Mycroft had already known his brother was not doing well before he got that horrifying message. He had watched his brother slowly falling down deeper and deeper without knowing it. It brought to mind a quote that had stuck in Mycroft's head when he was in school, from a book they had to read that supposedly made people do crazy things, or at least what he thought made crazy people do crazy things, but the quote was from "Catcher in the Rye" and it went something like this, "I have a feeling like your ridding for a great fall, a special kind of fall. A horrible kind. The man falling is not permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling." That's what had been happening to his brother. He had not realized something was wrong until it was far too late. Mycroft had not even known how bad it was until he heard his brothers broken voice through his answering machine. Mycroft just thanked god that he was busy enough that he always checked his phone the second he got home.
At first when he could hear that his brother was crying he feared something was wrong, more wrong then normal, but it was not until he heard his brother say his good bye, which was so obviously a final one, that he realized how truly beyond wrong things were. The second the message was over Mycroft had found himself hurtling toward the door grabbing his waist coat and favorite umbrella, hoping it could help him keep balanced as he felt himself spiraling out of control, dizzy with worry and fear for his baby brother. He knew it wasn't raining and that there was no sign of rain but he didn't care in that moment what other people would think, he simply cared about getting to his brother before he was too late.
Luckily for him the valet for his apartment building had not yet parked his car, so like the universe was rooting for him, he was able to jump straight in and leave for his parents' house. He knew that he had gotten the message a good hour before but he would not let his mind wander to the fact he was most likely already too late. He just focused on not crashing while he sped toward his parents' house, only stopping once for a minute to try and phone them from a payphone, to have them try and prevent the loss of not just one son, but both, because not only would Mycroft never talk to them again if anything happened to Sherlock, he was also not sure what he would do if he lost his baby brother. No one answered. He managed to get there in half the time it would normally take and found himself pounding on the front door, having forgotten his keys in the car which was still running in the drive.
He was yelling as loud as he could to hurry his father to the door, who's footsteps he could hear slowly descending the stairs. "You have to hurry up! Sherly's in trouble! I have to stop him! I have to make sure he's okay! Would you hurry the bloody hell up!" Mycroft simply never swore but in that moment he thought it appropriate, and apparently it was a shock enough to his father to hear him swear that he actually did hurry to open the door.
The second the door opened Mycroft pushed his way past his father who seemed to be yelling back at him, but all Mycroft kept yelling was, "I have to help Sherly, he's in trouble!" He had repeatedly yelled this at his father as he ran up the stairs, his father on his heels. Apparently it had started to sink in that there was something seriously wrong. As Mycroft got to Sherlock's door he frantically tried the handle as he knocked and his mother poked her head out from her room, but after a few failed attempts he resorted to yelling to Sherlock to open his door as he repeatedly rammed into it, trying to break the lock on the door. When he finally found himself stumbling through and he could see Sherlock staring at him through half lidded eyes he ran to his brothers side while yelling for his parents to call an ambulance and started frantically checking him over as he whispered, "Please Sherlock, please don't do this. Please don't do this. Please just be okay. Please Sherlock, please." He took his brother in his arms and started rocking back and forth as he pleaded, petting his little brothers hair, and didn't stop until the paramedics dragged him away from his brother, making him watch as they worked and he was forced to stand next to his parents, his mother quietly crying into his father's chest. Soon after, he found himself sitting in the back of the ambulance clutching his umbrella while comforting his unconscious brother, the effort probably more to comfort himself.
He was a little relieved when he heard the little two way radio go off and he saw the paramedics smile faintly in approval. Crackling, it had said, "Dr. Watson will be waiting for your arrival at the doors." He didn't pay much attention to the name but he did pay attention to the apparent confidence the paramedics had in this doctor.
Even if he hadn't been able to read it off the women sitting across from him, he still would have found out because she smiled at him and assured, "You'll be getting the best doctor St. Barts has to offer, as well as the kindest. I have no doubt now that your brother will be in the best hands." He had halfheartedly returned her smile, after all she was trying to comfort him, but he would not let himself have any false hope, or at least too much of it, because he could see how bad off his brother was. As they sped closer he clung to the umbrella even harder.
When the doors to the ambulance swung open he could see a kind looking but very tired doctor surveying them. He looked to be about his age, but he didn't hold that against the man, after all Mycroft was extremely young for all of the things that he did and was the best at. He stayed quiet as they pulled his brother out of the back and as the paramedics were quickly briefing the doctor on Sherlock's situation and vitals. It was not until the male paramedic held him back from following his brother that he spoke up and yelled, "But that's my little brother, I have to make sure he's okay!" Mycroft could hear the pleading in his own voice and now realized that he was crying, but he no longer cared, in the moment looking like he was in control of himself did not matter in the least. All that mattered was Sherlock.
He saw the doctor truly look down at his brother's face for the first time and could see heart break cross the man's face and he saw the doctor look even more heartbroken when he looked back at Mycroft, but again he did not care that the doctor could see the tears in his eyes, or the pain on his face. He only cared that the doctor saved his brother. He found himself clinging to his umbrella as if clinging to the little bit of hope he got when he saw the doctor seem to get new vigor, more energy then he'd had before, after looking down at his brother and back at Mycroft. In that moment he felt like he could trust this doctor to do everything he could for his brother and more.
