction a try and I hope you will like it. This is probably going to be my biggest project so far. Firstly some general information.
Sherlock will be 22 years old and Mycroft 29 years. It's set in 1993. I might split this up in parts along the way but I haven't decided yet. I have a specific ending in mind but a long way to go till I get there. It's not very close to the canon but I didn't want this story set in the 2000s.
English isn't my first language and I apologize for any mistakes I might make. This is a standalone story and doesn't have any connection with something I've written before.
I hope you'll enjoy it and please leave a review if you did. Or if you didn't and you have suggestions on how I can improve.
I don't own Sherlock or its characters. I just own the OCs I've made up.
Warning: language, violence, drug use
Chapter 1
Mycroft POV
March 1993
It was late and there were almost no lights on at Vauxhall Cross. There were hardly any people left at the office. However, Mycroft Holmes was still sitting at his desk burring himself in work. He had been doing so for weeks now and even though he would never openly admit it, because that would mean he would care, a certain brother of his was to blame. Of course Mycroft cared, he just didn't say so out loud. After all, caring was not an advantage. But when Sherlock Holmes seemingly vanished from the face of the earth 4 months ago he felt like someone punched him in the stomach. He still felt like that now and he doubted that this feeling would ever go away. Unless he would see his brother again in one piece.
When his mother had called to ask if he had heard from his brother lately he of course denied. He and is his brother weren't close and their mother knew that. They didn't talk to each other or see each other expect for the occasional family get-togethers. So no, he hadn't heard from Sherlock. His mother claimed that Sherlock called every month to tell her about university and whatever he got up to these days. Mycroft scoffed at that, Sherlock calling mommy on a regular basis. However, his mother immediately explained that she made him otherwise he wouldn't contact her at all. That didn't surprise Mycroft since his brother wasn't one to tend to family ties. He dismissed his mother's worry as a bit ridiculous telling her that is brother would call eventually and got on with his life. His brother was an adult after all.
But then his mother called again after a few days to tell him that Sherlock hadn't been seen at university for a month. Apparently he didn't show up to any classes and his dorm mate also hadn't seen him. He just disappeared. And that worried Mycroft. A lot. Sherlock cared about his education and wouldn't just drop everything. After all he had just finished is BSc and started working on his master. But what worried him the most was that Mycroft knew about Sherlock's" experiments" as his brother called them. He might be able to mislead their mother but Mycroft wasn't as easily fooled. Sherlock had started experimenting with different drugs about 2 months before he disappeared.
If Mycroft could have, he would have gone home and sorted this out with his parents. Well more with his mother since his father was, as always way too busy. It seems like he didn't care one bit. But Mycroft couldn't do that of course. Not with his position in British Secret Service and the government. However, he immediately mobilized every resource he had to find his brother. His brother's dormitory seemed normal except for the missing violin. Which worried Mycroft even more. Sherlock always took his violin with him. His people spent weeks trying to find Sherlock, looking for him on CCTV and every other way they could think of with no results.
And after that much time Mycroft had to admit that the possibility of finding his brother alive was fairly small at this point. But even at the hospitals and morgues he didn't find any trace of Sherlock. Which at least calmed him a bit knowing that his brother was most certainly still alive. After thinking about it for days on end Mycroft came to the conclusion that if his brother had been abducted, they would have found him by now or at least heard from the people who'd done it. The only reason for someone to take Sherlock was for their family's money and if that was the case why wait weeks to make contact. And then there was the fact that Sherlock took his violin. So that only left one other possibility. That Sherlock disappeared on his own accord.
And because Mycroft wasn't able to find him anywhere in the UK, and to be fair by now he defiantly would have, it could only mean that Sherlock left the country. Which complicated this whole situation even more. Because while Mycroft could use the resources his job included to search for his brother inside the UK it wasn't that easy in other countries. And even though he wanted to just go and search the entire world if he had to, Mycroft couldn't risk foreign policy relations he had been working on for years to find Sherlock. He was working on it but it was a slow process. And Mycroft hoped that he wouldn't be too late.
