A/N: Just a few minutes past midnight and thus late, but still… Update time! (grins)

First of all, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for your absolutely amazing reviews and all the listings! It baffles me that so many of you have joined this mad ride. Thank you!

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

To Make an Omelette…

/ It was the single most horrible day of Mycroft's life so far. And every time he fell asleep, especially when they started giving him the pills, he was stuck in it over and over again. It came back to haunt him. Played on an endless loop.

'Mommy! Mommy please, come out! Mommy…!'

'… stop that…! Get away that door, alright?…'

'DON'T TOUCH HIM!'

Mycroft screamed, howled, in both the dream and upon waking up. They injected him with something but he barely noticed. No amount of drugs was enough to erase the memory. He sunk under feeling so heavy that he wondered if this time the ghosts of the past would finally tear him all the way down. /

/ They made a deal, the two of them. And Sherlock took deals very seriously, even those he made while he was barely conscious. So he struggled through the intense, annoying and absolutely awful rehab. Every day was pure hell with the dull staff, even worse other patients and withdrawal symptoms that thereatened to drive him insane. But he trekked through it because that was what they agreed on with Mycroft.

You fight, I fight.

However, when he was discharged Mycroft wasn't there. Apparently his brother was still 'receiving the help that he needed' somewhere out there, far away. No one would tell Sherlock where, exactly. And no visitors were allowed.

Their adoptive mother gave him a sad smile that was supposed to be reassuring. It came out horribly wrong. "He just needs time, sweetie. He'll be okay."

Sherlock couldn't even write letters because he didn't have the slightest clue where to send them. He couldn't visit because he didn't know where to go and even if he did he wasn't welcome. And for what felt like ages the 'he'll be okay' was all he had. A lie, all of it.

Because the young man who came back wasn't the same Mycroft he last saw at the hospital. /

The trio's arrival to the hospital was nothing short of a chaos. It took absolutely all of John's skills to keep Sherlock from attacking anyone and to keep the staff from resulting to removing the detective forcefully. Spencer, the most collected and least preoccupied of them, was the one to get some actual answers after announcing that he was the patient's brother.

The doctor in charge over Mycroft's care, Stanza according to his nametag, seemed absolutely exhausted. "He's dehydrated and malnourished. It was exhaustion, however, that made him crash. He's going to be here overnight and he'll have to take it easy for a while but he should be alright." The man fidgeted restlessly. "I… hate to ask this, but… Does your brother have a history with a eating disorder?"

Spencer felt an actual jolt inside and it took all his skills to keep the shock from showing on his face. He was sadly convinced that he didn't succeed very well, anyway. Very quickly and subtly his eyes met Sherlock's. It was more than enough to confirm his hypothesis. "No", he lied stunningly smoothly. Yes, they'd have to confront this issue someday very soon but not now when the government official had more than enough pressure on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry but I'm not buying that." The American doctor's green eyes were suddenly free of all fatigue, instead they gazed at him sharp and full of alert. "An eating disorder leaves traces to a body. Based on the tests we ran such has been more or less a part of his life since he was a teenager." Clearly the doctor saw something on his face because the man's eyes filled with sympathy. "I'll hazard a guess that this isn't his first relapse?"

"It's the fifth." Sherlock fought hard to keep his emotions in check, that much was obvious. But this, all of this… It was just too much of strain. The detective, who'd finally stopped tormenting the three nurses surrounding him, looked like a trapped and injured wild animal. "The second in a couple of years."

Dr. Stanza looked surprised. And then a great deal of discomfort rolled to the man's expression. "That's right." The American doctor looked at them all, clearly wondering if the brothers were ready to hear this. "Based on the test results there has been a period of at least a year and a half during which he… hasn't been taking care of himself. His body had just started to recover before this new relapse."

Spencer saw John's eyes widen and Sherlock's whole body jerk with something beyond shock. And all of a sudden he wondered if there was something that he was missing. Before he could ask a thing, however, Sherlock spun around in a motion that was nothing short of furious and stormed off, leaving the rest of them staring at his retreating back.

Deciding that brother number two could wait for a while Spencer shifted his attention back to Dr. Stanza. "So… He'll be alright?" Because thinking about any other alternative…

Dr. Stanza nodded with a sigh. "With some rest and fluids, yes. But he does need proper help before his body suffers worse damage than it already has. I'll suggest him a psychiatric consultation once he wakes up."

John winced and Spencer shared the sentiment. Sure, he hadn't known Mycroft for a very long time. But even he could tell that the government official wouldn't be thrilled by that particular suggestion.

Spencer took a deep breath, surprised to discover that his chest felt a lot tighter than it should've. "Can I go and see him?" Because somehow he just couldn't imagine letting Mycroft wake up all alone.

Dr. Stanza nodded. "Of course. He already has one visitor, though."

Spencer felt a tremor of dread. Before wasting a second he started off towards the given direction. What he found upon entering the room made him freeze.

