Sherlock silently stood outside the double swinging doors that led down a hallway that held several triage rooms. He had followed John's stretcher as far as he was allowed to, but was stopped from entering at the doors. He watched through the tiny windows at eye level until John was whisked into a room and was out of sight. Still he stood there, unwilling to move. Hospital staff still swirled around him but he refused to acknowledge them, which earned him many dirty looks. He didn't care. He wasn't leaving that spot, staff be damned.
After a while he detected a presence behind him. He assumed that it was probably a staff member who had come to see if he needed anything and to politely ask him to wait somewhere less intrusive. He continued to ignore them but the presence never left, just continued to remain silent just behind his right shoulder. His nerves were already shot to hell, and he was ready to turn around and send them scuttling for cover. Before he could move or say a word, the presence spoke first, the familiar clipped tones surprising him.
"How are we doing, Dear Brother?"
Sherlock's shoulders slumped almost imperceptivity, his seemingly only outward manifestation of the turmoil inside. Mycroft's keen perception noticed instantly. He was at a loss at what else he could say. Comforting someone wasn't something he had experience in, and it was more difficult because it was Sherlock. They didn't exactly have the closest of relationships. He had always used his position in the government and his considerable influence to keep an eye on him but none of it would help Sherlock now. He wasn't used to feeling helpless and found it dreadful indeed. If he felt this way, he couldn't begin to imagine the magnitude of helplessness Sherlock was feeling. Reaching out, he placed his left hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock turned to face him and Mycroft was shocked at what he saw: pure misery, etched on every plane of his face; eyes red-rimmed and swollen. In truth he had never seen Sherlock in such a state, not even when his beloved Redbeard was taken from him. For the first time he truly understood just how deeply he loved John. A lump formed in his own throat which he unsuccessfully tried to swallow down, and he felt his eyes beginning to sting.
The feeling of a hand on his shoulder startled Sherlock. It wasn't like Mycroft to initiate any type of physical contact, let alone one that he assumed was meant to offer comfort. Slowly he turned and faced Mycroft, the lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything. The look on Mycroft's face surprised him however. He looked….troubled, to say the least. Sherlock had never known Mycroft to show any outward emotions other than disdain or boredom. But seeing Mycroft this way, fighting with emotions that were so obviously foreign to him allowed Sherlock the strength to do something he never would have imagined.
He reached over as he took a step closer to close the gap between them, and enveloped Mycroft with both arms. He had always called Mycroft a 'rubbish big brother' but he knew it was only because he resented the fact that Mycroft was always one step ahead of him in all things. No matter what he did during his childhood, it was never good enough. The gap between them had grown more and more distant until finally there was only the passing familial connection between them. By that time, Sherlock had left for University and Mycroft was already working his way up the political ladder. Other than holidays and forced family functions, they had seen little of each other. But all that seemed distant now. Seeing Mycroft actually 'feeling' for his sake awoken the child in him and he sought his big brother's reassurance.
As Sherlock embraced him, Mycroft was momentarily stunned. It was pure reflex that caused him to return the hug, and he felt Sherlock completely surrender himself to his brother and his sorrow. After a moment or two, Mycroft's demeanor softened and he held Sherlock tighter, allowing him to take whatever solace he could offer. He allowed Sherlock to cling to him for as long as he felt the need to, and begin to wonder how things could have been different between them if they hadn't been so competitive as children. However the past was in the past and couldn't be changed. But the future was still ahead of them. He reasoned to himself that if the love of a man like John Watson could change his irritating brother in such a positive way, then perhaps he could use his love for Sherlock to mend the rift between them. For Sherlock's sake, he vowed to himself to try.
They stood together in their tight embrace for countless minutes, not caring who saw them. Eventually Sherlock was the one to straighten up, looking momentarily embarrassed about what he had done.
"Eh…Mycroft…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…." he stammered as he sniffled, trying to compose himself. Mycroft simply reached into his inner pocket of his hideously expensive Westwood suit and offered Sherlock his monogrammed handkerchief.
"It's to be expected." Mycroft remarked. Sherlock took the offering and wiped his face as best he could. "Come on Sherlock. I'll buy you a cup of tea." he offered.
Sherlock looked momentarily panicked. "I'm not leaving this spot until I hear word on John's condition!" he protested. Mycroft heaved a sigh, then pointed behind them to a grouping a chairs nearby.