It was ridiculous really. For Mycroft to suddenly miss his brother when he didn't feel the need to spend time with him in a long time. But now that Sherlock was gone Mycroft missed him. Thinking back, he tried to remember what had drove the two brothers apart. Because they had been close once. Mycroft could remember carrying a 5-year-old Sherlock on his back playing pirates with the dogs running besides them. It was all the little boy wanted to do at the time and even though he was too old for such games Mycroft would play with his brother as often as he could. It wasn't very often since Mycroft was sent to a boarding school at the age of ten and only saw his brother during school holidays on a handful of weekends during the term.
Sherlock had only been 3 years old when Mycroft left and didn't really understand why he was left alone with the nanny now most of the time. Their father had to travel a lot and their mother would often accompany him. Sherlock was alone a lot in the huge house. But still, every time Mycroft came to visit he was a happy and talkative boy. But that changed over time. It was a slow process but eventually Sherlock became quiet and reclusive. He stopped showing interest in his former hobbies and spent most of his time back at the mansion in his room. Mycroft assumed that it was somewhat normal after all Sherlock was a teenager. He would snap out of it eventually and to be fair it wasn't his responsibility. Their parents were the ones who needed to act. Mycroft was almost never home anyway.
The sound of his phone ringing pulled Mycroft out of his thoughts.
"Who's this?", he asked into his phone. There was no reply but Mycroft was able to hear someone breathing on the other end. "Hello?" Again nothing. After another 2 seconds of silence there was some commotion in the background and Mycroft was about to hang up when he heard someone speak.
"Na los! Du wolltest diesen Anruf unbedingt haben jetzt red!"* Now that defiantly wasn't the caller but another person in the room. A rather angry person. Mycroft slowly but sure became irritated.
"Alright, if you are unable to answer me I am just going to hang up!", he barked into the phone and was about to end the call when a quiet voice stopped him.
"Myc…?" Mycroft froze. That was Sherlock's voice.
"Sherlock? Oh god where are you?" He tightened his grip in the phone and got up from his chair.
"In Vienna..." Was the answer he got. Sherlock sounded off. Something wasn't right.
"Why are you in Vienna? Who was the person talking in the background?"
"I'm sorry Myc…", Sherlock said so quietly it was almost a whisper. Mycroft frowned and went to stand next to his window. Sorry for leaving? For calling at this hour? Or was he sorry for whatever was the reason Sherlock had called?
"Don't apologize.", Mycroft said almost automatically. He disliked apologies. They didn't change anything and thus were something absolutely useless. "Just tell me where you are and I'll send someone to fetch you." It was time his brother came home after all. Their mother would stop calling Mycroft on a daily basis and he himself could stop worrying and finally start properly focusing on his work again.
"I'm at a police station." Alright. Sherlock was in trouble then. That probably meant the other person Mycroft heard earlier was most likely a policeman. "I know you have better things to do but please could you help me? Please Mycroft…" It was the way his voice nearly broke when his brother pleaded for his help that got him. Sherlock never asked for something in a nice way, especially not him. The two brothers just didn't get along and hardly talked. Mycroft wasn't sure what it meant that Sherlock choose to call him of all people but it looked like his brother was in serious trouble. He dismissed his plan of just sending Anthea to pick up Sherlock. Instead he'll tell her to have the plane ready for takeoff as soon as he got to the airport. He wanted to check if his brother was fine himself.
"Alright Sherlock. Just tell the policeman to give me the address and I'll be there in…", he threw a quick glance at his watch," … about 3 hours."
"Thank you.", Sherlock answered and then the he was.
