A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for following and reading and other things XD Sorry it took so long to update, got exams to revise for :/ I hope you continue to enjoy the story :) I think another short chapter after this will be needed to finish it off. I apologise for OOCness.

I'd also like to remind you I am looking for prompts for Sherlock and Mycroft stories, so if you have any then please let me know!

If you have time to review that would be great :)


Sherlock had taken nest in his usual corner of the run down building; the fact he even had a usual spot should have been evidence enough that his problem was getting out of hand, but Sherlock could not yet see it as a problem but as a simple release for when his restless mind just became too much.

He sat with his back against the greasy wall, his knees pulled up to his chest and thumbing his way through the pound notes he had borrowed from Mycroft's wallet; yes just borrowed Sherlock reasoned, he had every intention of giving it back. However, he knew it would not be long before Mycroft realised his money was missing and he would be on the warpath, but right now, Sherlock did not care and he just wanted to get his next hit.

So why had he just been sat staring at the money for the past ten minutes rather than obtaining some drugs with it? Surely he was not feeling…guilty? Sherlock shook his head quickly to shake off the thought. Why should he feel guilty? Mycroft had just up and abandoned him in favour of his new career, it was like Sherlock did not exist to him anymore, so surely he deserved this; this would make him notice.

After all Sherlock may have been extremely intelligent, but he was also just a 16 year old boy looking for attention from those he looked up to, but he could not look up to Mycroft anymore because Sherlock knew now that heroes did not exist. Sure, when Sherlock was 6 Mycroft had been 'Monster Slayer Extraordinaire' when the younger Holmes was scared of the shadows in his room, or a supreme storyteller to distract Sherlock from a terrifying storm outside, but Mycroft was never scared.

However Sherlock had grown up, and so had Mycroft. Heroes were supposed to stick around and be there whenever they were needed, but after Mycroft left for university he was not there for Sherlock, and therefore the younger Holmes could not see him as an idol anymore. Sherlock felt let down…and he bet that was how Mycroft felt right now.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and growled lowly as he slapped a hand to his forehead; he hated these conflicting thoughts, and he hated emotions full stop, maybe Mycroft was right about that…

Raised voices suddenly caught Sherlock's attention; they were coming from further around the corner. There were… five, no, six men involved but only two of them where talking. There was one with a distinctly Cockney accent and judging by the volume and slur of his voice he was high or drunk – probably high, they were in a drug den after all. The second voice, Sherlock could not make out what they were saying, they were quieter calmer, and therefore not part of the sullen junkie group.

Suddenly there was noise of a scuffle echoing through the walls, Sherlock jumped to his feet. News of a fight around there was not unusual, but whoever was being attacked did not sound like they were fighting back and they were being unfairly ganged up on.

It was Sherlock's curiosity which finally made him leave his spot and cautiously head towards the combat. He peered around the corner, and although Sherlock could not see the victim at first he would recognise that discarded umbrella anywhere. Mycroft. The realisation caught Sherlock off guard and his eyes widened as a sudden chill went down his spine; that was his big brother those arseholes were beating the hell out of.

For once Sherlock had found himself acting before his brain had managed to catch up. He was running towards a group of aggressive junkies not even thinking about the consequences, his only real thoughts with Mycroft.

"Stop!" Sherlock yelled in what he hoped was a voice of assertion rather than fear. Three men looked around, but the other two continued to hit Mycroft although Sherlock could see his brother's eyes were closed from lack of consciousness. "I said stop!" Sherlock grunted as he practically jumped on the back of the ringleader and pulled him away from Mycroft.

"What the bloody 'ell" the man swore as he shook Sherlock off him and turned to look at the kid now sprawled on the floor. "Oh, it's you 'olmes" he said as Sherlock picked himself up off the floor, thunder in his eyes "Since when did you care 'bout saving other people?" the man asked.

"Since you beat my brother into unconsciousness!" Sherlock retorted as he hurried to kneel beside Mycroft.

"That's your brother?" the anonymous junkie asked. The rest of the men became bored of the current situation and wondered off to find more trouble.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock practically shouted for his brother's attention as he shook Mycroft's shoulders, ignoring the other man. "Mycroft, can you hear me?"

The older brother's face was covered in cuts and bruises, his suit all scuffed and even torn is some places. Sherlock did not like the way his stomach seemed to clench at the sight of his hurt and unconscious brother; emotions were not supposed to physically hurt where they? Mycroft was right; they were not worth the hassle.

"Oi, 'e's not gunna blab is 'e?" the junkie said.

"Leave us!" Sherlock barked as he looked back at the man with disgust.

The man just narrowed his eyes and Sherlock realised maybe raising his voice was not helping the situation and the junkie just needed some false reassurance.

"He won't tell anyone" Sherlock said, looking the man directly in the eyes in hope of conveying some kind of sincerity "I'll make sure of it"

"You better" the junkie scowled, before sniffing and turning away.

Sherlock looked back to his brother just as Mycroft let a pained groan slip from his lips.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock said quietly as he pulled his brother up into a sitting position.

Mycroft blinked his eyes open slowly and everything looked blurry. His mind was not working at full capacity either and he hated that; he could have sworn he had heard…

"Sherlock" the older Holmes said as he rested his palm on his forehead.

