Mycroft really did hate legwork. But he had just accepted that this difficulty was just fitting for his life right now. It was a lot easier to accept defeat and just take the hardship thrown at one rather than trying to fight everything in vain. From the moment he'd left his office, he was his usual detached icy self. It was the only way to remain calm, collected, and most importantly, rational. His job was one of the mind, and emotions only sought to complicate matters.

He gave orders concisely, and swiftly. He scanned the remains of the infiltration site. It was in ruins. He saw the bodies that were strewn about, not yet having been cleared away. They were broken and bloodied, the blood smearing the rubble that they lay in. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and took a deep breath through his mouth to try avoid the sharp stench of iron in the air.

He followed an exit from where the explosion occurred, all indications being that someone had been there. Of course, no one else on the team had even noticed. He followed the passage for a short distance before encountering a dark clad woman. She was alive, and relatively unscathed. Given her attire, Mycroft knew he'd found the team member that had survived. He, at least, didn't have to search through bodies to find out which one was missing.

Mycroft knew he wasn't strong enough to carry the unconscious woman alone, and so called in for his team to assist. By 'assist', he really meant 'do it all for him', so he could silently follow and watch.

She was taken to their awaiting aircraft to be assessed by the onboard doctor. Mycroft sat opposite the stretcher, and looked down at her. The guilt was overwhelming him again. He was the reason she was injured, and he was the reason her colleagues were dead. He couldn't put much blame upon her and her team for making the mistake… it was their lives that were endangered, after all. He just sat in an empty office making decisions of life and death. It wasn't often he was directly confronted with the outcome of his actions… or rather, his mistakes.

The doctor assured him that she would be fine, and that she had some bruising, a few broken ribs, and a minor concussion. Given the circumstance, she was considered lucky.

En route back to London, the agent awoke. Seeing as it was only him in the plane along with her, aside from the pilot of course, he was tasked with assuring her things would be alright. And of informing her about what had happened. He kept it professional, but he couldn't maintain his icy exterior.

"Thank you." She said to him after some silence.
"For?"
"For finding me."
"Oh. You are welcome."
"I don't mean to intrude, but it seems like you don't usually do this sort of thing. Why did they make you come and get me? Why did it even matter if I was found?"
"You are correct, I stopped doing fieldwork some time ago. I never enjoyed it. However I am the one that made a lot of the decisions regarding this operation and so it seemed only fitting that I be the one to clean up my mess, as it were."
"It's not your fault, you know. I can tell you're blaming yourself."
"It is."
"No, really. No one could know what was going to go down. Just because things don't turn out how you expect, doesn't mean it's your fault. If it were, then you wouldn't feel remorseful enough to come back and try help."

Mycroft didn't know how to respond. He did feel remorseful. And he felt like he shouldn't be the one being comforted by a woman who had just lost the three people that she trusted most in the world… because of him. He looked away.
"I will make sure that you are assisted in your reintegration into society. It is unlikely that the government will be utilising the services of freelancers anymore… not after this."
"Thank you."
"No need. It's my job."
"Yeah, but not everyone doing your job would actually care to try cause the least amount of harm, or try work for the best outcome, when things end up like this. They'd just cut their losses and move on as if nothing happened. I'm a freelancer, I've worked with those people for a long time. No one has ever cared to find me let alone help."

Mycroft nodded briefly at her, and then elected to spend the rest of the trip in silence.

The first thing Mycroft did when he was back, was ensure that the returned agent would be cared for. The second thing he did was inform Lady Smallwood that his mission had been a success, and he was going home. The third thing he did was check his phone for messages. Why he didn't do that immediately, he didn't know… but he wished he had when he saw he'd gotten a voicemail from his brother.

"Myc… why aren't you answering? I'm … I'm not sure what to do… I … I need your help, where are you?"

His stomach dropped. He then rushed to see the team he'd assigned to watch Sherlock.

"What do you mean, you don't know?!" Mycroft shouted at the man before him, charged with coordinating Sherlock's surveillance.
"Keeping an eye on your junkie brother is not my job!" He shouted back. He then regretted his decision after seeing Mycroft straighten and give him a deathly glare.

