The day had been going well up until the moment when the shot was fired.
There had been meetings with diplomats and phone calls with cabinet ministers, multiple national and international crisis averted and Mycroft had even been able to ignore the call of a rather attractive looking cinnamon bun at lunch.
The situation had been unavoidable.
A gathering of high-ranking officials and an angry man with a gun.
One minute there was mingling and networking, the next there was screaming and shouting as shots echoed around the conference room.
Papers covered the table, chairs and the floor, forgotten and trampled in the rush for the exit.
Blood also covered the carpet of the room, from the dead and the walking wounded.
It was a shame really, Mycroft thought as he sat propped against the conference room wall, blood pouring from multiple bullet holes in his chest, he'd really rather liked his new suit.
Mycroft wasn't sure whether he was alive or dead but he didn't feel too interested in either outcome. He was where he loved to be - his mind palace. It was more like a government building than Sherlock's grand creation, but it did the job nonetheless.
"You're dying." came Sherlock's voice from beside him and he looked up and met his brother's eye.
"Do you think so?" Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course, or you would have woken by now." Sherlock replied, his expression adding the unspoken 'obviously'.
"I presume you're in my head for a reason?" Mycroft asked with a smirk.
"Of course. Come along, we've got to keep you alive." Sherlock replied with a playful wink, striding off down the corridor in Mycroft's mind.
With a long-suffering sigh, Mycroft followed his younger brother.
They came to a stop at a window that hadn't previously been in the corridor before. It lit the corridor but the view through the glass was no ray of sunlight.
"That's you." Sherlock's cheery tone said from beside him.
Mycroft couldn't stop himself from swallowing involuntarily as he looked out to see his own body in surgery. It was clear that the surgeons were fighting to keep his transport from slipping away into death.
"We can't stand around here all day, we've got people to see." Sherlock said, leading his brother away from the window after a couple of minutes of watching the scene in front of them.
"I'm dying and I have meetings?" Mycroft scoffed, suddenly finding the situation ironic.
"Yes and we're going to have to hurry. We can't be late." Sherlock replied, suddenly sounding worried.
Anthea stood in the viewing area of the surgery room, watching as the surgeons struggled to keep Mycroft's heart going and stem the internal bleeding from the bullet wounds.
He'd only been in the conference room for a few minutes before she'd reached him and tried to stop the worst of the bleeding. He'd been unconscious by that point and she could feel him fading beneath her bloodstained hands.
Both her dress and his suit would be ruined, but his life was far more important that tailored clothes from Savile Row.
"Come on Mycroft." she had muttered, keeping pressure on the wounds whilst monitoring his pulse.
If they both got through this then she'd decided to invite Mycroft out for a very large drink, it was about time that they stopped avoiding their feelings for one another.
It was only when the paramedics pushed her to the side that Anthea let go of her boss.
She'd insisted on traveling in the ambulance and hadn't left his side for one moment since arriving at the hospital. She knew she should call Sherlock and John to tell them that Mycroft was in the hospital, but at the moment it was more important to her to keep her eyes on Mycroft as he fought to survive.
"Oh wonderful, you're here too." Mycroft said sarcastically as John Watson appeared and moved towards them.
"It's your mind, Mycroft, you could just kick me out." John chuckled.
"Somehow I doubt that's possible. You two come as a pair." Mycroft muttered.
Despite Sherlock's insistence that they had places to be, they seemed to move at an almost leisurely pace. Mycroft wasn't sure, but he thought that he felt his body becoming slower.
What followed next was a trip through various memories with Sherlock as a guide. It was far from enjoyable but it kept Mycroft's mind working even as everything began to fade at the edges.
They ended their memory trip at a moment that was burned into Mycroft's thoughts - Sherlock's fall. He hadn't been there in person, but he'd watched it from his bank of computer monitors in his home office. He'd been in on the plan and had helped organize it, but even he could barely watch as his little brother threw himself off the top of the building to save his friends.
Even now, watching it back in the safety of his mind palace, he stepped forward and reached out as if to stop Sherlock from jumping. It was as Sherlock stepped off the ledge in his memory that everything seemed to suddenly crumble. His legs went from beneath him and his vision blurred as his heart stopped.
"Mycroft, listen to me. Focus on my voice." Sherlock said from somewhere nearby.
"Let him go, Sherly. It's time for the Ice Man to die." came Moriarty's sing-song voice. He forced his eyes to open, making his vision focus on the consulting criminal who was stood in his mind palace.
John pressed a gun into Mycroft's hand and Mycroft raised it at the consulting criminal, firing two shots to disperse the specter and restart his heart.
Anthea couldn't stop the gasp that forced its way out of her mouth as she watched Mycroft flat-line on the operating table.
