Sherlock Holmes lived with the belief that food and sleep were for those who were weak, and insignificant and therefore were things that he didn't require. However as he rode with John to their latest crime scene Sherlock couldn't keep his eyes open, the lights from the outside city seemed to be glaring into the cab aiming specifically at his eyes. He had hoped in vain it seemed that the pain he was experiencing would go unnoticed by John. However as they came up closer to the crime scene that Lestrade had summoned them to, John turned to him. "Have you taken anything for that headache, or are you simply hoping that if you ignore as you do with most every other basic human need that it will simply disappear." "As ever John you are quite unaware of things going on around you, I simply was pondering the details of this latest case." The coolness of his voice indicated that this was the last Sherlock would address the issue at least for now and John knew that it was best to drop this issue for now. John knew from months of now living with Sherlock and information given to him by Mycroft on certain similar occasions that it was best never to push Sherlock. John continued to observe Sherlock as he worked. If Sherlock was in the amount of pain that John suspected that he was in, Sherlock was able to hide it well enough that John could only see miniscule signs. Even after they had made their way home. Sherlock was continuing to use any and all determination he had to prevent John from seeing the current pain that was coursing through his head. Although it might not have been clear to him before Sherlock was now quite sure that this pounding would soon turn into a full-blown migraine, he sighed to himself internally, John had not yet been present long enough to experience one of his migraines and to his deep regret there was only one person who he trusted enough to care for him. Sherlock debated in his head whether it was worth it for him to indeed contact his brother, however his decision seemed to be made for him after he began to lose visual acuity and he heard the door downstairs shut as John called out something to him about having to go to in to work, some last minute emergency or whatnot.
Mycroft Holmes was not surprisingly looking down at some dozen government documents that on the record did not exist. Trying to battle all of Britain's crises sometimes seemed a tad too exhausting, however it was indeed his job and it was indeed something that he did seem to excel at, more than likely due to the high intellect that he was gifted with, if only he thought Sherlock could use his intellect for similar interests. Lost in thought for a moment it did come as quite a shock to see his phone, ever present by his side, lit up with a text from the very brother that was the cause of his distraction.
Migraine, meds needed, send at once if convenient-SH
Mycroft sighed knowing that for Sherlock to break down and ask him for his assistance Sherlock must be having not only a migraine but one of the migraines that on rare occasions caused Sherlock's brain to completely shut down. Mycroft remembered that in their childhood, the first time Sherlock had ever had an attack this bad, Sherlock had ended up in the hospital, unable to deal with even the slightest noise, losing almost all vision, nauseous, shaky and quite unable to move for days upon end as pain for which there seemed to be no cure plagued his body over and over again. Then was the first time he ever truly feared for his brother, Mycroft had continued to monitor Sherlock the older he got. The attacks had gotten less frequent sometimes less in intensity and once or twice plaguing his brother with an even harsher pain then when he was a child. Mycroft knew two things at this point. One was that John must be out or Sherlock would not be resorting to texting him for help. Two was that whatever pain Sherlock was in at present it would be nothing compared to what he would feel if he was already requesting medication. He sent the text to Anthea, knowing that she would be able to get all of the necessary medication that he would need to care for his ailing brother. He looked down as his phone lit up once more signaling a response from her.
Shall I proceed to cancel all your meetings for the next week, with plans to reschedule? –A
Mycroft sent a quick response telling her to indeed proceed with the rescheduling of several important meetings, knowing many may be hard to reschedule but also knowing that his brother would need his continues presence for the next few days. After packing up any papers that would require his immediate attention, he set off for 221B Baker Street, hoping that his brother would still be able to move and survive the ride back to their family estate, which Mycroft still inhabited. Despite any argument Sherlock might make Mycroft knew that the near silence that he existed in here would be more useful to Sherlock's recovery.