"At least sit down. I'll have it brought to us." Sherlock looked like he was about to say something but Mycroft simply lifted his chin, almost daring him to argue. Resigning to his brother's wishes he walked over to the sitting area and sat down, instantly hanging his head in his hands. Mycroft pulled his mobile from his pocket and pushed one button, instantly connecting him to his P.A. He told her what he required then simply disconnected the call. He sat next to Sherlock, balancing his umbrella neatly against the chair next to him.
"Sherlock," he murmured quietly "I hope you know that anything John needs will be seen to."
"I know. But I can't help but feel guilty that he's in this situation in the first place."
"It's not your fault Sherlock! There wasn't anything you could have done differently."
"I've been over everything that happened in my mind dozens of times and I know you're right. But logic doesn't always absolve guilt."
Mycroft was about to reply when a man walked through the doors that John was whisked through and called out "Watson?" Sherlock shot to his feet and ran over to him, Mycroft close behind. Approaching him, Sherlock recognized him as the same doctor that oversaw his own care: Dr Hawthorne.
"Dr. Hawthorne?" he asked in surprise. "What are you doing working in Emergency?"
Dr. Hawthorne just smiled. "Apparently my service to you was quite satisfactory to someone who can make things happen. I have been assigned as the personal physician to both you and Dr. Watson. Day or night, I'm at your service. And may I add, the honor is mine."
Sherlock glanced over at Mycroft, knowing this had to be his doing. Without saying a word, Mycroft simply nodded once as if to say 'Don't mention it Little Brother. It's the least I could do'.
Turning back to Dr. Hawthorne Sherlock asked a multitude of question in rapid fire. "When can I see him? Is he alright? Will there be any permanent issues? When can I take him home? WHEN CAN I SEE HIM?"
"Dr. Watson is being moved into a private room as we speak. As soon as he's settled I'm sure he'll be eager to see you as well." Dr. Hawthorne replied. "We're only keeping him overnight just as a precaution."
"So everything is ok? He's going to be fine?"
"Yes, he'll be good as new in no time. He may still feel slightly groggy from the amount of paralytic that was in his system but that's completely normal. The residual effects will eventually work their way out on their own." He then spoke to Mycroft. "I have also spoken to Edie after she was treated for exhaustion and dehydration. Her ankle only had a small hairline fracture and should heal quite nicely. Before her daughter came and took her home, she relayed to me the details of what happened, but I'm sure you would like a copy of her report."
"Naturally." Mycroft replied.
"It's already been faxed to your P.A."
"Well done. After reviewing it, I'm sure I will find her actions nothing short of exemplary. In fact, I think she deserves compensation of some sort for her services towards Dr. Watson and my dear brother. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would like you to inform her that she also will be assigned to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson on a permanent basis. Her salary will be exponentially increased so she will no longer have the need to report here any longer."
Dr. Hawthorne held out his hand and offered a handshake to Mycroft, which he readily accepted. "You're the boss!" he said with a grin.
"Yes I am, aren't I?" Mycroft replied smugly.
They were interrupted by a chime coming from Dr. Hawthorne's mobile. He dug it out of is Physician's coat and read the message displayed on the screen. Returning it to its assigned pocket he said, "Well Mr. Holmes. John is all settled and is asking to see you. I'll show you the way."
Sherlock fell into step behind Dr. Hawthorne. After a few feet he realized that Mycroft wasn't following them. Turning he asked, "Are you coming, Mycroft?"
"No Sherlock, I have other matters that need attending just now. But worry not, I will be kept abreast of all matters concerning John and will make myself available when needed."
Sherlock walked back towards Mycroft and stood in front of him. "Mycroft…thank you. For everything."
Mycroft looked uneasy for a moment, not sure how to express his thoughts without seeming sentimental. He settled for another gentle squeeze on Sherlock's shoulder. "Go on. Your doctor needs you. Give him my best regards."
Sherlock nodded then turned again to follow Dr. Hawthorne. Mycroft watched them until they disappeared around a corner. He took out his mobile once again and phoned his P.A.
"Anthea. Cancel the tea I requested but I have another assignment for you. I do believe that my brother and his doctor will need some time away from the mundane of their lives to regain their bearings. And I believe I know just where to send them."