Three hours later Mycroft was walking towards the front desk of the small police station he was received the address to. The flight and the car that picked him up at the airport were arranged by Anthea as well as she always did and he watched the sunrise over Vienna from the window of the black limousine. Mycroft had only been to Vienna twice before but he hadn't seen very much of it. It was a beautiful city, small but rich in history. However, Mycroft wasn't a person interested in sightseeing or vacations which meant that he would most likely never see much of it besides having to travel here for work. The drive from the airport to the address Mycroft had received was only 20 minutes and since it was early there was no additional traffic to worry about.
The policeman sitting at the front desk looked bored. He obviously took the third nightshift in a row and judging by his shirt his wife recently took the kids and left. Mycroft put on his business face and took a halt in front of the man leaning on his umbrella. Officer Lackner according to his nametag looked up from his crossword and raised an eyebrow at Mycroft.
"Good morning. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I was informed that my brother is here and I've come to talk to him.", Mycroft said before the officer even had a chance to open his mouth. The man nodded and got up from his chair.
"Ah yes. Please follow me." He had a terrible accent. Mr. Lackner started walking down a hallway and Mycroft followed suit. They stopped in front of an office and the officer signaled Mycroft to wait and disappeared inside. He didn't close the door though so Mycroft was still able to hear him talking.
"Der Bruder von dem Fixer ist da.**", said Mr. Lackner. They probably didn't expect him to speak German and to be fair Mycroft hadn't used it in years but he still understood everything.
"Okay danke! Bitte lass ihn rein.***" That was defiantly the person he heard talking in the background earlier while talking to Sherlock. The man from the front desk reappeared and motioned him to enter the office and left without another word. Mycroft stepped into the office. The man from the phone call was maybe 10 years older than him but his hair already started to grey. He looked tired and Mycroft could smell the coffee in his breath as he greeted him. He must have been working through the night.
"Hello. My name is Martin Baumgartner and I am leading the investigation your brother is involved in." His English was way better. Mycroft still heard the accent of course but it wasn't that present as the one of Mr. Lackner. Now Mycroft didn't exactly get a lot of information out of Sherlock about why he was at a police station but he was sure he was about to find out.
"Yes about that. I would appreciate it if you could tell me a bit more about this whole situation. After that I would like to speak to my brother. If that's allowed of course", Mycroft said in a passive voice. Officer Baumgartner nodded and offered him a seat in front of the desk.
Twenty minutes later Mycroft was filled in about the basics that led to Sherlock being arrested. Apparently he was found next to a boy who was shot repeatedly in the chest. Mr. Baumgartner doubted that he had shot the boy but since Sherlock was the only witness they had to interrogate him. The problem was that Sherlock wasn't talking and just insisted to get his phone call. And after he got to call Mycroft he stopped talking again. It was typical really. Nobody could make Sherlock do something Sherlock didn't want to do. Mycroft was now following officer Baumgartner towards the holding cells.
"I apologize for my brother's behavior. He's always been a bit difficult.", Mycroft said. The officer snorted.
"I can imagine that. He kept asking me about my dentist's appointment from a few days ago. "They kept walking silently for a few seconds until Mr. Baumgartner started talking again. "How did he know that? I mean, I know that he wasn't there. There must be some kind of trick, right?", he asked with a frown. Mycroft rolled his eyes. The dentist's appointment was obvious. People just didn't know where to look. It was the way Baumgartner unconsciously moved his jaw avoiding his tongue touching one of his teeth.
"Sherlock just knows where to look to spot things like that. It's rather obvious once you know what you are looking for.", Mycroft explained.
"Right… He's a smart one, isn't he?" Mycroft hummed affirmatively but didn't answer otherwise. Baumgartner stopped walking and unlock one of the doors to their left. Before he opened it though he stopped and looked at Mycroft.
"I should probably warn you. He was pretty high when we found him and I don't know how much better he is now." Mycroft's stomach dropped and he fought the urge to get sick. "He's probably asleep", Baumgartner said somewhat apologetically before he opened the door and left to wait a few steps away.
