Mycroft nodded, and stepped back as a nurse gave Sherlock an anesthetic.

Sherlock looked at his big brother with glazed eyes. "Mycroft." He slurred. "Stay."

Mycroft placed his hand lightly atop his brothers'; a rare show of affection, but Mycroft reasoned that Sherlock needed it. "I shall be here when you awaken, little brother." He muttered softly, as Sherlock succumbed to the drug, and was taken away to surgery.

Mycroft was lead to a private room, upon his request, to wait for his little brother to be done with surgery.

He stood tall, looking out of a window with his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he fought inside himself.

His mind flashed to the moment John had called him, just after Sherlock had been shot.

*Flashback*

"Mr. Holmes."

"What." He said, not looking up from his desk as he continued his paperwork.

"Sir, there's a John Watson calling for you." His secretary told him. Mycroft could detect concern in her voice for some unknown reason.

He sighed, figuring that it had something to do with Sherlock getting himself into trouble... again.

"Fine." Mycroft huffed, putting his pen down and picking up the phone that rested to his left. "What is it Dr. Watson."

"Mycroft!" John shouted, sounding upset.

"John." Mycroft said in a disapproving tone. "There is no need for shouting; whatever Sherlock has gotten himself into, I'm sure that you're more that capable to patch him up."

"Mycroft." John said, the concern in his voice growing. The elder Holmes detected the noise of an ambulance in the background. "Sherlock's been shot!"

Mycroft felt his heart clench inside of his chest, but he didn't give away his concern to his brother's friend. "Where is he being taken?" He asked in a calm tone.

"Their rushing him to Bart's." The ex army doctor explained.

"Keep me updated on his condition." He says cooly. "I don't want to have to plan a second funeral so soon."

"Myrcoft, you bas..." Mycroft hung up the phone before John could finish his sentence.

After placing the phone back on the hook, he closed his eyes and knit his hands together; praying that his brother would be ok. He had never told Sherlock this, for fear of the sentiment it entailed, but he didn't think that he could bear the actual death of his little brother

*End Flashback*

Mycroft is slightly startled, when Sherlock is brought into the room.

He watches, as his brother is shifted over to the hospital bed, and properly hooked to an IV pump, heart monitor, and an oxygen line.

"Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft turns his head, and sees Dr. Wellings standing in the doorway. He calmly walks over to him.

"Your brother's surgery went very smoothly." The doctor explained. "We stopped the bleeding, and replaced the stitchings that had been torn."

Mycroft nodded, and managed a smirk. "Thank you doctor, I will be sure that he doesn't run off again."

Dr. Wellings gave a small chuckle, before looking back at the eldest Holmes. "Well, he should wake up in a few hours; so, you're more than welcome to go home and rest."

"I think that I'd like to stay here with him." Mycroft said, looking to his unconscious brother. "For my own sake."

"I understand, sir." Dr. Wellings replied with a smile, as he turned and left; closing the door behind him.

Mycroft waited a few minutes, staring at the door, before walking over to his little brother's bedside.

Sherlock looked so vulnerable; like when he was a small child. His pale face was relaxed, as he enjoyed his drug induced sleep.

'Probably the only real sleep he's had since Irene Adler drugged him.' Mycroft chuckled to himself at the thought. He knew that Sherlock wasn't one to attend to his basic need often; remembering how Mrs. Hudson had worried when he refused to eat, or was up all hours of the night.

Mycroft sighed. "You certainly know how to get yourself into trouble, little brother." He muttered, taking a hand and patting Sherlocks brown curls, before settling down into a chair.

The next morning...

Mrs. Holmes rushed into St. Mary's, her husband right behind her as she approached the receptionist's desk.

"How may I help you ma'am?" The woman asked with a cheerily smile.

"My son was taken in here last night." Mrs. Holmes said as calmly as she could. "Sherlock Holmes, where is he?"

The receptionist typed on her computer for a moment before looking back up. "He's in recovery." She explained. "But visiting hours don't start until 7 o'clock."

"That is my son!" The older woman shrieked, looking at her watch. "I will not wait another hour; I demand to see him!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but rules are rules." The receptionist explained, attempting to calm the woman down. "There is already someone with him, and since his life isn't in danger we can't allow anyone in until visiting hours."

"Thank you." Mr. Holmes said, steering his wife away, and into the waiting area before she said something she would regret.

"Can you believe the nerve of that woman!" Mrs. Holmes fumed, as she sat in a chair and crossed her arms.

"She's only doing her job." Her husband said cautiously, not wanting to upset her even more. "At least Mycroft is with him."

"Excuse me."

The two people looked up, and saw a middle-aged man standing in front of them; a blond-haired woman standing next to him.

"I couldn't help but over hear; you know Mycroft Holmes." He asked.

"Yes, he's with our other son, Sherlock." Mr. Holmes explained.

"I'm Sherlock's flatmate, John Watson." The man said, holding his hand out as the old man shook it. "This is my wife Mary."

"Oh yes!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed. "You're Sherly's friend! Do you know how he is?"

"I haven't heard anything." John said, shaking his head as he took a seat across from them. "We got here as soon as we could last night, as they said that we couldn't see him until the morning."

"Those damned rules!" Mrs. Holmes spat. "My baby boy is injured, and they won't let me see him. I swear if I ever find out who's shot him, I will turn absolutely monstrous."

John's face hardened, and Mary shifted in her seat. "Well I'm sure that Sherlock's going to be ok." She said, taking the worried woman's hand in hers.

"I hope so." Mrs. Holmes muttered, taking a tissue from her pocket and wiping a few tears from her eyes.

"Family of Sherlock Holmes."

John, Mary, and Sherlock's parents looked up, and saw a nurse standing near them.

"Yes." Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, standing quickly.

"My name is Taylor, follow me." The nurse said, as the rest rose and followed the woman.

"Can you tell me how he is?" Mrs. Holmes asked frantically, wanting to hear that her baby boy was going to be ok.

"I was just clocking in, when he was brought." Taylor explains, as they all get into the lift. "He had some internal bleeding, but the surgeons stopped that quickly. He also tore loose a few stitches, but those were easily replaced."

"How is he now?" Mr. Holmes asked, wrapping an arm around his wife, to calm her.

"I believe last I checked, that he was still asleep." Taylor replied, looking at a her watch. "That was about 15 minutes ago." The doors of the lift doors opened, and they stepped into a long corridor.

They walked a little ways, before stopping in front of one of the rooms.

"Here we are." The nurse said, as she opened the door for the worried parents.

Mrs. Holmes gasped, as she looked into the room.

There in his designer suit and all, was Mycroft Holmes; his head thrown back as he slept in a chair at his brother's bedside.

"My boys!" Mrs. Holmes whispered, tears of happiness blurring her vision.