The next words out of Mycroft's mouth were in his cool, collected, deadly tone he reserved for the times he needed to be the most threatening.
"Your job is to do as you are told. My attention is better spent protecting the country, rather than concerning myself with a task any idiot can do. Find him, or I can assure you, no one will find you."

The man shivered under Mycroft's glare, seeing the rage behind the icy blue eyes. He said nothing further, and returned to work. Mycroft promptly left the room. Yes, he was infuriated at the small team whom neglected to do their jobs, but he was mostly concerned for Sherlock. He'd been worried that a big relapse would happen, and if Sherlock was off the grid, then it likely had happened. He just had to be sure to find his little brother in time before something terrible happened.

Mycroft tried calling Sherlock, to no avail. He typed away at his computer with slightly shaking hands, trying to maintain a control over himself. He was at work, for god's sake… he had to keep it together. But the thought of Sherlock lying in a ditch somewhere dying was far too much panic to maintain beneath his icy exterior. He didn't have time to retrace Sherlock's steps from the time the team failed to monitor him. That could take hours. No, instead, the best option he could think of was to go out to Sherlock's known places.

He quickly organised a car, and began the arduous search in dubious neighbourhoods. He felt completely out of place visiting Sherlock's crack house, filled with the lowlifes one would expect to inhabit the decrepit building. But, he had his special training to defend himself, and his wit about him. He was smarter and more clear headed than most people anywhere at any given moment; and so despite the anxiety clouding his mind, he was still certainly more than well-equiped to outsmart a smattering of high junkies.

Sherlock wasn't at the first one he tried. Mycroft disliked that the 'bouncer' or whatever he called himself knew him by this stage and knew he wasn't a threat… but at least he helped him just look for his brother. The panic was starting to take a hold, since he'd still not been able to contact Sherlock and he didn't know how long he'd actually been missing. The team had decided to stop monitoring him the moment Mycroft left the country… so he could have disappeared at that instance into the drugs or it could have been merely an hour ago.

En route to the next location Mycroft believed he was likely to find Sherlock, he found himself muttering to himself.

"What am I going to do? Sherlock's my reason for being… without him… what is there? I can't do it alone… I don't want to do it alone… and without him, there's no reason to stay… no one would miss me."

Sherlock wasn't at the next place either. He was starting to lose hope that things were ok. He couldn't delude himself any more. It was then that he received a phone call. He pulled it out of his pocket so quickly that it almost was thrown to the ground. His stomach dropped when he saw that it wasn't Sherlock calling.

"Yes?" He answered.
"Hello, is this Mycroft Holmes?"
"Yes." Mycroft strained to get out. He didn't like where this was going.
"I am ringing because we have you listed as next of kin for Sherlock Holmes."

Oh god… next of kin? Was he too late? Mycroft was visibly shaking at this point.

"We have him here at St Bartholomew's Hospital."
Mycroft released his breath. He was still alive, but in hospital.
"What is his condition?" Mycroft barked.
"He… he is stable, now. Please, if you can come in we can explain the situation to you."

Mycroft silently listened to the instructions and then quickly informed his driver to take him there. A new wave of self hatred washed over him.
He could have died and you weren't there to save him. You couldn't even find him. Someone else did, and they likely saved his life. Not you. You failed. If it were up to you, you'd be alone completely. You're already alone in your life enough… Sherlock is all you have and he doesn't even want you anymore. You are a waste of space.

Mycroft didn't even try fight against his negative self thoughts. It was all true.

Mycroft stood at the foot of his brother's bed. He was stern, but that was more directed at himself. He felt so utterly terrible. Sherlock had overdosed, and had actually almost died. The withdrawal had been rather devastating to him, and as Mycroft had anticipated, he'd slipped back to the drugs. But in his irrational mind, he'd taken more than he could handle. Mycroft knew it wasn't a suicide attempt, which had been asked of him when he walked in to the hospital. It was just his brother's failed coping. But it was his, Mycroft's, failing. He couldn't ever forgive himself for being away when his brother needed him.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock." Mycroft whispered to his brother's unconscious body.
"You were trying to better your life and I wasn't there for you to fall back on. I'm a failure of a big brother. I thought I was looking out for you all this time but really… I've just made everything worse. If I hadn't helped you forget Eurus, if I hadn't helped you try shove emotions away… then maybe none of this would have happened."

