At last he opened the door.
Sherlock?
Mycroft. May I come in?
… Sure. I won't chase you off since you here, will I?
Sherlock entered the hall and went right to Mycroft's cabinet. All house was unlighted. Sure. They sat opposite each other. No one wanted to start conversation. Finally Mycroft asked:
Why are you here Sherlock? And don't say because of me. I won't believe it. Do you need something?
I know you pretend like everything is all right but I know what's wrong with you.
Seriously? Wow. Even I don't. Maybe my little brother really is a genius… So what? Came to watch?
Sherlock didn't reply. He just sat in front of his brother and calculated his state. Mycroft sat holding his head in his hands. He was obviously in a lot of pain. And that slowly drove his brother crazy.
How long? Days?
Mycroft smirked. But there was no joy. Weeks then. That was worse. Suddenly Mycroft said quietly.
My head is killing me.
I can help.
Finally Mycroft raised his eyes. Tired, red, sored eyes. And they looked at Sherlock with flinch of surprise and hope. But instantly Mycroft pooled himself together and became Mycroft again.
That's… very kind of you, Sherlock. Really. But… no.
What?
No? And why is that?
Mycroft sighed heavily. This unstoppable pain made his life a disaster. His work became a torture when he must act twice hard to no one notice and turn it against him. But he remembered how in their childhood Sherlock could take all pain from him away just by touch of his hands. But… that was long time ago…
I… understand that what you suggesting is very… rare act to me. I hope you want to help me but I must deny.
You acting like an idiot. And it not fits you.
Sherlock saw how Mycroft pressed his head. Jezz, is that a whimper? Oh, now Mycroft is angry.
What do you want to hear, Sherlock? That I will be blessed if you help me? Yes, maybe I will. But I can't take that risk. It's now you want to help. But what happened if you do not want? One day I would need you most and you will refuse me. Like always. I just… just can't let that happen…
Because it will break my heart. Mycroft didn't tell that but Sherlock already knew.
Whatever.
Sherlock knew it's cruel but… Mycroft did it himself. Fine. He would leave. He…
Just as he wanted to pass the door he looked back. And frozed. Mycroft desperately hold his head half-lying on the table. Thinking that his brother left Mycroft helplessly murmured under his breath begging pain to stop. He can't do anything but suffering. And that broke something in Sherlock. No. Whatever Mycroft said he won't leave him. Not now when his brother needed him most. And… never.