Well, hello again! Back for the second chapter? Of course you are :D
I have no idea why I started with that but I just wanted to put that there XD Here's the second chapter of Keep Me Please! I hope you are enjoying this fic and I do apologize if the writing style is erratic and rushed at points but I have no idea how to make it better, I didn't get my friend to help me look through the whole thing like the previous chapter. I couldn't get her online... And I think she needs a break from me before I get too annoying and I need to not depend on her on making the scene so much better!

Need to make my brain work, it's being reduced to mush at some points... Work brain, you're in my skull for a reason!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Time: It's 12:07am... Why is this here?

Warning: Tugs at your feels? Maybe not...

See ya next time maybe? Definitely a next chapter~

Keep Me Please
#2. Brother Dear

Mycroft watched as John managed to coax Sherlock out of his filthy prison, his transformed brother trembling and whining, as he crawled out, his warped body pressed close to the floor. John whispered softly, his voice low and gentle as Sherlock approached him. There was only John and Sherlock at that moment; both staring at each other as one cautiously limped forward.

There was a clatter and running feet as an agent – inexperienced and eager to impress – ran towards them, syringe in hand. Sherlock had tensed at the loud noise and he bristled at the rapidly approaching man, a growl – warning and loud – rumbled in his chest, and when the agent got too close he lunged forward with a snarl, teeth sharp and deadly.

The man screamed as rows of teeth tore through his uniform and ripped into tender flesh, blood pouring out of his jagged wound as he fought to rip his arm out of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock remained firm in his bite, growl rumbling deeply in his chest.

The other mutated beings thrashed in their barred cages, banging against the metal and shrieking loudly as they watched a dog and a man fight, the heady scent of blood filling the air as the wound bled. The warped creatures were filled with bloodlust as the scent reached their mutated noses.

"SHERLOCK! Let go!"

Sherlock stilled, hair bristling and jaws locked as John reached forward and touched his shoulder. The reaction was explosive. Jaws cracked open as Sherlock swung around and snapped at John, the injured man scooted away, his bleeding hand held tightly against his chest while John tackled the transformed detective to the floor. A loud whine broke the air as John fell onto to him and restrained him, one arm pressed against his neck while the other was placed firmly against his heaving ribcage.

Sherlock tried to turn around, snarling and growling as he struggled to lay a bite on the man restraining him. John was pale but firm in his position, sweat coating his forehead as he fought the stressed canine.

"Calm down, Sherlock! Get a hold of yourself!"

The beast that was once his brother stilled, motionless under John's arms. He whined, loud and painful, as he panted, recovering his lost breath. John frowned guiltily and he talked softly, soothing the frazzled canine.

Mycroft paid the agent no mind as he was escorted out by another man, probably to get the wound looked at by a medic, while others moved quickly between the cages, injecting the bloodthirsty creatures with sedatives. It would be easier to transport them, sedated and rendered completely harmless; less stress for the creatures and less danger for the people working with them.

"Sir, kindly step aside and allow me to sedate... him."

Mycroft turned towards the biting voice and surveyed the figure before him. She was of average height and features, nothing stood out save the harsh tone of her voice. What warranted that, he wondered. As he stood watching, her face was forcedly emotionless, professional as her training demanded, but her eyes burned of fury. She was angry, no, more than angry; she was raging inside. Had the injured man been her colleague? Her friend? Likely even more than that. Was her radiating anger brought on by his foolishness, or by the actions of the provoked animal before her? It must be the latter, Mycroft summed up. Her clear disdain in addressing Sherlock as 'him' expressed that much.

Instantly, Mycroft felt irritated by her.

"Leave it. The doctor will see to it." He turned his back on her.

"But, sir," again her voice was harsh and seeped with anger, "that... beast has already left one man injured tonight. Is that not enough? Must we wait for... it to harm another man before we act! Just because he's..." Her voice trailed off, but Mycroft sensed where she was going with it, and that only provoked him further.

"That man with Sherlock is perfectly capable of handling the situation, more than you would be, I assure you. Kindly hand me the syringe and take your leave. You are not needed here." This time, he continued to stare at her with slight disdain. She took in the situation and conceded. She did not know his name, but she knew he came from a higher authority, one she had no right to question. She was displeased, but she had no choice.

Rigidly she walked towards Mycroft, her manner wary and defensive and her gaze firmly locked on the still but growling Sherlock. She handed Mycroft the syringe and quickly stepped away.

He ignored the woman, his attention going back to John Watson and his brother. His chest hurt, watching his brother struggle against his best friend, snarling and barking. His brother turned beast, that brilliant mind of his reduced to nothing but a raging monster, relying on instinct rather than logic. Mycroft did not like the idea of people treating his brother, his kin, as an animal.

His grip tightened around the syringe, his knuckles turning white. He couldn't make the step forward, to join John and hand the plunger to him.

The other mutated beings were sedated and removed from their cages, their unconscious bodies were carted off into smaller, more transportable containers; ready to be shipped off to the institute that they had prepared for them. Soon all the cages were barren, none of the raging beasts were left…

There was only John and the whimpering Sherlock.

A doctor moved towards him, one of the few last men that linger about waiting for the whimpering canine to be put under and moved away.

"Sir, I believe it is time to give the syringe to the young man," he motioned to John, "and calm the distressed being down. Give me the needle, sir, and we will get this over with."

Mycroft hesitates, unsure whether to proceed towards the exhausted duo and hand the plunger to the doctor. The decision was made for him.

"Sir, give it to me and I'll handle it," the doctor said.

Mycroft's grip around the needle loosened and the doctor understood the gesture because he pried his fingers off and took the syringe from him. Then the man turned around and walked towards the two of them.

He crouched down and, "Sir, would you like to sedate him yourself or would you rather I do it?"

Sherlock whined, clearly unhappy and agitated with another human presence so close to him. John pursed his lips, his brow furrowing.

"I think I'll do it. Hold him down, but not too tightly," John instructed.

The two men worked together and shifted, the doctor handing the syringe to John and eased his hands into position, pressing down on the panting hybrid while John eased off of Sherlock and picked up the plunger and made sure that there were no bubbles.

Sherlock shivered and squirmed, his wide, wide blue eyes transfixed onto the syringe. He whimpered and shook his head, his body thrashing weakly as he tried to twist away from the needle.

"Hey," John said softly, "it'll be alright. Nothing's wrong, everything will be alright."

The needle slid in without resistance and John pressed the plunger. Sherlock shuddered and started whining loudly, eyes scared and frame trembling.

"I'm bad," he sobbed, deep and wet, "I'm sorry I'm bad. 'M so sorry."

John looked guilty as he placed the syringe away, his brow creasing as he tried to calm the almost hysterical ex-detective who was sobbing and whimpering, curling tightly. John stroked his friend's neck, soothing the distressed being with soft words.

"Not good, I'm not good. 'M sorry John."

Tbc?