Mycroft just stood in the doorway and starred at the sleeping young man on the small bed in the holding cell. Sherlock was thin, way too thin and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was dirty in desperate need of a shower. He was wearing dirty black jeans and a dark green hoodie which had seen better days. Mycroft slowly stepped into the room and knelt down in front of his brother. He sighed and suddenly he had the strange urge to reach out and brush away the bangs that had fallen into Sherlock's face. But as soon as he touched him his brother's eyes snapped open and he flinched away. Sherlock starred at Mycroft for a second before remembering what was going on and then dropped his head down on his knees which he had drawn up to his chest. Mycroft looked at his brother with worry.
"Oh Sherlock… what happened?", he whispered. Sherlock slowly raised his head and locked his eyes with the older Holmes.
"You actually came in person. I thought you would just send someone.", Sherlock mumbled after a few seconds changing the subject. Mycroft let him. They would talk later.
"Of course I came in person. You've been gone for 4 months and I was worried.", Mycroft admitted. Sherlock snorted.
"Sure you were.", he mumbled while he uncurled and relaxed against the wall behind him.
"Yes I was. We all were." Sherlock snorted again. Mycroft really didn't have the patience to deal with a moody (high?) Sherlock at the moment. "You are my brother after all. I won't discuss this with you right now. You wanted my help, here I am." Sherlock looked at his brother for a few moments before he nodded. "Alright. I've talked to the police and you are not a suspect. However, as a witness you need to make a statement or else they can't let you go. You are lucky that they didn't find any drugs on you or this whole situation would be a lot worse. So please, Sherlock. Just talk to them and we can leave.", Mycroft said in a quiet voice. Sherlock closed his eyes and for a moment and took a deep breath before he snapped them open again.
"Fine I'll talk to them.", he finally said. Mycroft thanked him and got up to get Baumgartner.
They were sitting in the plane 6 hours later. Sherlock had to tell his story several times while Mycroft had to wait. Since he wasn't directly involved in the investigation he wasn't allowed to be in the same room or listen to the interrogation. Sherlock was in a bad mood when they were finally finished and refused to talk. Even as a kid he stopped talking when he was angry or frustrated. Mycroft didn't even try to get him to say something. He knew that it was a waste of energy. His brother would snap out of it sooner or later. Besides, his brother had just witnessed a murder and was probably just crashing from whatever he had in his system. He was allowed to be in a bad mood.
What surprised Mycroft though, was that Sherlock didn't object going back to London. He just sat in the back of the car that drove them back to the airport sulking. He obviously wasn't happy about it but didn't put up a fight either. When Mycroft asked him if he didn't want to collect his things before they left his brother just shook his head and buried his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. Mycroft frowned and wonder what happened to the violin but didn't ask.
They got through security fairly quickly and as soon as they were on the plane Sherlock picked the spot furthest from his brother, drew up the hood and closed his eyes. Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long day.
They landed at London City Airport about 2 hours later. Sherlock didn't utter one word the whole time and Mycroft did his best to be patient. Anthea was waiting for them with another black limousine. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the plane and his view fell on the car. But he still followed Mycroft into the car without a word. Mycroft sat down in front of his brother and looked at him for a few moments. Sherlock tensed but still kept his eyes on the passing scenery outside of the vehicle. Mycroft cleared his throat to get his brother's attention but he just kept starring out of the window stubbornly.
"Sherlock ", Mycroft said quietly. The younger Holmes rolled his eyes again and turned his head to look at his brother. He raised his eyebrow to signal that he was listening but otherwise he stayed silent. "I'm taking you back to the townhouse. Mother should be there. Now, I haven't told her yet that…"
"What!?", Sherlock interrupted. "I'm not going back there! Father is surely going to…"
"Father is in Canada at the moment.", Mycroft now interrupted. "Sherlock you have nowhere else to go in case you forgot that. You left! You chose to leave and now you have to live with the consequences." Sherlock glared at him for a second before he opened his mouth to protest. "No Sherlock! I won't discuss this. Mother is worried sick about you. The least you can do is apologize for disappearing like that.", Mycroft said before his brother could start talking. Sherlock's face twisted into something for a moment Mycroft wasn't able to recognize. It disappeared as fast again and his face became expressionless.