Mycroft remained staring at his brother's lifeless form. He noticed a twitch of a muscle here at there, reassuring him that the deathly white skin was still alive. Everyone would be better without him. The people in Georgia, Sherlock, his parents… everyone. Mycroft sighed. What was even worse - for him, at least - was that it was Sherlock's new friend, Detective Inspector Lestrade, who had found him. They owed him for saving Sherlock's life. Mycroft had immediately had respect for the man upon their first meeting, but now that ran even further. For no reason at all, this wonderful man had taken a liking to Sherlock, and was actually making a positive difference in his little brother's life. Unlike him. Sherlock stirred slightly, and Mycroft returned his focus back to him.

"Oh Sherlock… I … I can't do this anymore. I can't keep trying to be a good man doing bad things for the sake of bettering the outcome overall. You are the only importance I have in my life, brother dear, and I almost lost you. Because I wasn't there for you, like I promised you. But it's ok now… you have Lestrade. He'll look out for you, and he'll help you more than I ever could."

Mycroft hadn't realised that he'd started to say goodbye, but once he started, he found he couldn't stop. He just let the tears well in his eyes and drop down his cheek. He hadn't even realised he'd made the decision until he'd started talking.

"I know you'll be a little lost without me for a while, and maybe be a bit sad… but you have your friend to care for you. And you'll find that things will only get better once I'm not there interfering anymore. I tried my hardest to do it all for your own good but I feel like I've just screwed everything up. Maybe it was my constant attempts to help that made you act out this way in the first place. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me and think of me fondly. Be good, brother mine. I love you."

Mycroft sniffled and stood up straight. He nodded at Sherlock, and gave him a sad, loving smile. He hadn't expected Sherlock to stir more, and then open a bleary eye at him. Mycroft was both elated and panicked. He got to see his brother awake one last time, but his intentions could be deduced - and he couldn't have that.

"Hello dear brother."
"Mycroft. What are you doing here? Lestrade …"
"I heard. Why, Sherlock?"
"I… I discovered I couldn't do it on my own. I even called you to help but you weren't there."
"No… I wasn't. I'm sorry."
"Doesn't matter now. Lestrade was."
"Yes."
"I'm gonna do it properly, this time. In rehab. Get clean for good. Then I can work more cases with Lestrade."
"I'm proud of you." Mycroft said, his voice threatening to break.

Sherlock smirked groggily, a then closed his eyes again. He was clearly still exhausted. Mycroft nodded at him, and patted his brother's foot.
"Goodbye." He whispered and left the room.

He hadn't expected the DI to be at the reception. The man gave him a warm smile, but Mycroft tried to look away. He didn't want this stranger to see his red eyes. But, it seemed Lestrade was intent on speaking with him, and stood in front of him.

"Mycroft. Sherlock tells me you're actually his big brother… I understand the abduction a bit more now." Greg smiled.
"Hello, Detective Inspector."

Greg could tell that Mycroft wasn't doing alright, but didn't say anything. His brother was just found on the point of death.
"Don't worry, Mr Holmes. Sherlock's been trying to get clean, or so he said before… it'll be ok."
"I … I don't doubt it, Lestrade. I believe things will work out for the better."
"Yeah… just gotta get him into a proper rehab, and he'll be right as rain. He's quite brilliant, if not a bit of an arrogant prick at times… I'm sure you've noticed. Listen, I'm gonna need your number. I wanted to call you when I found him, but I didn't know how."

Mycroft nodded, noticing that the insults were said with affection. Strange indeed. He then pulled out a card, wrote his number down on it, and handed it to the man. It didn't matter if he had it anyway - it's not like he'd be around to be bothered by annoying calls for much longer.

"Take care of him, Lestrade." Mycroft stated in finality. Yes, this man would be good for his little brother. He was a little relieved that Sherlock wouldn't be alone anymore. Before he could hear the detective's answer, Mycroft moved past him and left the hospital.