A/N And here is another weekly update as promised. No reviews for my last chapter :( Was it really that bad? I did gain a few follows and favs so thank you all for that. This chapter is Mycroft centric because who doesn't love a bit of the British Government? So here we go.
5 Months Previous
Mycroft unchained Sherlock's wrists and his little brother fell immediately to the ground.
"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, a hint of worry entering his voice.
"I'm fine, just get me out of here." Sherlock snapped.
Mycroft helped him to his feet and they snuck out of the room. They fought off several guards in order to get out and as soon as they left the underground building they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Mycroft had a Jeep parked a few metres away with paramedics and Anthea inside, waiting for them. They were almost there when Sherlock let out a small cry and collapsed.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft gasped, holding his brother.
There were 15 guards now chasing them so Mycroft did what he hadn't done since Sherlock was 7. Carry his baby brother. He skilfully lifted Sherlock into his arms and ran to the car where the paramedics immediately took over and Anthea sped away from the Serbian underground torture building.
"Malnourished, dehydrated, B.P severely low, pulse is shallow and very slow." One medic listed.
Sherlock was hooked up to countless machines that were all making different noises that scared Mycroft but kept his cold and calm exterior. They torn what was left of Sherlock's shirt off and Mycroft felt physically sick with the amount of lashes, stabbings, bruises and scars littered his brothers ivory skin. Cuts were seeping with his crimson blood that flowed onto the white material which was the paramedics uniforms. Mycroft sat down in the passenger seat and looked at Sherlock with his face showing no emotion.
"Where are we going, Sir?" Anthea asked.
"Private jet straight back to England." Mycroft decided.
He avoided looking at his little brother who was possibly dying at the hands of the Serbian tortures. It took a fretful two hour drive to the private jet which Sherlock and all the medical equipment were carefully loaded onto it.
"Are you okay, Sir?" Anthea questioned, briefly looking up from her phone that never left her hands.
"I am quite alright." Mycroft lied through his teeth.
He distracted himself by talking to the boring goldfish which were the other governments over text, trying to prevent a war again. He'd had a few calls from his parents who were aware that Sherlock's suicide was a hoax, asking if they knew what Sherlock was up to but he ignored them. Suddenly, an erratic beeping came from one of the machines that were attached to Sherlock's torso.
"He's going into shock." One of the paramedics called out.
Mycroft turned and all he saw was his little brother, still small, big eyed and curly haired. Sherlock had been a premature baby and every day after school he, his Mother and his Father would go to the hospital and stand around the incubator and look at his baby brother. As soon as his Mother had uttered that his name was 'William Sherlock Scott Holmes' Mycroft took to calling him Sherlock. After a while his parents took to calling him that too. Every time they had to leave baby Sherlock in the hospital he would whisper, 'I love you, 'Lock.' And now, his little brother was dying in front of his eyes and all he could bring himself to say was that, under his breath.
Once they landed in England, London Sherlock was taken into Mycroft's house where they had a mini hospital set up for him. They could not take him to a real hospital as Sherlock was still technically dead. Mycroft left the doctors to tend to Sherlock's wounds and he went to have a very important video call with another foreign government official.
oooOooo
Mycroft had been talking to the mind-numbingly dumb official for just over four hours when Anthea came running in.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I won't be a moment. Excuse me." Mycroft said before muting his side of the computer and turning to Anthea.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Sherlock is shouting and thrashing in his sleep." Anthea explained.
Mycroft typed a quick message saying that there was an emergency and he would call back very soon and hung up the call. He followed Anthea up the stairs and as he approached the door he heard his brothers pained shouted. He walked into the room and Anthea waited outside and went back on her phone.
Sherlock was tangled in the sheets and his curls were falling in his tightly closed eyes. He looked like he was in agony. The caring part of Mycroft wanted to run up to his brother and scoop him up in a hug but he refrained. He walked over to his brothers bed and sat down on the side of it. He tenderly stroked Sherlock's springy curls out of his ivory face and shushed him like he had when Sherlock was a mere baby.
"Shh, 'Lock. It's okay, your safe now." Mycroft whispered.
"Myc. Why dn't you h'lp me?" Sherlock begged, still in his sleep.
Guilt twisted in Mycroft's stomach and he felt physically sick, wishing there was another way he could've gotten his brother out sooner.
"I did help you 'Lock. Your safe now, your back in England." Mycroft tried to reassure him.
"Their going to kill me, Myc!" Sherlock whimpered, still asleep.
"Shh, shh. Their not here. You're safe. No one is going to hurt you." Mycroft said, just stopping his voice from wavering as he was overwhelmed by the immense sorrow he felt.
Sherlock was quiet again, apart from the occasional slight cry or whimper. Mycroft cradled his brothers head and curly mop of hair and rocked him gently. Something both of them would never dream of happening if Sherlock was awake and Mycroft wasn't drowning in his own guilt.
"I love you, 'Lock." Mycroft muttered in his little brothers ear.
A/N I hope you all enjoyed this chapter centering the one and only Holmes Brothers. Please review or PM me if you would like to see a chapter from someone else P.O.V such as John, Molly, Lestrade ect ect. I gave it my all with this chapter so I hope you all like it. Until the next chapter...