"Yes, I'm right here" Sherlock replied, not liking the torrent of confusion he felt in his mind as he watched his brother struggle to comprehend his surroundings.

"Idiot" Mycroft said quietly as he pulled away with his brother to regain his much needed independence.

Sherlock frowned "What?" he said in disbelief "I just saved you from…they could have killed you!"

"And I would not even be here if you were not stupid enough to endanger yourself in the first place" Mycroft retorted, though he paid little attention to his brother and was instead calculating his own injuries; nothing life threatening, though he would be stiff for a while.

"I did not endanger myself" Sherlock said through gritted teeth "I know perfectly well what I'm doing!"

"Oh yes, and what great company you keep" Mycroft said sarcastically as he struggled to stand up.

Sherlock sighed "Here, let me help you" he mumbled a little begrudgingly, before taking Mycroft's arm and draping it around his shoulders to give his brother some much needed support, though Mycroft would never admit it.

"My umbrella…" Mycroft moaned sadly as he looked back at its shattered remains.

"Seriously? You've just been beaten to a pulp and all you care about is that hunk of metal and fabric?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"Grandfather gave it to me, I've had it since you were born" Mycroft snapped. "It was the one constant thing in my life and now it's broken"

Sherlock just smirked "Are you saying it held a lot of sentimentality?" he asked, almost teasing, as if the thought of Mycroft being able to fathom such attachment to an inanimate object was ludicrous.

Mycroft just glared at his brother and did no dignify that with an answer; Sherlock just looked smug – he knew he was right.

"We have to get home" Mycroft finally spoke up "Mummy will really start to fret soon"

"What? Mycroft look at you, we have to get you to a hospital!" Sherlock said, alarmed that his brother was able to ignore his less than healthy state.

"I'll be fine there's no serious damage" Mycroft insisted as he tried to walk away, but for some reason Sherlock was unwilling to let go of him and so slowly begin to help his brother out of the building.

"You were unconscious" Sherlock said bluntly "You could be concussed!" surely his brother wasn't really that stupid?

"Well I'm not, I know I'm not" Mycroft replied calmly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Of course you do. However, even if we do go straight home what the hell are you going to tell Mummy?"

"I shall tell her I was mugged" Mycroft said "It's not that far from the truth"

Sherlock sighed "I really don't like this; She'll go ballistic when she sees you! Even if we don't go to the hospital now, Mummy will eventually force you"

Mycroft just scoffed at his brother "Why do you mind so much? I thought you'd be delighted if I died of a brain haemorrhage in the middle of the night"

"Not if it was my fault!" Sherlock blurted out, and quickly clamped his mouth shut when Mycroft just looked at him wide eyed in astonishment.

"I thought you said it wasn't your fault?" Mycroft pressed.

"Well I … I mean…" Sherlock stuttered; he so hated being caught out like that. "You still shouldn't have come after me you fat idiot!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes; there it was, the weight jibe, Sherlock's go to response when he knew he had nothing adult worth saying.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't dead on a street corner somewhere" Mycroft explained "Plus, you took a lot of money from me"

"I didn't spend it" Sherlock mumbled as he looked down at the pavement, feeling even worse as he observed Mycroft struggling to walk in a straight line. "I…I couldn't do it, you can have it back"

"Yes, I should expect so" Mycroft replied.

The brothers continued to walk in silence, Sherlock still having to support some of Mycroft's weight, and Mycroft desperately willing for his head to stop pounding and wanting to just get himself clean again. The quiet was uncomfortable, and Sherlock felt the need to defend his actions further, though he knew Mycroft was not in the mood and would be better to talk to his brother when he was cleaned up and rested.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? You would force me to go" Sherlock pointed out, but Mycroft was no persuaded.

"I'll be fine" the older Holmes insisted once more as they finally reached the path to their house after what seemed like ages to Mycroft. "I just need to try and get to my room without Mummy seeing me, tell her I didn't feel well or something"

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest once more, as was customary of him, but decided to hold his tongue as he too was exhausted from the night's affairs.

Sherlock took the lead as he had mastered getting in and out the house without his parents knowing. The younger Holmes quietly opened the front door and Mycroft limped inside and then Sherlock helped Mycroft up the stairs – much to both of their dismays. Once they got to Mycroft's room, the elder Holmes pulled away from Sherlock and burst into his abode.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock started more timidly than he would have liked. His brother just glanced back at him.

"Not now, Sherlock" Mycroft said wearily as he sat on the end of his bed, wincing slightly as he placed a protective arm across his chest.

"You...you need help with anything?" Sherlock asked as he looked down and scuffed his feet on the floor.

"No, I'm fine" Mycroft insisted, although neither of them believed it. "Just tell Mummy what I said, and we shall discuss this in the morning."

"Alright" Sherlock mumbled as he slipped out and closed the door to give Mycroft some privacy.

Once alone, Sherlock let out a huff of air he had not even realised he had been holding and rested his forehead against the wall – this was not supposed to happen. Inside the room, Mycroft was holding his aching head in trembling hands and thinking the same thing.