Hey guys. It's been a long time. If you've had this in your subscriptions for any length of time, thank you so much. I suggest you go and re-read chapter 1 since I updated it and made it better (my 2014 writing was not the best). I'm sorry it's been so long but I'm here and will be updated more frequently. Thank you for sticking with me.
If you're new here, hi! I hope you enjoy this fic (I promise you won't have to wait 4 years like some of the guys here)
I'm not gonna go into detail about why it's been so long, please trust I had my reasons.
Enjoy everyone!
Sherlock had known something was wrong with his brother the moment he stepped into Baker Street.
More wrong than usual.
But he was Sherlock, notorious for finding any excuse that meant he didn't have to deal with emotions.
He's watched uneasily as Mycroft had explained the cases to him, looking over at Lestrade to see if the man had noticed anything amiss too.
But Greg was too buried in the papers, tips of his ears pink as he did his best to ignore the other man.
Sherlock only huffed and crossed his arms.
It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to realise that Greg had quite the crush on his brother.
It might have been endearing, if it weren't for the childish sneaking looks, pining eyes, and the fact whenever Mycroft came around he wasn't able to hold much of a conversation without stuttering or flushing.
Anyway, when it became obvious Lestrade would be of no help, Sherlock turned his gaze to his brother.
Mycroft didn't seem sick.
Not in the traditional sense anyway.
But something was definitely not right.
It started with the beads of sweat at his forehead, then the trembling in his fingers then the blinking way too much to be normal.
Sherlock was out of his seat in seconds when Mycroft seemed to stumble back.
"Mycroft-" Sherlock reached for his brother, frowning, thinking he could at least guide him to the chair he was trying to find.
But it wasn't that Mycroft was dizzy enough to warrant a sit down, he was dizzy enough to full on pass out.
Sherlock floundered for a second as he tried to stop his brothers head hitting the floor.
At the sound, Greg had also instantly moved over to them, eyes wide.
With Mycroft on the floor in the middle of them, Sherlock took a deep breath.
"Call John. Tell him it's important." Sherlock instructed, feeling slightly better when he felt Mycroft begin to stir already.
"Greg, call him." Sherlock looked over his shoulder.
A million thoughts raced round the detectives head.
Thoughts that the mundane around him would never think to consider.
For example, Mycroft hadn't been coughing or sneezing and didn't have a temperature, so could he have been poisoned?
Sherlock pushed the thoughts away and focused on what was in front of him.
Mycroft had lost weight. He was extremely stressed out at work. The man never seemed to drink anything other than black coffee or tea.
So stress, dehydration, not eating enough.
Sherlock carefully touched his brothers forehead, swallowing and trying to push out the deduction that screamed at his subconscious.
He was very rarely wrong. And he hated to be wrong.
But he wouldn't complain this one time.
Because if it what Sherlock was thinking was true, Mycroft was in a lot more danger than first thought.
And Sherlock had somehow missed it.
"My-" he murmured, as the man moved and groaned softly.
"Brother." He braced Mycroft's shoulders as his brothers eyes flitted open.
"Lock?" Mycroft frowned, rubbing at his forehead as his younger brother helped him sit up.
His voice seemed small.
"You're okay." Sherlock said quietly, brows furrowed. "Don't get up too quickly."
Mycroft flushed, ducking his head and sighing softly.
It wasn't the first time he'd woken up on the floor, but it was certainly the first time Sherlock had witnessed it.
He knew his brother wouldn't leave well enough alone now.
Despite appearances, the brothers had been close once upon a time.
And sometimes that closeness made itself known.
"My." Sherlock tried to meet his gaze. "What is going on?"
Greg had left the room to call John, reassured that Mycroft had already been coming around and not wanting to intrude on the moment.
"I..." Mycroft was for once at a loss for words. His next sentence could fracture everything.
"I think I may have gone too far." Mycroft said quietly, frowning.
"Top far? Myc-" the youngest brother swallowed and shook his head.
"What have you done?"