A/N: Sadly I still don't own Sherlock
It was a rather cliche setting. It was pouring and they were making their way across some dirty alley while he supported his brother. They didn't want anyone to know so the car and Anthea are out of the question. The brothers made their way slowly and carefully at the otherwise dangerous and rather slippery alley.
It was so ironic that this happened to him of all people. One would think he would get used to these kinds of accidents.
His brother was slipping in and out of consciousness and his incessant chatter-scolding- keeps him anchored.
His injuries were bad. Not bad enough to warrant a hospital though. Should word of this get out they'll have hell to pay.
He didn't stop his scolding even though both of them knew that he was just ranting. They reached baker street and gets in quietly. No need to alarm Mrs. Hudson after all. John's out on a date and he's slightly tempted to call him but chooses against it.
"Off to the couch with you." he grunted as he tried to lower his brother gently. He heard a grunt of pain but nothing else after that.
He took all the stuff he needed from the kitchen. When he got to the couch, he sat at the coffee table and gently slapped his brother's cheek.
He was rewarded by a look of slight confusion then annoyance. He ignored it and proceeded into treating his face. The bruised flesh looked awful in contrast with the pale face. There was the occasional winces and even some "be careful!." and "that stings" from his patient but he ignored them all. Needless to say he tried his best to make it less painful but it would just fall on deaf ears tonight so best not talk.
"You should be more careful."
'Like you would care.' the look seemed to convey the message clearly and he inwardly winced. Then again, it could be the brandy he forced his brother into drinking that spoke but, balance of probability, it wasn't.
"It was unexpected. No one saw it coming."
Maybe it was the brandy talking after all.
"Not even you?" to some people, it may come out as a mocking but to them, it was just a question.
"Yes."
It was the end of their short conversation. He proceeded to treating his brother's wounds carefully and when he was done, asked his shirt to be removed.
His brother seemed reluctant but did it anyway. It was either get out or have your clothes ripped and shredded.
The bruises forming on his brother's torso and back looked very painful. There were some cuts and gashes but nothing too severe. His ribs looked bruised but none are broken. He began to treat his wounds again.
"Your'e not new to this." he mumbled after seeing white scars trekking up and down his brother's body. He was not new to this either. "One would think you'd have the brains to avoid these things again."
"It's an occupational hazard."
Of course it was. Having that much fame, that much knowledge had it's price.
"If my people didn't alert me-"
" I would have crawled here one way or another."
It wasn't easy being a Holmes. They ruled England, Mycroft on top and Sherlock from below. Mycroft had friends above that could help them in any way, favors that could mean the destruction of countries. While Sherlock had access to the underground society. Illegal weapons, drugs, anything. He had the means to locate a target and have them taken care off without leaving a trace back to him.
Having that much power is dangerous. Especially if people got jealous. This wasn't the first time this happened and it sure won't be the last.
"I thought your network looks out for these things." he spoke again.
" Well I'm sorry my network isn't as good as yours."
He gave his brother the look.
His brother groaned in annoyance. "It was a political thing. Some sort of bitter resentment."
"He tried to get you assassinated."
"Not for the first time, mind you."
"You let him get away with the first one?" he was definitely curious now.
"It was getting annoying, all were stopped before it happened and I couldn't link him directly."
"So you let him beat you up?" he smirked.
"It was under control. We had footage of him actually giving a monologue on why he was doing it. The moron." he pointed at his waistcoat by the arm of the couch all the while cursing that politician.
"One of my people is already processing the evidence, come morning he would have no more position to occupy and he would be spending some long time in jail."
"You could have told me" he said.
"I wouldn't dream of bothering you." his brother said mockingly.
He finished and looked his brother in the eye. "Are there any more I don't know of?"
His brother sighed in annoyance. "None. Apart from my bruised dignity, I have no more injuries."
"I wouldn't say bruised, fractured maybe." he said jokingly as he helped his brother on his feet.
It was rare, these moments. They avoided showing weaknesses with a passion and physical contact with each other were avoided like the other had the plague.
There are times though, such as this, when worry and concern would outweigh the childish feud, the petty hate they have for each other. They wouldn't show it like normal people and act so gushingly affectionate, just the thought alone churned up their stomachs.
"Come now, brother dear. Off to bed with you."
His brother just rolled his eyes.
"Sherlock, I am not a child."
"Really? I didn't notice."
He laid his brother gently down the bed and-Mycroft nearly gagged- tucked him in.
"Perfect. Can you read me a story and hand me my teddy bear while your at it." he grumbled self-depreciation.
"I believe John has a copy of that book about some sparkly fairy teenagers seem to be addicted to-"
"Goodnight Sherlock" Mycroft cut him off.
His younger brother grinned at him and headed for the door.
"Oh, and Mycroft?"
"Yes."
"Do be careful next time."
The next day, the politician came to his office with a black eye, several broken ribs and a split lip. He was of course arrested but no one entirely knew what happened to him. They said most of his injuries were only a few hours old. The police were baffled but the politician didn't breathe a word on how he got his injuries.