Prompt- Mycroft's Gift
By: I'm Nova
"How is he Doctor?" I ask him.
"He shall live to witness Christmas for many years to come." He replies, opening the door for me to enter.
"Thank goodness- I am relieved Doctor." I say as I step in and he shuts the door behind me, allowing me to revel in my face to obtain gentle caressing warmth.
Yes well, I should go and check on him." The good doctor says, heading into the kitchen I deduce he must have left his bag in there to replenish his stock.
"Doctor Watson?"
"Yes?"
"May I see my brother?"
He hesitates. I suppose you could. I shall leave you two alone to talk whilst I sort my bag
Thought as much, Doctor-or rather, deduced as much
I wander up to Sherlock's bedroom and slip in softly.
"Sher?"
"My?" A weak raspy hoarse voice asks me.
"How do you fare, little brother?" I ask, though it is clear that he is still gravely sick with typhoid from Roverhithe.
"I am very weak, brother, but Watson has told me I'll survive."
"The Doctor told me so. He is a blessed saint." I remark. "Able to cure the sick, and can put up with unruly little siblings."
"You can take that back right now!" He pouted.
"Tough, I shall not." I simper.
Silence settled over us. Then;
"I am glad that I am out of Roverhithe, Mycroft. I missed you, Watson and Mrs Hudson."
He slipped into unconscious.
I felt for one moment, my heart move in way not associated with beating. My little brother was alive, and I was silently thanking The Lord, His Angels, and Doctor John Watson.
"May you get well soon, brother." I whisper. I slip away to go and alert Doctor Watson of his descent into Morpheus.
I shall admit for one second only in my whole lifetime that the greatest gift my parents gave me was Sherlock Holmes.
And the greatest gift Doctor Watson has given me is his life. Both I and Sherlock am forever in the doctor's debt.