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Beta'd by MrsNoggin. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Warnings: umm, none? Bit of blood and gore, but nothing too bad.
London, 14 October 2012
Still completely immersed in his reports, he had moved on to Nigeria in the meanwhile, Mycroft ignored the lunch that his housekeeper had brought him. Usually he would never skip meals, but the uneasy feeling in his stomach had intensified and now he felt slightly queasy.
The subtle vibration of his phone brought him out of his musings. He opened the incoming text, noticing the unknown number, but fully expecting it to be the much anticipated status update from John.
- Help trac phine m dead jonh hurt sH
Mycroft sprang into action. No matter the circumstances, Sherlock's texts were always properly spelled and punctuated. The implications of receiving a message like this were clear in his mind, and he did not like them. Unbidden pictures of twisted limbs and gunshot wounds danced before his eyes, but he pushed them aside with determination. It was his brother's life that was on the line, he needed to focus. He started the tracking software on his computer and entered the phone number. As soon as the beacon zoomed in to the greater Budapest area, very near to where John last known location was, he dialled the number of János Vasarely, head of the Hungarian secret service.
'Hold on Sherlock, help is on the way, don't you dare give up now,' he thought to himself while the line was established.
"János, this is Mycroft Holmes. Mobilise your men as discussed, I am relaying you the exact location now. And be warned, at least one of the adversaries is Special Forces trained."
After a quick confirmation, he hung up the phone and put his head in his hands, releasing a long breath and praying that Sherlock and John would be all right. Weeks of waiting and he finally had the confirmation that his little brother was alive, and yet anxiety twisted his stomach. He called Anthea to ready a jet to get him to Budapest immediately. For once he did not mind the leg work.
Hungary, village near Budapest, 14 October 2012
Without their leader, most of the remaining guards surrendered with minimal resistance. The team of the Hungarian Secret Service had little trouble overpowering the remaining men on the compound. They were, however, not prepared for the sight that greeted them when they burst through the locked door in the basement of the house. János Vasarely, seasoned agent in the MKIH* was one of the first to enter the small room after his team had secured the building. He had seen a lot of crime scenes during his active years, but the picture he was facing currently would be etched into his mind for a long time.
Three bodies. One obviously dead; the bullet hole on his forehead leaving little room for interpretation. The other two seemed like one mass of entangled limbs and blood. There had clearly been a vicious fight, the blood splatter on the walls, floor and the clothes of the three men being more than sufficient proof. The sheer amount of red liquid was shocking and he feared that they were too late. He stepped closer to the two bodies huddled together and pressed his fingers against the dark haired man's neck.
János almost jumped in surprise when he felt the faint, irregular pulse. He quickly checked the blonde man, relieved to find him alive as well. Looking at the head wound he could not figure out how he was still breathing, but he knew time was of the essence.
"Medic! We have two injured men in here. HURRY!"
If these were indeed the two agents from Mr. Holmes, then he needed them to stay alive or he would never live down the wrath that the British Government would unleash on him. The medical team stormed into the room and took over, barking short commands as they assessed the condition of their two patients. János addressed the medic in charge: "I need these two men alive, do you understand me? Use any resource deemed necessary, but keep them alive."
The medic just gave him a frantic nod, his hands still assessing the blonde man's many wounds.
János sighted and left the room. There was nothing more he could do here, time to make that call to Mycroft Holmes; something he did not look forward to.
"Holmes."
"Sir, this is János. We have found and secured the house. One casualty, but he was already dead when we arrived. Besides the guards we recovered two other men, both unconscious and in bad shape." He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line.
"Describe them to me."
"One is short, blond hair, early forties, the other one is younger, tall, skinny, mess of dark curls." János could almost feel the relief of the older man through the phone line.
"Those are the two men I was looking for. Agents of mine, they are to be treated as such. You mentioned they are injured?"
"Yes, they are prepared for transport to the hospital as we speak. I don't have any details, but it doesn't look good. If you want to debrief them, I suggest you get here as quick as you can. I don't know if they'll live for much longer."
"Text me the details of the hospital. I will be there as soon as I can." The line went dead. Although he could not see Mycroft Holmes, János could have sworn that he sounded worried.
