A/N: So this is my first time writing a fill for the prompt meme and I've come across some really good ones that I want to work on so I'm excited about that :) OP, I hope this is somewhere near what you were looking for. I'm so nervous XD
Original prompt here: . ?thread=132779129#t132779129
Sherlock let out a groan as he ungracefully flopped down onto the bed in Mycroft's spare room. Mycroft sighed despairingly as he looked down at the drunken mess that was his little brother.
Sherlock had called him about half an hour ago with a fresh batch of incomprehensible slurs about how much he hated him. However, that did not, of course, deter Mycroft from using his surveillance to track Sherlock to some godforsaken alleyway nowhere near he lived and then practically dragging him to the car. Sherlock had been incoherent ever since. It was really starting to wear on Mycroft, seeing his brother in such a consistent troubled state, but Sherlock would never really know the true extent of it.
"I'm going to make you some tea and something to eat. That will help you sober up." Mycroft informed him, though it seemed Sherlock had already passed out again. With one last dejected sigh Mycroft threw a blanket over his brother before leaving the room.
Sherlock started to come around about 20 minutes later. It took his usually high functioning brain an alarming amount of time (be his standards) to remember exactly how and why he'd ended up in his brother's guest room. He managed to pull himself up into a sitting position and looked around, trying to calculate, but it made his head hurt.
Maybe it was just the effects of the alcohol starting to wear off, but Sherlock found his mood darkening very suddenly. His leg was twitchy and he found himself bobbing it up and down with nervous energy. He started to subconsciously scratch his arm as well, feeling the small pin pricks of past needles previously filled with the sweet relief of his own personal sedatives. Something snapped within Sherlock then and his eyes widened just at the thought – he needed it, that release - he needed it right now.
He didn't have time to try and escape, and it would be very likely that Mycroft would notice. Instead, he found himself almost robotically moving to his brother's bedroom – noting how unusual it was that it was unlocked – before moving into the en suite.
The medicine cabinet on the far wall seemed to have a bright glow of temptation as Sherlock leapt towards it. He didn't expect to find anything terribly strong, but he just needed something, anything – he was feeling frantic and desperate now.
Ripping the door open, Sherlock started to throw out toothpaste and mouth wash and various bottles of cologne – he needed narcotics, there had to be something, at the back maybe…He paused when his eyes feel on something. It was a small orange bottle, unopened with a prescription label on it.
Sherlock reached out – much more gentle now – and retrieved the little prize. He studied the label further and found that his breath almost caught when he read the word 'antidepressants.' What the hell was Mycroft doing with these?
"I've been meaning to put a lock on that" Mycroft's voice drifted over from where he'd been leaning on the doorframe watching the scene unfold.
Like a child who'd been caught taking treats out of the cupboard Sherlock looked startled and quickly placed the bottle behind his back; stupid, he knew, but it was all his for once confused mind could think to do.
"Put everything back in its place, please. You know how particular I am." Mycroft instructed, and then left without another word.
Sherlock frowned and followed him, bottle still in hand; he couldn't let the conversation just end like that. He was surprised to find Mycroft had only made it as far his bed, sat on the end of it looking blank and more lost than Sherlock had ever seen him – it was highly unnerving.
"What are these for?" Sherlock asked, suddenly feeling a lot more sober than before.
"You can read, can you not?" Mycroft replied, though it was without his usual condescension and mirth at his brother's stupidity.
"You know that's not what I mean" Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not depressed, Mycroft. You're just…uptight and irritable."
Mycroft shook his head slightly. "There are days that are…darker than most. Days when I don't want to get out of bed…days when I just wonder, what's the point?"
Sherlock felt rather cold at the blank and calm way that his brother spoke. "Well, stressed then, you're just stressed."
He didn't want to admit to himself he was only trying to come up with excuses because he didn't want to think that his big brother was not as invincible as he'd thought. Mycroft was the one constant thing in Sherlock's life and although he often resented him to think of his brother alone and depressed was not a pleasant experience.
Mycroft almost seemed to smirk amusedly. "I wish that was the only cause. What do I have, really?" he asked turning to Sherlock. "A job that nobody appreciates me in, a big empty house and a brother who would have nothing to do with me given the choice."