Her eyes were fixed on the heart monitor, waiting for a miracle and for her boss to fight back.
It was a tense couple of minutes but it was the second time the surgeons tried to restart the elder Holmes' heart when it finally worked.
Anthea smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she watched the heart monitor come back to life.
Waking was both a relief and an inconvenience.
Since shooting Moriarty in his mind palace, his body had stabilized and he'd survived the surgery, but he'd still had to endure days of following Sherlock and John around as they wittered on about nothing.
Their presence had been reassuring at first, as he didn't want to die alone, but now they were just a burden.
As his eyes flickered open and tried to focus on the bright white ceiling above him, he thought for a moment that he was finally free of his brother and his flatmate.
"It's about time you woke up. MI6 is floundering." came Sherlock's sharp voice from his left side. He tried to move his head to look at his brother but even that small movement seemed impossible for his weak, pained body.
"Sherlock!" John muttered, slapping his flatmate's shoulder, "What he means to say is that he's glad you're awake, Mycroft."
When Mycroft stayed silent and didn't move to look at them, Sherlock leaned in to his line of vision.
"You've not become a goldfish have you? You died on the table, so god knows how much damage was done to your brain." Sherlock said with a frown, a slight crease of worry appearing on his forehead.
"Would you two please shut up?" Mycroft murmured, his voice more of a croak after days of sleep.
John carefully helped Mycroft sip some water to soothe his sore throat before the elder Holmes spoke again.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, attempting to sit up but stopping immediately as pain soared through his body.
"Just over a week. You were in the ICU for a few days and the rest of the time you've been in here." John replied, "I think Anthea pulled some strings for you."
Sherlock watched his brother curiously as it was unusual to see Mycroft with his guard down. The man was usually so formal and cold, but even he couldn't maintain his mask after waking.
"I have much to thank Anthea for." Mycroft replied, a slight smile appearing on his face before it was gone a moment later.
"You're very lucky. You took four bullets at close range." John said, his eyes falling on Mycroft's bandaged chest.
"I was the target." Mycroft replied with a sigh, "My security team will have to be spoken to and new arrangements will be put in place."
"Give yourself a bit of time to recover though, eh?" John said, "There's no need to go straight back to work."
"Myc-Mr Holmes." Anthea said with a surprised smile as she entered the hospital room. She was pale and had dark bags under her eyes from days of watching over her boss.
Mycroft glanced over her face and her body, reading her easily.
Anthea moved closer and sat down on the chair to the right of the bed, drawing Mycroft's attention to the laptop and the mobile phone that were resting on a side table.
"Have you been working from here?" he asked curiously.
"Of course. None of your security team could be trusted after what happened." Anthea replied with a smile, casually flashing him the gun attached to her waistband as she got comfortable in the chair.
"It has been a long time since we went shooting, Anthea." Mycroft said as his gaze fell on the gun, "We must go again some time."
"We will, once you're better." Anthea assured, "Although I'm in no rush to put you in harm's way again."
"Sentiment." Sherlock muttered with disgust as he and John walked away from the hospital room.
They'd been casually asked to leave by Anthea who wished to discuss some confidential information with Mycroft.
"I think it's sweet." John replied with an amused chuckle, "He clearly likes her, but I don't think he's realized it yet."
"Mycroft believes that caring is not an advantage." Sherlock said, "I doubt he'd be willing to show his affections for his assistant."
"Anthea isn't just an assistant though, is she? How long has she worked for him?" John asked curiously.
"Mycroft and Anthea met at university." Sherlock explained, "He's older than her by a few years but they both joined MI6 at the same time."
"Were they both spies?" John asked.
"Yes, before Mycroft decided to leave the legwork to the younger civil servants." Sherlock said as they walked down the stairs, "Anthea still does legwork, but exclusively for Mycroft."
"Interesting. I would have thought there would be a rule against being friends with other MI6 agents." John chuckled.
"I'm sure there is a rule, but Mycroft has never been one to stick to rules." Sherlock replied with a slight smile.
"How are you, Mr Holmes?" Anthea asked with a smile once Sherlock and John were gone.
"You can drop the Mr Holmes now we're alone, Anthea." Mycroft replied with a chuckle that made him gasp in pain.
"Very well. How are you, Mycroft?" Anthea asked politely.
"I'm glad to be alive and to get some peace and quiet from my brother." Mycroft admitted with a relieved sigh.
"Good, I'm pleased that you are back in the land of the living." Anthea replied with a smile.
"I wonder if you might like to go for a drink with me once I'm out of hospital?" Mycroft suggested with a smile.
"I thought you'd never ask." Anthea chuckled, taking Mycroft's hand and giving it a squeeze.