Chapter 5

A/N: So, there's another one. I had an awful time at college this week and writing took my mind off some stuff. I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

Your reviews were amazing. I felt so elated after receiving all your comments. Thank you so much and keep up the good work

Mycroft sat in his favorite chair at the Diogenes Club; it was the best place to be alone with your thoughts. Seeing Sherlock had been… calming. Naturally, meeting his brother had also angered him. Sherlock could push his buttons like no one.

Still, Mycroft had managed to coax a promise out of his brother. Sherlock had promised him that he would look after himself and that he would contact Mycroft as soon as he'd managed to destroy Moriarty's web. However Mycroft had bad experience with Sherlock's promises.

Mycroft had sworn to himself that he would be home more often after Sherlock's sixteenth birthday; he tried, he really did, but it wasn't easy. School and his beginning career took a lot of his time and he hadn't been at home a lot, especially for the last few months. He would never admit it to anyone; least of all himself, but he felt nervous about meeting his younger brother again.

There was no one greeting him at the door. That was odd; usually Sherlock or at least their father was present. The house was empty.

Mycroft hadn't been home for more than a few minutes when he heard a loud crash. He found his younger brother in the dining room, throwing porcelain plates at the wall. Sherlock didn't notice his brother entering; he was too focused on throwing a vase.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock spun around and released the vase; Mycroft had to duck in order to avoid it. It shattered into thousands of pieces. Sherlock had lost even more weight, his fingers were trembling and his beautiful green eyes were clouded. "Mycroft." It came out as a stutter. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Mycroft put his umbrella and his coat on a chair.

"I didn't… I… Mycroft…" Sherlock looked lost.

Mycroft's fears were immediately confirmed. He'd already feared that smoking wouldn't be enough for Sherlock; should he ever feel himself under too much pressure. "What did you take?"

"Cocaine? But really, I didn't want to… but father, he said, he… I had no choice, My!" Sherlock's hands rose up and he hid his face in them. Now it weren't only his fingers trembling.

Mycroft felt as if his heart would break. "Sherlock, why?" He saw the flash of anger in Sherlock's eyes.

"You!" Sherlock backed away and glared at him. He pointed a finger at Mycroft, shaking furiously. "You're too perfect. I hate that. I hate you!" His fingers were moving over the dinner table like an independent organism until he found a plate. He smashed it to the ground.

Mycroft tensed. "What?"

"Every day. I hear him every day. Why can't you be like Mycroft? Mycroft is the only son of mine that will ever amount to anything! Mycroft is successful at uni, look at your grades! Mycroft made me happy, but look at you! You are driving your mother out of the house; Mycroft would never have done that. Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft!" Sherlock emphasized the last three words by throwing various pieces of dinnerware.

Mycroft had always known that it would come to that. Usually being right made him happy, but there was no satisfaction this time, just grieve. "Sherlock…" He stopped himself as Sherlock grabbed a glass and aimed it at Mycroft. "Sherlock, I love you! You know that, don't you?" He thought he saw his little brothers eyes clear for a second but it could have been wishful thinking.

"I know." Sherlock sank down with his back to the wall until he sat down on the ground. The glass fell out of his suddenly limp hand. "Mycroft, I know." Tears were falling from his emerald eyes and he was shaking. "I love you My. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He started sobbing.

Mycroft knew about the mood swings contributed to cocaine deprivation. He was afraid of pushing Sherlock away again. "Sherlock, you shouldn't…" It was the wrong thing to say.

"Don't tell me what to do! You are never around; why do you think you can interfere with my life?" Sherlock crawled back until he ended up in the corner. "You are not interested in me at all!" He punched the wall with his fist and Mycroft flinched visibly.

He didn't mind being yelled at; it usually just showed the inferiority of others. Sherlock's words hurt him, because they were at least partly true. "I want to spend more time with you Sherlock. You know that I have to work and study."

"You have shown your preference!" Sherlock's voice grew cold. "If you enjoy your studies more than spending time with me, so be it. I don't care about you either." He turned his head away.

Mycroft inhaled slowly. Talking to a drug addict going through withdrawal was fruitless. He overpowered Sherlock with sheer force and managed to drag him to his own room. Sherlock fought back but he was in no state to pose a threat. Mycroft pushed his little brother into the room and locked him inside.

The older Holmes spent the next hours sitting outside the room and listening to his little brothers yells. He could hear Sherlock groan in pain every time he hit something and it hurt Mycroft as well. He could hear Sherlock cry and it made him ache. He wanted to do nothing more than to enter the room and cradle his little brother in a tight embrace but Sherlock would most likely fight him in his condition.

It took another hour until Sherlock quieted down. Mycroft listened intently but he couldn't hear a thing. He opened the door very carefully and found Sherlock lying on the floor. Mycroft knelt next to his brother and felt his pulse, making sure that he was just sleeping and hadn't passed out. He then scooped him up in his arms and put him onto the bed.

Sherlock looked younger than his eighteen years. Mycroft smiled sadly and put his hand on Sherlock's forehead. His brother was running a fever. "You're such an idiot Sherlock." It was said affectionately.

Sherlock chose that moment to open his eyes. They were no longer clouded. "My? You came home?" He seemed genuinely surprised and happy. "I knew you would visit. Father said that you didn't care about me but I knew, I always knew!" He smiled at Mycroft.

Mycroft sat down on the bed and Sherlock curled up next to him. He grabbed Mycroft's hand and held tight; his clasp didn't ease up even after he fell asleep.

Mycroft spent the whole night next to his brother. He stroked his hair and calmed him down whenever he woke up disoriented and confused. During all that time Sherlock never let go of Mycrofts hand.

On the next day Sherlock promised him that he wouldn't ever take drugs again and that he would enter rehab. It was the first promise to Mycroft that he broke.

"Stay safe Sherlock" Mycroft had typed the message half an hour again. Now he hit sent.

A/N2: So… If you liked it please leave me a review. And to all my reviewers that aren't signed in: I would like to thank you for your reviews, and it would be nice to get in touch with you somehow. We have to think about that.

To all others: I try to answer your reviews as quickly as possible, and I hope that I didn't forget anyone. Thank you very much for taking the time to review!

Anyway, I have two more One-Shots that you might enjoy. If you haven't seen them yet, check them out under:

/s/7882963/1/Impatient_Patient Sherlock is in the hospital after being shot. Lestrade and John look after him and he's not your typical model patient (Handcuffs are involved)

/s/7866788/1/Eyes_in_the_Shadow People grieve in different ways. Some talk, some cry, some tap the ground with their umbrella. However they have the location in common: the grave of Sherlock Holmes.