Sherlock clenched his jaw tightly, for once not having a witty remark to come back with, having nothing to say.
Mycroft gave him a somewhat tired smile. "I'm sorry, just ignore me. Today is a bad day. I'll be fine tomorrow."
"No, don't just dismiss like that!" Sherlock snapped and Mycroft looked almost startled. Sherlock immediately calmed himself. "What bothers me most is not that you have antidepressants. It's the fact that these say they were prescribed to you two months ago and they haven't been touched."
"It would not do for me to partake in such things in my line of work." Mycroft stated. "It would be, let's say, frowned upon to shoot bullets at the wall."
"Mycroft, these are a medical obligation" Sherlock pointed out. "They're not…" he paused and took a deep breath. "They're not a way to relieve boredom like what I use such substances for."
"And is that the story you're sticking with?" Mycroft asked a little heatedly. Sherlock wasn't sure what he was implying for a moment.
"Mycroft…I'm not depressed." The younger Holmes insisted. "It's just…sometimes I find it hard to handle everything that goes on in my head because there's just so much in there and sometimes…"
"…it over bears me and I just don't feel in control anymore." Mycroft finished and looked over at Sherlock with a knowing smile. "And so I try to lock my demons away in that medicine cabinet, but I hear it calling to me from time to time. I can't give in, though… maybe I should."
Sherlock found that he no longer had the ability to stand as the realisation hit him. Maybe he and Mycroft had more in common than he'd originally thought, yet he was not as able as his brother to resist temptation when it called to him. The younger Holmes sat stoically on the bed beside his brother as he let everything sink in. How could he have not realised Mycroft felt this way? They didn't spend much time in each other's company these days but still…
"You shouldn't be concerned" Mycroft tried – albeit unconvincingly – to assure him. "In fact I'm sure you're not."
Sherlock got angry at that. "So you can just barge into my life whenever you want to try and take care of me because you think I'm weak and incapable, but no you're strong enough to go it alone!"
"Thinking you are weak does not even come into the equation, Sherlock." Mycroft said seriously. "You are my brother and that is all that matters."
"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed.
They looked into each other's eyes for a moment before both snapping away at the uncomfortable display of vulnerability on both of their parts.
"All our lives, Mycroft, you have tried to put me first." Sherlock started seriously. "And it's always annoyed me because…well look how you've ended up! Depressed because you've neglected to think about yourself. You say caring is not an advantage and yet you care too much and look at what it has done to you."
Mycroft's eyes glistened as he studied Sherlock's face. He didn't recall hearing his brother ever be so serious in his life and he looked so…honest. It was unnatural, and maybe he could put it down to the alcohol talking but for once Mycroft actually wanted to believe this was his brother trying to look out for him, in return for the years of the older Holmes' own constant worrying.
"I'll make you a deal." Sherlock said as he took Mycroft's hand and placed the bottle in it. "You take these as prescribed, and I will make an appointment with that therapist you're so eager for me to see. We'll suffer indignity together."
Mycroft nodded and Sherlock closed his fingers around the bottle for him. Mycroft hadn't realised the sob had left his lips until Sherlock was pulling him towards him. The movement had felt like instinct to the younger Holmes as he wrapped one arm around Mycroft's shoulder and tugged him gently so that his brother's head was resting on his shoulder. He never wanted to see Mycroft like this again.
"Please try to take care of yourself, Sherlock" Mycroft requested after a few moments of waiting for the tears to pass. "That's all I can ask."
"Then I ask of the same" Sherlock replied.
Neither of them knew how long the pact would last, but things had been said that deep down both Holmes' knew had to be said for a while now. They would no doubt act like the conversation had never happened in the morning, but Mycroft would take his pills and Sherlock would make an appointment.
Sherlock had gone into Mycroft's medicine cabinet with the intent of dosing himself with narcotics until he was numb, and yet he had discovered so much more. Now – for completely different reasons – he was glad Mycroft didn't get round to putting a lock on the cabinet door.
I really love writing about the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story; there will be more prompt fills to come, or if anyone wants to ask me for a prompt on here then please do :)
I would love to hear from you!
Thanks for reading xx