"Fine. But I won't stay there long.", he mumbled as he drew his hood back up and buried his hands in the pocket. Mycroft sighed and relaxed a bit into the soft leather seat of the car. He massaged his temple. This day was starting to give him a headache.
"Are you still high?", Mycroft asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. He didn't want their mother to catch on immediately. He had to tell her but he still didn't want her to see her son high. Sherlock again glared at him but shook his head.
"Not really no…", he mumbled but Mycroft had the strange feeling he wanted to say something along the lines of `not high enough`. He sighed. "You are going into rehab tomorrow.", he stated and Sherlock's eyes widened.
"No Mycroft! Definitely not! I have it under control", Sherlock yelled. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that.
"Yes Sherlock. You are. Or do you want father to find out about this?" He knew it was a low blow to use their father as blackmail but it worked. Sherlock turned pale and gave up fighting. "Brother please understand that I'm not doing this to torment you. I am worried about you." Sherlock snorted again but didn't comment. He instead drew his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes.
"What are you going to tell him?", Sherlock asked a few minutes later.
"Well, since he isn't expected to come back to London for another 2 months we don't have to tell him anything. Mother has to know, though.", Mycroft stated.
"I know…", his brother sighed and went silent again.
It didn't take long until the car stopped in front of the townhouse where Mrs. Holmes now lived most of the time. The mansion where both Mycroft and Sherlock grew up was now more of a holiday house. It was simply too big for one person, their mother said. Mycroft got out of the car first and waited for Sherlock. Together they climbed the steps to the front door. Mycroft pressed the bell and a few moments later Maria, the new housekeeper, answered.
"Ah Mr. Holmes! What a surprise.", she smiled before her eyes fell on Sherlock who was standing behind his brother hood still drawn up. "Is that…?"
"Yes Maria. My brother is back home would you please get my mother?", Mycroft interrupted. She nodded and hurried up the stairs. Sherlock closed the door behind him.
"Spanish, 3 kids, 2 girls, one boy, recently divorced and one, no wait 2 cats. Did I miss anything?", Sherlock lacily deduced. Mycroft had to smile. They always played this little game.
"Actually she only had one cat. It's a two colored cat though so I see why you made that mistake.", he corrected his brother.
"Oh come on! You didn't deduce that, she told you!", Sherlock said.
"It's still a mistake on your part, brother."
Just as Sherlock wanted to object that they heard their mother running down the stairs. She stopped as if frozen to the spot when she saw her younger son. Said son suddenly look very embarrassed and swallowed visibly.
"Oh my boy!", she cried and came running towards Sherlock. She hugged him and started fussing over him. "Oh my baby what happened? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, mommy.", Sherlock mumbled into her shoulder. She let go of him and took a step back to look at him properly.
"Sherlock why don't you go and take a shower while I fill mommy in on what's happened.", Mycroft suggested. Sherlock paled slightly but nodded anyway and hurried up the stairs. Mycroft watched him go and waited until he was gone to take his mother towards the sitting area. He didn't look forward to the conversation that would follow.
After filling their mother in and ultimately having to comfort her Mycroft made his way up the stairs towards Sherlock's bedroom. He knocked but didn't receive an answer. As he listened more closely he could still hear the water in the shower running. So Sherlock had been showering for half an hour now. Mycroft couldn't blame him. He didn't even want to know how long his brother went without a shower. He quietly opened the door to the bedroom and went to sit on his brothers bed to wait for him.
The room was cold. There were hardly any personal belongings of his brother left. And those that were still there were old and dusty. Things his brother hadn't used in ages. There was a pirate flag above the table and on old chemistry set for children on one of the shelfs. It looked like Sherlock hadn't lived here for years. Which surprised Mycroft. He himself moved out into his own flat 5 years ago but his brother should still be living here when he wasn't at university. So why didn't he have anything here but clothes? The only thing that didn't look out of place was Sherlock's second violin. It wasn't as dusty as the rest of the room.