It wasn't only because Mycroft looked impossibly frail and small, lay there unconscious attached on several tubes and monitors. What truly made his breath catch into his throat was the other visitor. The pretty much last person he wanted to see.

Sitting beside Mycroft's bed was William Reid.

It didn't take John very long to find Sherlock. He'd known the sleuth well long enough to figure out the most logical places where to start looking. The correct spot was number three on his list.

Sherlock stood outside the hospital with a frown on his face. Exactly the same amount of steps separated the taller man from the builging and the road. It was very obvious what struggle raged in the detective's incredible mind.

To run away or to face it all?

John took a couple of paces closer, like someone approaching a dangerous wild being. He swallowed hard, considering his words very carefully. "He'll be fine, Sherlock."

"Of course he'll be fine!" Sherlock barked back instantly. 'Fight' beginning to take over 'flight'. Soothingly familiar rage overpowering other, much more painful and complex emotions. "I've seen all of this before. Shut up and stop stating the obvious."

John felt a sharp stab of sympathy when pieces began to collide in his head. 'Five times', Sherlock said. And the man most likely had to watch through them all, powerless to do anything. For someone like Sherlock such helplessness… The guilt… And then it hit him, sharp as a bolt of lightning. Something that the doctor said.

'… there has been a period of at least a year and a half …'

Sherlock's fall…

Of course Sherlock had been able to do the math as well. Probably saw it or heard it the second he faced his older brother for the first time since the beginning of his lonely mission. The weight of that discovery was still heavy on the tall Brit's painfully tense shoulders.

John swallowed again, the sympathy from before swelling to a painful extend once more. "Sherlock…" It took longer than it should've before he managed to squeeze out anything more. "It wasn't your fault", he pointed out in a quiet voice that he hoped somehow penetrated his friend's unhealthily thick skull.

Sherlock's body trembled, only for a second but just long enough for him to be able to spot it. The man gritted his teeth so hard that it must've hurt like hell. "I'm a grown man, John. Don't insult me with those pitiable pep-talks." Then, so swiftly that John might've imagined it, the detective wiped his eyes and began to march back to the hospital with long, heavy and determined strides. "Now let's get back inside. This rain is infuriating."

John blinked several times, staring at his friend's distancing back. Then, very slowly, his gaze turned towards the sky where the sun was shining. There wasn't a trace of rain in sight.

At first William and Spencer only stared at each other, as though not quite believing that the other was there. Eventually the older man gulped loudly. "You know, don't you?"

"Yes." Spencer's voice was a lot more bitter than he'd intended. "I know everything. I've even met… him."

William sighed, his shoulders slumping. "That was what I tried to come and tell you", the man explained in a miserable tone that didn't really tug at Spencer's heartstrings. "Back when Mycroft…"

"… threw you out?" Spencer filled in. Acid lazed his tongue and a part of his mind flashed back to when he accused this very man on being a murderer. How was it that this felt so much worse? Hurt so much more? He nodded. "I get it, now."

William winced. Very slowly who used to be his father began to lift himself from the uncomfortable chair. "Spencer…!"

Spencer shook his head furiously. "No. You… You left me, us all. And I… I might've even forgiven you for that, you know?" There was no humor in his chuckle and his eyes didn't feel dry. "Time and time again… You never chose me. Us. Not when it counted. You never fought for us." It was getting hard to breathe. "A serial killer was more of a father than you ever were! What does that say about you?"

A few tears rolled down William's cheeks. The man took several hesitant steps closer. "Spencer, please…!"

"Get… away from him."

The new voice startled them both. With stun they discovered that the commotion had managed to wake up Mycroft. The government official was pale and, as much as the man himself definitely hated it, fragile. But those eyes and that expression, that tone of a voice… Without a doubt it could've commanded an army. Spencer didn't think that he'd ever seen such rage.

William blanched. The man's hands twitched with hesitation. "Calm down, Mycroft."

His biological father's hesitant tone only seemed to add fuel to Mycroft's fire. The Brit's eyes narrowed. "Get away from here. Right now." It was full of nothing but sheer conviction and steel. "Leave us alone. And if you ever approach any of us again… I'll make sure that you're never seen or heard of again."

Shock paralyzed William for a few moments. But quite soon the man seemed to realize that yes, his son certainly meant every single word. After a one more pleading glance the man finally walked away, an aura of defeat surrounding him. Spencer was almost sure that he'd never see the man again. And it didn't make him feel a thing.

Wounds that have scarred years, decades, ago don't hurt anymore.

Slowly, struggling to bring his pulse and breathing pattern back to normal, Spencer focused on Mycroft. For a few more moments the older man remained on alert, staring at the door like a hawk with both of his fists balled so tightly that knuckles had turned white. The threat didn't return and slowly exhaustion won over as adrenaline left the government official's system. With a heavy, shuddering sigh and drooping eyelids the man fell back against his pillow, breathing hard.

Spencer frowned and shifted with discomfort. He didn't like the couple of irregular beeps the heart monitor gave. "Are you okay?" There was so much more he would've wanted to say, to ask, but perhaps for now that'd do.

