A/N: First, I do not own Sherlock! Also, if this looks familiar, it's probably because I have it posted at Archive of Our Own, as well. Now, enjoy!
Mycroft woke with a pounding headache, his body sore and his muscles aching. Blinking slowly, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before taking a glance around. He was strapped down to a bed. Odd. He would have said he was in a hospital except the dark, dingy room was a far cry from any hospital room he had seen in his life. As he sat contemplating the ceiling, another bed was wheeled in, placed beside him.
Craning his neck, he attempted to see just who exactly it was beside him. His eyes widened in shock when he realized it was his little brother, breathing hard and gripping the edge of the bed tightly, blinking drug-hazed eyes around the room.
The man who had wheeled him in came over to stand between them and grinned, which sent a sick chill through Mycroft. "Well, now. Get a good look at each other; this is the last time you'll see one another this way for a very long time." Mycroft tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, but inside his head he was edging into a full-on panic attack.
The man brought over a syringe, tapping it expertly, and grabbed Mycroft's arm. As he stuck the needle into Mycroft's soft flesh, he tried to thrash about. It did no good, though. The restraints kept him snug against the bed.
The man patted his arm after he was finished and then moved on to Sherlock, who was squinting at him, trying to place him through the fog in his mind. Even as the drug pulled him under, Mycroft begged for his brother's sake, who was only now beginning to return to awareness, turning his head in confusion towards Mycroft's gurney.
"Please, just use me. Leave him alone. Leave Sherlock alone. Let him be, I said! Stop it!" Even as he screamed, the man stuck Sherlock's arm. With a final look at Sherlock's confused, suddenly frightened face, Mycroft was dragged into darkness.
When he woke, he found he was still sore, his muscles pulling tight beneath his skin. He stretched slowly, rolling over, trying to fight off his imminent awakening. A soft murmured noise had him opening his eyes, though.
What he saw made the past day come crashing back to him in a wave of memories. He saw his little baby brother sitting on a bed, curled as small as possible beneath his blanket. He was watching Mycroft carefully, making tiny, soft noises to get his attention.
With a tentative glance around, Mycroft rose and padded over to Sherlock's bed. "It's alright, Sherlock. We'll figure out what's going on. Don't worry." Sherlock nodded and moved over to make room for Mycroft. The older smiled and took up a spot beside his little brother and grinned good-naturedly when Sherlock crawled into his lap and wrapped his arms around him.
"What the hell is going on, Mycroft? I was on my way to meet John at St. Bart's and then I woke up here, strapped to a bed." Mycroft ran a hand down Sherlock's arm and nodded into his curls.
"I'm not sure. From what's happened so far, I assume we're part of some sort of experiment."
On the tail of those words, the door opened and the man from before stepped over the threshold, a small smile on his face as he took the brothers in. "My, isn't that just adorable. Comforting each other. Well, time to get up. There's some tests we need to run." Mycroft raised an eyebrow but Sherlock reluctantly followed his lead and walked with the man into an adjoining room.
"You're quite small, Sherlock." The man grinned wickedly down at the little detective as he lifted him up onto an examination table. Mycroft stood by the door, unsure what he was to do. The man noticed this and waved him back. "You're next, so don't you go anywhere." Mycroft considered hitting the man over the head, but couldn't find anything that would truly knock him out. Besides, he was closer to Sherlock. He could still harm his little brother before he even attempted to move.
After a rigorous examination that left Sherlock in a foul mood, Mycroft stepped forward for his own, Sherlock hovering near the table, watching his brother with tight eyes. His was finished much more quickly and they were both ushered into some sort of kitchen.
"Now, eat up and I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't try anything stupid, there are guards stationed outside the door." The man left them with a glare and they watched in confusion. Once they were sure he had gone, Mycroft turned to Sherlock, worried.
"Alright, Sherlock. Any plans in that little head of yours?" Sherlock stared up at Mycroft, all wide eyes and gaping mouth. "I'll take that as a no, then." Mycroft cast about the room for a moment before an ear-screeching alarm sounded throughout the entire complex.
"What the hell is that, Mycroft!?" Sherlock screamed, throwing his hands over his ears while simultaneously cowering next to his brother. Mycroft covered his ears as well and hovered over Sherlock, watching the entrance suspiciously. He maneouvered Sherlock behind a table and squatted down beside him, a finger to his lips.
The sound of pounding feet and shouts hit them like a wall. Someone poked their head into the kitchen and, seeing no one, moved on. The boys sighed their relief and then sunk lower, keeping their hiding place.
After a few minutes, the alarm stopped. They could still hear the shouts and then gunfire was added to the mix. Sherlock whimpered softly and Mycroft wrapped a protective arm around his head, tucking the mess of curls into his chest.
More pounding of feet and then there was a woman standing in the doorway. She threw a cursory look around the kitchen and then stepped forward, checking the crevices and cupboards, gun drawn. Mycroft's face tightened and Sherlock tried to meld with him as he pressed his body close.
The moments drug on as she moved closer and closer to them. Finally, she pointed her weapon around the corner and came face to face with two frightened children.
As if the metal had burned her, she dropped the weapon to her hip and replaced it with a walkie talkie. "We've got two kids down here. The first kitchen on the second floor. Might need medical." She dropped the walkie to her hip and knelt down, holding her hands out non-threateningly. "It's alright, boys. I'm with the police. You're gonna be just fine. Come on out; you don't have to hide anymore."
Mycroft felt his stomach lurching but he nodded and stood, Sherlock still clinging to him, unwilling to stand on his own. "Is he hurt?" the woman asked, concern dripping from her words.
"No, no. He's just frightened." Mycroft felt like he might throw up right there but he stood, straightening his spine, and stepped up to the woman, but kept a certain distance between them. He wasn't an idiot. "I'm Mycroft Holmes, and this is my brother, Sherlock. If you can, get Detective Inspector Lestrade here immediately. He knows us. Tell him it's urgent."