The door to the bathroom opened and Mycroft stood up. Sherlock walked through the door only wearing grey sweatpants which looked way too large for him. He was rubbing a towel over his damp hair. The moment he spotted Mycroft standing next to the bed he froze.
"Do you mind?", he asked annoyed. Mycroft wasn't able to answer for a moment. He couldn't stop staring at his brother's thin frame. He was able to count the ribs. The worst were however the countless red injection marks all over Sherlock's arms. Both of them! Which meant that at one point he had to switch arms.
"Mycroft!", Sherlock said louder this time. He was clearly uncomfortable under his brothers starring eyes. Mycroft blinked and looked away from his brother's arms. "Want do you want?", Sherlock pressed as he went to his closet and grab a long sleeved T-Shirt which he quickly put on.
"I talked to mommy. She agreed not to tell father about your... habit. But only if you start treatment tomorrow. She too thinks that he doesn't need to know. And he won't know as long as you stay in rehab and don't leave until they say you are fit to do so. Do you understand?" Sherlock didn't look too happy about it but didn't say anything. He nodded. "Promise me Sherlock!", he demanded.
"Alright I promise!", Sherlock said annoyed and glared at him.
"She wants to talk to you alone.", Mycroft said and left the room.
After talking to their mother Sherlock spend the rest of the day in his room playing the violin. It was a dark melody which perfectly represented his mood. Eventually, at about 7 o'clock the music suddenly stopped. Mycroft looked up from the report he was currently reading while sitting at the dining table and threw a glance towards their mother who was reading the newspaper.
"Go and check on him, dear.", she said worriedly. Mycroft nodded and went upstairs. He knocked on the door before opening it a bit and glancing into the room.
"Sherlock?", he asked quietly. "What are you doing?" His brother was currently sitting on the window sill one leg already outside. He was shivering and sweaty looking down into the garden outside his bedroom window. Surely he wouldn't jump, would he? He would break his legs at least if he did.
"Sherlock come back inside.", Mycroft quietly said as he stepped into the room. Sherlock didn't react in any way. He just sat there starring down to the ground.
"A rope would have been helpful, don't you think so brother?", he mocked and Sherlock turned his head to glare at him. His face was twisted in pain and he breathed heavily.
"Yes I realize that. Thank you very much, Mycroft!", he snarled.
"Would you please just come back inside. We had a deal remember?", Mycroft sighed. Sherlock groaned but started to climb back inside. The once again glared at Mycroft and went towards his bed and promptly flopped down on it. Sherlock drew his legs up to his chest and closed his eyes. As he stepped closer Mycroft was able to hear the small whimpers coming out of his brother's throat. Withdrawal. He took a seat next to his brother and gently laid one hand in Sherlock's bony shoulder. The younger Holmes flinched away and curled up even tighter. He buried his face in a pillow.
"Can I help you somehow?", Mycroft whispered.
"No go away" Came the muffled reply. Mycroft sighed and started rubbing circles on Sherlock's back. At first his brother tensed and was about to flinch away again but eventually relaxed and let Mycroft comfort him.
"It hurts.", he mumbled after a few minutes.
"I know." They were quiet again except for Sherlock's occasional whimpers. Mycroft started wondering how long his brother was already feeling the effects of withdrawal. His last hit must have been about 24 hours ago. He was probably already sick when they left Vienna.
Mycroft stayed at his brother's side for hours until eventually Sherlock fell asleep.