Mycroft nodded feebly. For three more seconds the man's eyes remained on the door, before making their way towards him and scanned him from head to toe. Then, so abruptly that it startled Spencer, Mycroft's eyes fell closed and the man seemed to fall asleep.

Spencer could only stare and stand right where he was, his head spinning while he attempted to comprehend what exactly just happened.

The two, of course, couldn't know that in the hallway, safely out of everyone's sight yet well close enough to hear, Sherlock stood leaning heavily against the wall. His eyes were wide and his supposedly nonexistent heart was hammering madly while a crushing wave of new data coursed through his Mind Palace. Almost enough of it to overload his hard-drive.

His legs were barely in the condition to carry his weight but that didn't stop him. By the time he sneaked into the room, quietly as a thief, Spencer had also fallen asleep on the chair William occupied. For a few moments he stood there, feeling uncharacteristically lost, until his eyes spotted another chair on the other side of the bed. He'd slumped on it before he'd fully decided what he wanted to do, his transport clearly deciding that he wasn't about to go any further.

And if Sherlock's hand was laid on the bed mere millimetres from Mycroft's and if Mycroft's unconscious face relaxed visibly only the nurse that came to check up on the oldest brother would have to know. Briefly a smile touched her lips but then Sherlock's eyes spotted her. A single glare from him convinced her that it might be a good idea to move on to her other patients.

Mycroft didn't know how long he'd been out. But as soon as his mind began to drift back towards the waken world he could tell that he wasn't alone. For a moment he listened, some subconscious part of him preparing for a threat. Eventually he risked to open his eyes halfway. What he discovered made him blink several times.

Sherlock and Spencer were fast asleep on either side of his bed. As though keeping watch. Mycroft found it… oddly touching, almost.

Mycroft shivered and bounced to a sitting position far faster than his head approved, both fists clenched, when someone entered the room. It took several moments before he managed to relax after discovering that it was John. There was a look he didn't quite manage to read on the doctor's face. Anger? Worry? Relief? Frustration? Guilt? Disappointment? "Hey. You've been out of it for quite a while. How are you feeling?"

Mycroft decided that he was too tired for lying. His fingers twitched impatiently. "When am I going to be discharged?"

John emitted something between a groan and a sigh. "They only dared to take you off a heart monitor two hours ago and you're still on I.V. So I'd say that you're not going anywhere just yet." The doctor then fixed a look that was both stone hard and tender on him. "So… Now I know why wanted me to come along. You knew that you're on a relapse and somewhere in that impossible, infuriating… Holmesian brain of yours you realized that you needed help."

Mycroft looked away. He made sure that his brothers were sound asleep and felt his painfully tense body relax just a little bit when he was convinced that they were out cold. He did not want them to hear this.

"One of the nurses told me that you threw William out. And I know that you were with him when you collapsed." John sounded worried rather than curious. Enough and earnestly enough so to make several mental barriers shudder. "Why did you go to see him?"

Mycroft's jawline tightened. His eyes were on Sherlock's sleeping form while he answered in a voice that he couldn't recognize. "Because I'm not going to let him hurt either one of them ever again."

"What?" John took a little time before continuing. "But… Wasn't it your mother who…?" The rest faded away.

"Sometimes her… symptoms got out of control." Mycroft swallowed against the bile that rose into his throat. His fingers squeezed the bedsheet convulsively. "Sherlock doesn't remember it anymore but… Back then, before we were taken away… It was William who punched Sherlock and broke my arm."

Erik Collins knew that his time was running out. But as he opened his eyes at the sounds of steps approaching his cell he knew full well that it wasn't the time of his execution yet. The perfectly legal kind, anyway.

Apparently someone had gotten sick of waiting, or perhaps someone wasn't willing to take any risks.

Slowly and calmly he stood up, well in time to face the arrival. Somehow his tall frame managed to be perfectly relaxed and on full alert at the same time. His fingers danced in the empty air, like those of a pianist at work.

That was when he recognized the scent lingering in the air. A small, ice cold smile rose to his lips. Over his long, impressive career he'd had two colleagues whose scent he'd learned to recognize. One of them wore Clair de la Lune. The other this very different product.

The person stood at the doorway wore a guard's uniform. Erik knew far better because he recognized the face staring back at him very well. "Well", he stated. "I was wondering when you'd come and visit."

TBC

A/N: Now that was emotional! (sighs)

Sooooooooo… Any good, at all? Drop a line to the box down below to let me know.

I've reeeeeeeally gotta start heading towards the bed. So, until next time, guys! I really hope that I'll see you all there.

Take care!

Guest: I'm horrible, aren't I? (winces) I really hope that what's to come turns out worth the wait.

Huge thank yous for the review!

Guest (2): Awww, don't worry, I couldn't be THAT cruel. I'm THRILLED to hear that you enjoyed the chapter so much!

Massive thank yous for the review!

lay: Heh, since you ask so kindly. (grins) I'm thrilled that you've liked the story thus far!

Colossal thank yous for the review!