Okay, I know I'd said that I wouldn't be updating for a little while? Well, that was a tiny lie - it seems I am a bit addicted to posting and then reading your reviews - specials thanks to Smiling Dreams and Grac3 as well as ReaderMagnifique.
Oh, by the way, if the timeline seems a bit confusing right now, I have planned it all out and if you need one you can PM me as always :D The timeline will also be posted when this story is finally finished - but don't worry, there's a lot more coming. But the reunion is already written!
Now: Enjoy!
Mycroft isn't conscious when the ambulance arrives, which we had called after much consideration. Even though Mycroft does really need one, we both don't really trust his emergency contacts any more. The fact that Anthea is – was a thread has shaken us both to the core, and somehow I cannot feel bad for the fact that she died after the knife was somehow forced even deeper into her body.
We both know that we won't be sleeping much in the close future. We also know that we will take turns in watching Mycroft.
I don't know when I started to care so much for Mycroft. I used to think of him as the manipulative, bossy, arrogant, annoying big brother of Sherlock. But I think the moment I saw Mycroft then - helpless, terrified even though he didn't want to show it, in pain and so close to death - showed me something very different.
I still won't be able to spend long periods of time with him. I would still chose Sherlock over him – or myself – but he is still important to me.
The paramedics don't ask many questions. After Sherlock and me just ignored their protests that we couldn't drive with Mycroft ("He's our brother, you idiot!") they seem to accept it. The hospital is worse. While I go into surgery with Mycroft, which takes twenty minutes until we pull the 'British-Government's-Orders' card, Sherlock is left to answer questions. I don't even want to know what he tells them as I watch how the doctors try to put Mycroft back together. Now, his injuries somehow look even worse. Before the beautiful lie, that he isn't really that hurt, it's just some blood, was still existent. The long time the surgeons take and the sutures destroy that lie easily, but not at all carefully.
They keep Mycroft on sedatives for two days. They want to give him time, they said. Sherlock and I are constantly alert, tense and very stressed, only sleeping for two hours or less a day. Twice Sherlock woke me from a nightmare where not only Mycroft – bleeding, captured – but also Sherlock – in the chair, screaming – are in front of me. A merge of Anthea and Stone is behind them, torturing them and making me watch. Like in every nightmare, I can't move and I can only wait and watch them die slowly and in agony, from blood-loss and electrocution.
The third day, when Mycroft is sleeping, not on sedatives, is a relief as well as another burden, as I somehow don't want him to wake up to this horrible truth.
Everything is black. He can't see anything, not even a tiny bit of grey, but he can hear and smell and feel. Somebody, Anthea, is walking around him. And Mycroft can't move while she cuts him again and again and again. He can only scream and hope that somebody (Sherlock) can hear him. The laughter of Anthea is in his ears, and when it stops, he can hear steps. Two people are rushing towards him, and like sometimes in dreams, you know things you shouldn't. Kiara and Sherlock stop, shocked, and he can hear their heavy breathing. Wait – how? Wasn't he screaming just then? No, Anthea stopped cutting him for a minute, and now she starts again. A particularly vicious cut makes him cry out, and he can feel how drop after drop of his blood leave his body. He is torn between the wish that Sherlock and Kiara do something and the hope that they won't and get out of here alive.
When the knife is taken away from his back and his head is pulled back, he knows what will happen. Milliseconds before the knife slits his throat he grieves about how Sherlock never believed him that he cared and never forgave him for the event.
A sharply drawn-in breath makes me jump and pulls me out of the little nap that I didn't mean to take. I can see instantly who did it: Mycroft is moving around in the hospital bed, obviously not fully awake yet, because he seems to start panicking. Walking over to his bed and touching his shoulder isn't something I consciously planned, it just feels natural.
"My, I'm here, it's okay, you're safe, I'm here."
When his gaze focuses on me, he calms.
"Kiara..." his voice is rusty and quiet, but I can feel tears welling up when I hear him. At least he can still talk.
"Hey My. How are you feeling?"
"Just great, as always." He tries a little smirk, and I have to turn away to hide my tears. I don't know why I am being so emotional about this. I wasn't when Sherlock was captured by Smith and Stone or when he took the drugs.
Before I can say anything else, the nurses rush in, and only slightly later the doctor. She is tall, pretty, with dark hair, and when I see her I know we are going to have a problem.
Mycroft's breathing quickens and I know he has seen her too, so I touch his shoulder again. She looks a lot like her. It is strange how disgusting her name sounds now, even in my head, and I am pretty sure Mycroft feels so as well.
"Can EVERYBODY please go outside for a minute? It won't be long, just a tiny bit." I try to make my voice as commanding as possible and after about three minutes I have convinced them to do so.
"My, I'm back in a sec, okay?" I wait until he nods, then I take the arm of the confused doctor and pull her outside.
"Listen, Dr..."
"Green. Elaine Green."
"Okay, Dr Green, I know we haven't told you a lot about what happened. As you know, he was kidnapped and tortured, but what's so horrible about it is the fact that it was one of the persons we all trusted most. Anyway, my point is – you look like her. Quite much actually, and even though Mycroft usually is a very logical man, I think it wouldn't be good for him."
"So you want a different doctor."
"I'm sorry, but yes. No offence, I am sure you would be more than qualified and good enough, but for My's sake..."
She looks at me for a second, then nods.
"I see. I will ask Dr Whitehouse, okay?"
I smile gratefully, and she nods again before turning around. She is already a few metres away when I remember something.
"Dr Green?"
She turns around again and looks at me, curious.
"Is there a John Watson working here?"
"No, why?"
"Just asking..."
She smiles and walks away.
I go inside again, together with the nurses I had ushered out of the room. They examine Mycroft, and after a few minutes Dr Whitehouse comes as well.
My hand doesn't leave My's shoulder once.
What do you think? Please review (I know you already do, Smiling Dreams and Grac3 :* )