May 1993
Sherlock, or Sherman Harris as he was called now, checked into the rehabilitation facility at exactly 10 am on March 12th 1993. Mycroft accompanied his brother as far as he could. Sherlock was in a terrible mood. He was sick and in pain and Mycroft nearly had to carry him to the car. To his surprise Sherlock still didn't try to resist him. It left Mycroft wondering if maybe his brother wanted to get clean. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
There was no heartfelt goodbye or promises of getting better. After checking in Sherlock was taken away by a nurse and he went with her without another word for his brother. Mycroft watched him go. He sighed and left the facility to go back to his work. He had done his part after all.
Mycroft didn't visit Sherlock while he was in rehab. He got a weekly update though which informed him of the progress his brother was making. He never told his father that Sherlock was back in the UK. If he had his father probably would have wanted to see his younger son and Mycroft hadn't been able to come up with a good enough cover story for Sherlock's treatment. At first it was easier to keep it from his father since he was away for work. But when he came back 2 weeks before Sherlock was to be released Mycroft had to be careful. He talked to his mother about her part in this. She had to be convincingly worried about her "missing" son in order to keep her husband in the dark. She insisted that that wouldn't be a problem since she was actually worried about Sherlock.
Two weeks later it was time for Mycroft to pick up Sherlock and take him back home. At first Sherlock was to be released on Sunday but Mycroft had an unexpected meeting to attend so his brother had to wait another day. He didn't really know what to expect as he sat in the car one day later. Sherlock had according to the updates made good progress but Mycroft still feared his brother would be in a terrible mood.
Umbrella in his right hand Mycroft walked towards the front desk in the lobby of the rehabilitation clinic. The young women sitting behind it looked up from the files she was currently working on and smiled at Mycroft.
"Hello! How may I help you, sir?", she asked.
"I've come to pick up my brother. His name is Sherman Harris.", he answered her and smiled politely. He had an uneasy feeling that something wasn't right and just wanted to get Sherlock home and get away from this place. The young nurse started typing on the keyboard of her computer and frowned.
"I'm sorry sir but your brother was picked up yesterday." Mycroft froze. What?
"By whom?", he asked a little too loud maybe. The nurse paled and once again looked back on the computer.
"Someone called Crawford Holmes. He claimed to be the father. There must have been a misunderstanding. Maybe he forgot to tell you." Mycroft had to fight the urge to throw up. How did their father even know about Sherlock? And why didn't he say anything? He thanked the nurse and quickly made his way back to the car. He had to find his brother.
Mycroft got out of the car the moment it stopped in front of the townhouse. He didn't bother to use the doorbell but instead just let himself in. He made his way up the stairs when his mother came out of the living room.
"Mycroft dear, what's the matter?", she asked worriedly after seeing her sons face. Mycroft stopped in front of her.
"Is Sherlock here?", he asked her. She paled and shook her head.
"No I thought you went to pick him up. What happened?", she asked now a little panicky but Mycroft ignored her. He strode toward his father's office and knocked loudly. He didn't wait for an answer but opened the door immediately.
"Mycroft! Where are your manners?", his father bellowed and got up from his chair.
"Where is he?", Mycroft demanded. Crawford raised an eyebrow and sat down again.
"Who?", he asked back.
"You know exactly who! Where is Sherlock?", Mycroft pressed. His father smirked.
"Don't you worry about him.", he said calmly and seemingly got back to work.
"Father! Where is he?"
"He left. Said he didn't want to be a burden anymore. He assured me he would take care of himself. Now please Mycroft, I have work to do." Crawford got up and escorted him back out of the office and closed the door. Mycroft was left standing in the hallway staring at the closed door. Why would Sherlock leave again?
It took Mycroft 4 hours to find his brother. He had nearly his whole department looking for him. They spotted someone that fit his description 3 hours into the search near Camden on a CCTV. Mycroft got there as fast as he could but his brother was already gone. Another hour of searching and tracking and Mycroft finally spotted a familiar head of black curls sitting slumped with his back against a wall in a small alleyway. He had his eyes closed and his head was resting against the wall behind him.
