They fell asleep by the fire wrapped in the blanket. It was an uneasy sleep with Hell raining around them. When they heard an all clear, they ran out of their tunnel and scavenged for food/ Sherlock put his scarf on while they looked over a broken soup kitchen. "I think there's a can of soup here." Sherlock pulls under a piece of metal. He sees a dented can of chicken noodle soup and holds it up with a smile. "Not bad, little brother." Mycroft pats and ruffles the curls. Sherlock smiled even wider and they kept searching for more in the destruction. Sirens sounded and Mycroft felt fear as if he was a fox in a fox hunt, hearing the hounds to sound his demise. "Time to go home." Mycroft takes Sherlock's hand and runs, trailing his brother behind. "Mycroft, slow down!" Sherlock whined, having trouble keeping up. "Sherlock, speed up!" Mycroft shouted over the roar of the siren. He kept running his long gate, not minding the fact his hand was slipping from Sherlock's. The first bomb of the night drops a mile and a half away. "Mycroft!" Sherlock cried as a wave of debris and wind knocks the two away. A second one a mile from them falls and knocks Mycroft farther away. Sherlock saw his brother being thrown like a rag-doll in the wind. "Mycroft!" He screams and tried to run to him when more after shocks hit him, throwing him away.
When all was said and done, Sherlock woke up feeling pain everywhere. He was thankful nothing was seriously broken. Sherlock listed his injuries from fractured ribs to small fractures in his legs, along with a dislocated shoulder and a major concussion. Softly he heard crying. "W-who's there?" Sherlock called out nervously. The crying turned to sniffling and he slowly got up to look around. His legs felt like they were on fire and he clenched his jaw as he quietly screamed, avoiding the urge to jump around. "Hello?" A nervous voice called out. Sherlock coughed and sat down. "Come out and face me. I know someone is here." Sherlock sighed annoyed with the other person already. "Alright." The other boy walks out from behind a metal sheet and he was hiding behind. "Who are you?" Sherlock inquired, slowly turning his eyes at him. "John Watson." John replied with a sniff. Sherlock suddenly grew panic. "Where's Mycroft?! Mycroft!" Sherlock ignored his injuries and ran around. John chased after him, not wanting to be alone. "Wait up!" John breathed when Sherlock finally stopped. "Where's my brother?!" Sherlock grabbed him by the side of his arms and shook him a little. John hushed him and sat him down on a piece of debris. "You're alone. I'm alone. You're injured and I can help." John took his dislocated shoulder and rammed it back in. Sherlock, unprepared, screamed and punched him in the face. "Ow! Okay, that hurt!" John rubbed his cheek, "I lost my sister to a bomb. Maybe your brother is alive and he's okay." Sherlock glared at him and felt around his neck. "I lost my scarf. My mum made it for me." Sherlock sniffed in longing.
Mycroft woke up in a building. Something was amiss. "Sherlock?" He called, hoping his brother was there. He sat up and a large hand held him down. "Easy, son. You need to rest." The man smiled down at him and listened to his heart with a stethoscope. "Where's my brother?" Mycroft asked once his head stopped spinning. He took in his surroundings and saw he was in an army bunker. "We found you alone, you lucky son of a bitch." A larger man beamed as he walked in. "You didn't find Sherlock?! I got to go. Sherlock!" Mycroft jumped up, but the sharp pain in his leg made him fall on his side on cold concrete. "Easy, boy. Come on." The man picked Mycroft up and set him back on the bed. "I have to find my little brother. I promised I'd look after him!" Mycroft shouted as he tried to get up. The man held him down. "I'm sorry, son. All we found was this." The man held out a little blue scarf. Mycroft held it and started to feel tears run down his face. "This was my brother's." He sobbed and broke down. "Hey, hey, chin up. We didn't find a body. I'm sure he's alive." The man sat on the bed with Mycroft and hugged him gently, knowing he would want one if he were in Mycroft's place. "Who are you?" The man asked Mycroft. The teen sniffed and hugged the scarf. "Mycroft Holmes." He answered as he was handed a tissue. "I'm Mike. I'll help you find your brother while you heal." Mycroft hugged him again and Mike rubbed his bruised back. "What is your brother's name?" Mike asked as he pushed Mycroft away. "Sherlock Holmes."