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Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the TV series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 25 - Overdose
It was the harsh reality they had accepted when the younger sibling of Mycroft started dabbling in opium and other mind altering substances. The proverbial clock had been ticking and when the alarm finally sounded it did not take them by surprise, not really.
They had been in Geneva when Mycroft's phone rang in the middle of a most important meeting. He had ignored the first call out of habit but when the second one came, this one more insistent than the first, followed after by a very brief message, Mycroft chanced a look at the screen of his phone and tried to stop the trembling of his hands and regulate his breathing. It was ages ago he managed to avoid facial expressions such as paling or flushing. This time it was a struggle do so. Still, he was surrounded by people who were not supposed to see him weak so Mycroft took a breath and fought down the urge to vomit from worry and fear and the sheer shock of it. He met his aide's eyes and forwarded the message he had received at him. The wizard started making plans immediately. Three hours later they were in London, waiting outside the emergency room of a very exclusive private clinic.
Greg Lestrade was there. Face ashen, clothes rumpled and his shirt collar bloody. It was then that Mycroft's composure was shot and the man had to pause briefly, one hand on the wall. The green eyed man that was just a step behind him, lingered closer. Not offering to help him up but ready just in case his courage left him.
"Greg," Sherlock's brother said.
The officer looked up.
"Oh! Thank God! You're here Mycroft!" the man said, not bothered by the fact that he was called by his first name or that he had used the other man's first name as well.
"How is he?" Mycroft asked. "I've been getting reports from the doctors but it's not nearly enough."
"They pumped his stomach down at the public hospital," Greg said even though Mycroft already knew that. It was an hour since then and Sherlock had slipped into a coma after his overdose. "I followed when he was transferred here. Just in case he woke up. Better have someone who knows him around so that the doctors don't try and kill him, you know how he is."
"I do," Mycroft muttered, now standing closer to the detective and outside his younger sibling's door.
Greg took in his appearance. He was dressed in expensive clothes as usual but his tie was slightly askew, as if he had fiddled with it a lot and Mycroft's eyes were if possible harder than ever.
"Do you want me to seek out the doctor's?" the wizard asked.
"No, I'll do it myself," Mycroft replied. He eyed Greg. "Are you leaving?"
"I called my wife, told her a friend is in the hospital. I'm staying for a while," the detective replied.
"Then I'll get us coffee, maybe something in it too," the green eyed man said and slinked away.