Then they were gone and all Mycroft could do was wait and for two and a half hours that's what he did. He spent that time trying to get control over himself and found he could, for the most part, though no matter what he did silent tears continued to slid down his face. He didn't understand how he could possibly have that much in him to cry but he forgot about that the second he saw the tawny haired doctor step into the waiting area. He immediately got to his feet and approached the doctor. As the doctor told him his brother was stable he was overcome with an urge to hug the good doctor and lost the fight, finding himself clinging to the other man. He stayed like that for a few moments until Dr. Watson led him to his brother's room. He knew that the good doctor was bending the rules for him but felt he should not comment on it for fear it might make the doctor rethink what he was doing.
As they walked through the door Sherlock opened his eyes and he was overcome with a sense of relief. He quickly strode to his brothers side, abandoning his umbrella behind him since he no longer needed it for support, his brother was once again in front of him and safe. The person he most cared about was no longer on the verge of death. He talked to his brother for a while, not about what happened but rather about more happy things. Like the memory his brother had mentioned in his message that was Mycroft's most treasured memory as well. Half the conversation was spoken silently, anybody else would feel like there was a third party they could not hear, but that's how the brothers were. They had their own little language only they knew.
It was not until they heard a soft snore from behind them that they remembered the good doctor was in the room. He was in a chair at the back and he was sound asleep. Both brothers could not help the slight smile that crossed their faces as they looked at the man who looked so peaceful all curled up in the hospital chair. They were debating what to do when a nurse came in to give Sherlock some meds. The debate was over when she noticed Dr. Watson and they heard her say, "God bless 'im. The poor man has been here for over two days now. I think this is the first proper sleep the good doc has had and yet he never gives his patients anything less than a hundred and ten percent." She paused and smiled down at the sleeping doctor, "Don't he just look so peaceful?" Then she looked back up at them and smiled before exiting the room.
That decided it for them. They would let the good doctor sleep. Their conversation quickly found itself revolving around Dr. Watson. What they thought of him, though of course Sherlock had not actually met him since he was unconscious well the good doctor was helping him, but he still made observations. They told each other what they could read about the man, and they would ask the nurses about him whenever they came in for whatever reason. Every nurse had the same basic thing to say. They would coo over how peaceful or cute he looked when sleeping then would tell the boys about how good and kind of a doctor he was. The one from before talked about the fact the other doctors always made him do what they didn't want to but that good Dr. Watson never complained. As she was leaving she added, "They take advantage of the poor man but I think he rather likes the cases that get shunted his way." Then like before she sent a sweet smile toward the sleeping doctor and was gone.
They decided, before their doctor was even awake, that they rather liked the man. Mycroft felt indebted to him. They would have let him sleep until he woke up himself but after a few hours the doctor went from looking peaceful to looking rather upset in his sleep. It quickly became apparent that Dr. Watson was having a rather bad nightmare when he started mumbling a cry for help so they decided quickly it was time to wake him. At first he seemed rather disoriented, which was endearing to both Mycroft and Sherlock, but soon he was on his feet and at Sherlock's side, making sure he was okay. Mycroft watched with amusement when Sherlock started trying to show off for the other man and found a small smile pulling at his lips at the doctor's genuine amazement, though he also knew far more Sherlock wasn't seeing but thought he'd let his brother have his moment, after all, he'd never been one to show off anyway. It was only to himself that he admitted he felt the temptation in this moment.
Mycroft was deeply impressed when the doctor easily got Sherlock to open up to him but found that he was overcome with rage as his brother told the two men what had led to his actions. It was all Mycroft could do not to demand the name of the boy who had spoken such a hateful and horrid thing to his little brother, but he told himself it would be easy enough to get it at the school later. What Sherlock didn't know was that Mycroft had a lot of connections in London, and had a great amount of pull in the education system, so it would be nothing to punish this horrid little boy for what he had caused. He would make sure this boy was blacklisted from all of the good schools in the least. He was only pulled out of his vengeful thoughts when he looked over at the doctor and saw, if it was even possible, the same amount of anger that Mycroft felt. But again his mind did not have time to linger for Sherlock had started to talk about trying to phone Mycroft and he felt his heart fall again. He was thankful that he was not the only one trying to comfort his brother as he recalled his darkest and lowest moments in his life for them. He felt his heart warm when he saw the good doctor's hand on his brother's arm and observed that it was making Sherlock feel better. He truly felt indebted to Dr. Watson now.
He was not surprised when Sherlock pissed off the therapist that came around to check if Sherlock was still a danger to himself. He was also not surprised when Sherlock was told he would be held for a week, although it made no logical sense for the therapist to keep Sherlock around if he pissed her off, and he was truly not surprised when Sherlock automatically started making escape plans. However, he was surprised when Dr. Watson, who told them both to call him John, managed to get Sherlock to accept the fact he was stuck in the hospital for a week merely by promising to visit him every day. Well, Sherlock promised not to try and escape as long as Mycroft promise the same thing. As the good doctor left the room both Sherlock and Mycroft were overcome with the feeling that they had just made a new and very good friend in Dr. John H. Watson.