The man came out of nowhere. One minute, Mycroft was walking down the street, ready to hail a cab, the next some ski-masked man was trying to stab him. All Mycroft could see was the stranger's huge, brown eyes glaring at him as he lunged at him.

Mycroft didn't think; everything happened so fast. An elbow made sickening contact with the attacker's nose, stunning him. One quick jab to his ribcage, most likely cracking two and a swift kick to the chest, sending the assailant flying. A bloody knife flew out of his hands as he soared backwards into a couple of garbage bins. Mycroft heard his head smack hard against the brick exterior of a group of flats and was satisfied. He'd call Lestrade later to identify the man's body and find a motive.

As Mycroft raised his hand to call a cab, a sharp pain caused him to gasp. Glancing down, he saw a spot of blood blossoming through his white blazer, just under his lungs it appeared. Damn.

He placed his hand lightly over the wound so as not to get blood everywhere, but he was losing it fast. Mycroft didn't want to be a bother, but after assessing his general location, John and Sherlock's flat would be the closest destination to seek medical help. It only made sense.

"Hey mister, you gonna get in or what?" the cabbie was yelling out the passage window.

"Apologies, sir." Mycroft wheezed, practically collapsing into the taxi. "221B Baker Street." He handed the cab driver a couple bills and they were on their way, speeding through the congested streets of London.

Despite the pain he was in, Mycroft managed to correct the uneven knocker that so annoyed him. He hoped John would answer the door because he was feeling very lightheaded now and didn't want to alarm his little brother. However, the stars were against him in that moment.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said his name slowly.

"Sherlock," Mycroft spoke shakily, "how very good to see you."

"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock stepped aside to let his brother in, closing the door behind them.

"I've been... er..." Mycroft managed through clenched teeth. "Is your boyfriend home?"

"What? Who? Er, no he's out fetching groceries." Sherlock replied in a daze. What was the matter with him?

Mycroft's knees buckled and he felt himself falling, only to be dragged back to his feet by Sherlock. The older Holmes brother could feel his body temperature rising and a sick feeling came about him. "It'd be so much easier to sleep," Mycroft thought to himself as his eyelids fluttered closed.

"No, no! Mycroft, stay awake. Do you hear me, you've got to stay awake!" he ordered sharply. "Mrs Hudson! Get a bed prepared!" he called up the stairs as he half-carried, half-dragged his brother.

"Gracious me!" Mrs Hudson shrieked upon opening the door.

"Mrs Hudson, dial John for me." Sherlock focused on keeping his voice steady as he carried Mycroft into the room.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock slapped his brother's face. "Mycroft!" He felt his brother's forehead and grimaced. The skin was cool and clammy, far from normal. Why the bloody hell was John taking so long to get a few groceries?!

"Sherlock, John's on the line!"

Sherlock snatched the phone up and swallowed thickly. "John!" he croaked. "It's Mycroft."

"Breathe, I need you to breathe okay?" It was amazing how John Watson could sense his friend's panic through a wireless telephone. "What's wrong?"

"St-stabbing I think. Yes, yes, I know that's what it was. Probably. I mean, I don't know!"

"Sherlock, you're getting panicky. Stay with me. Is there a bullet hole?"

Sherlock knelt next to Mycroft and ripped open his shirt, so as to get a better view. There was so much blood, so much blood…

"It's a stabbing, near his lungs. Could one of them be punctured?"

"Okay, is he breathing?"

The rise and fall of the injured man's chest was somewhat laboured, but he was indeed breathing.

"Yes."

"That's a good sign; blood would be clogging up his airway if his lung was punctured. Now stop the bleeding. Use some clothing or something. Anything, we need to work fast."

Sherlock nodded, though John couldn't see him. Wasting no time trying to get the rest of his brother's shirt off, Sherlock pulled his t-shirt over his head, balled it up and pressed it to the wound.

"Remember, put lots of pressure on it." John advised. "I'm almost home, okay? Two more blocks. Keep talking."

"It may be working."

"Of course it is. Press firmly now."

The detective did so while Mrs Hudson bustled about the kitchen, making tea.

"Okay, since the wound is near the lungs, you're gonna want to cover it with something, say… foil! Sherlock, ask Mrs Hudson too—"

"Mrs Hudson, tin foil!" Sherlock snapped, causing the woman to jump.

"Here, dear." She handed it to him and he hastily tore a piece off.

"John! Now what?"

"Tape it on the wound, but don't cover it completely; you don't want air going inside of the pleural cavity."

"Okay, now?"

"Just make sure he's breathing, I'm coming up. I've called the hospital, just in case."

Mycroft Holmes awoke in the hospital dazed and confused. The first thing he did was attempt to pull his IV out.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sherlock told him, sitting in a chair reading a novel.

"Sherlock? What happ— ohhh…" Mycroft bit his tongue. "Er, I was stabbed."

"I know." Sherlock snapped hotly. "I figured that part out as you nearly bled out on my apartment floor!"

"Sherlock…"

"No, don't pretend like this is a trivial matter, I—"

John walked into the room. "I, uh, sense some tension. I'll come back later."

"Please do." They both responded, then glared at each other.

"I didn't want to cause a ruckus!"

"Well, bravo! Looks like it was a success."

"I was planning to see John in private, so as not to upset you—"

"Upset? I'm not upset!"

Mycroft scoffed. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Your voice has risen at least two octaves higher than normal."

"You are such an idiot." Sherlock retorted, slamming his book shut. "I don't know how we're related. How could you have been so stupid? You could've died, Mycroft."

"I'm sorry." Mycroft muttered under his breath, sitting up straighter.

"Pardon?"

"Sorry."

"Stop mumbling!"

"I'm sorry!" he yelled.

Sherlock grinned. "I know, just wanted to hear you say it a couple times."

AN - Did I say I'd post the next chapter tomorrow? It was a lie! I've actually been working on this chapter for awhile, so I was pretty much ready to put it on here. I hope you guys ended up liking the story, seeing as this is the final chapter. I had a great time writing it! If you guys have any other prompts, feel free to lay them by me; I'm all ears. Once again, thank you! :)