"Sherlock?", he asked tentatively. He had a bad felling about this. Sherlock opened his eyes, his gaze slowly travelling upwards until his eyes met Mycroft's. At first he looked confused and Mycroft suddenly saw his 7-year-old brother who didn't understand why is classmates didn't like him. But this look on his brother's face disappeared as fast as it came and his eyes turned cold. His eyes with pupils as small as pinheads.
"What do you want here?", he slurred and closed his eyes again. Mycroft wanted to throw up. Sherlock was high.
"Come on Sherlock let's get you home." Mycroft really tried his best to keep his voice emotionless.
"And tell me brother, why would I do that?", Sherlock hissed with as much venom in his voice as he could given his current state. Mycroft could only stare at his brother. This wasn't the Sherlock he knew. His Sherlock was always so full of energy. Yes, it was unnerving at times but still, this version of his brother was just wrong.
"Sherlock may I remind you of our deal?" Mycroft hoped that a reminder of Sherlock's promise would at least get him to come home with him. His brother never broke a promise. "You broke your word, brother.", he said somewhat disappointed. Sherlock actually started to laugh. He got to his feet with some difficulties. Mycroft reached out to help him but Sherlock flinched away and glared at him.
"I didn't break my word! I did exactly what you wanted. I didn't fight when I was sent away again even though I didn't want to go. I didn't drop out of rehab! I did what you wanted!" He was yelling the last part. "And you told father anyway." Mycroft felt his stomach drop. Of course he would think that.
"Sherlock, I..."
"You broke your word, brother!", he spat. "Do you want to know what he said?" Sherlock was shaking now. He didn't wait for an answer. "He told me to leave. No son of his would turn out as disappointing as I did and choose to engage in something common like narcotics. He dropped me of where I belong and left me like I was some unwanted pet."
"And you know what, Myc? I was naive enough to think that his words couldn't get more hurtful than those 6 months ago." What was he talking about? Mycroft felt like he missed something important. He didn't even know Sherlock spoke to father before he disappeared.
"If you just came with me, I'm sure father would...", Mycroft tried to calm his brother.
"No! I'm not going anywhere with you! What did it get me last time? Two months of misery and broken trust. It's my own fault really. I made the mistake of trusting Mycroft Holmes. What did mommy say, hm? She was in on it as well, wasn't she? No, I'm not coming with you only for you to send me away again." Sherlock was breathing heavily now and was leaning against the wall. Mycroft didn't answer. He slowly started to understand his brother. Suddenly all the energy apparently left Sherlock and he sat down onto the ground again. Mycroft didn't think he could get any more worried. He knelt down next to his brother and gently laid his hand on Sherlock's knee. This time his brother didn't flinch away.
"Sherlock please. Come home with me and we will sort this out.", he pleaded but Sherlock just shook his head slowly.
"No Mycroft. Just leave me alone.", he mumbled and closed his eyes. Mycroft sighed.
"Fine. But promise me something first.", he demanded. Sherlock opened his eyes and locked his glazed over and slightly unfocused ones with Mycroft's. He didn't say anything but raised an eyebrow to signal that he was listening.
"Promise to call if you need help in any way. Promise to get in touch with mommy once in a while. Promise and I will leave.", Mycroft said. Sherlock looked at his brother for a few moments seemingly thinking about it. Eventually he nodded.
"Alright. I promise.", he slurred and closed his eyes again. Mycroft got up again and looked down on his brother. He sighed. The expression on Sherlock's face has changed from anger to one of obvious bliss.
"Sherlock?", Mycroft asked. His brother hummed showing that he heard him.
"Please take care.", Mycroft pleaded. Sherlock cracked open one eye and nodded.
"I will." With that he slumped completely against the wall and started humming some melody. Mycroft took one last look at his brother and turned around. As he walked away he prayed that he hadn't made a big mistake.
Translation:
*Go on! You wanted this call now start!
**The brother of the junkie is here.
*** Okay thanks. Please show him in.
A/N: So what do you think? Please tell me and leave a review. They really motivate me to keep going.