It scared him; in all the years he knew the British Government Official he had never shown any emotional reaction or attachment to his agents. And there had been some pretty gruesome incidents over the years, incidents that required hard decisions, and Mycroft had never faltered in his resolve. Who were these two agents that warranted such a reaction?
Budapest, 14 October 2012
Mycroft arrived in Budapest less than three hours later, after a short flight in a comfortable private jet. After he had hung up the phone to end his call with János earlier that day, he had needed a minute to take in the new turn of events. His hands folded under his chin, he'd released a deep breath that he wasn't even aware he'd held in. Sherlock and John were alive. So far so good.
János had picked him up from the small airfield and briefed him about the situation and evidence his team had found at the house. There were video files recovered, files that Mycroft knew he had to watch at least once to understand what had been done to his younger sibling, but he was not looking forward to that.
János decided he needed some information of his own. "Mr. Holmes, please don't mind my asking, but I was wondering who these agents are? They seem to be very important to you. Usually you keep me informed about any serious operations in my country, yet, I only heard about this two days ago."
Mycroft seemed to contemplate not answering the question, but ultimately decided that his Hungarian colleague deserved at least some part of the truth for his help.
"Their names are none of your concern. But yes, they, or rather their mission was a very important one, and until I know if it was completely successful I would rather not go into details."
If János had been expecting more than that, he did not show it. Mycroft knew that he owed the man an explanation; failure to provide it would probably cool down the relations between their departments drastically. But right now the unknown fate of his brother and John took priority over possible diplomatic hiccups. For once, family came first. János seemed to catch his edgy tone, as he concentrated on driving and made no further comments.
When they reached the hospital they were shown into a waiting area. Mycroft's inherent authority coupled with János' badge meant that they were joined by a doctor within minutes.
"My name is Dr. Slavic, I am the head of the emergency care unit. I understand that you are enquiring about the two men that were brought in a short while ago? We have yet to establish their identity, maybe you can help us there…?"
Not in the mood for arduous explanations, Mycroft decided to forgo pleasantries and got straight to the point: "Will they survive?"
The doctor had enough sense to him to give in to Mycroft's direct approach. "The younger of the two will recover in time, we had to re-inflate his left lung and he has a deep stab wound to his side which required stitches. He has extensive bruising and abrasions all over his body, coupled with a concussion. He is very weak, suffering from malnutrition and dehydration, but with rest and good medical care he will make a full recovery. He was unconscious when he arrived here and has yet to regain consciousness, which, given his weakened state, is not surprising."
Mycroft closed his eyes for a short moment as he felt a huge weight off his shoulders. Sherlock was going to be alright. "And the other?"
"He is in surgery right now. Among other injuries, he has a massive head trauma which caused cerebral contusion. We have to reduce the pressure on his brain caused by the swelling to avoid further damage. The procedure is not without risks and even if it goes well, there is always a chance of permanent brain damage with this type of injury. We will have to monitor him very closely. In addition to the head injury he has suffered severe trauma to his right knee, with tendons and ligaments cut and torn. If he survives the head injury, then he will require extensive restorative surgery on his knee and even with that, full function of the joint may not be restored. "
And the tension was back. How was he supposed to explain to Sherlock that John might not survive, and even if he did, he was likely to have some brain damage and might never walk again? He knew that he had to face the wrath of his brother for sending John after him, he had just hoped that John would be there to help him defend this decision. Now, it looked like he had to face his dear brother without backup.
"How soon can they be transported to England? They possess vital information and I would rather not have them talk about that here."
"I don't think you understand the severity of the injury. Any jolts or movement could kill him. So at least a week before he can get on a plane."
"That won't do. Get him ready to be transported tomorrow. Whatever you need to make it happen, you have it."
"But- "
"Make it happen, Doctor!" Mycroft dismissed the poor man.
He knew he was stretching his luck, but he needed both of them back in London where he could control the medical personal. John's recovery would be lengthy and he knew his brother. He would not leave John's side, but he would also unleash all of his frustration and boredom on the hospital staff. The situation needed to be contained, the sooner the better. He ignored János' piercing look.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a nurse tentatively approaching. He turned and gave her a fake smile.
"Gentlemen, one of the patients is regaining consciousness."
"Thank you nurse, take me to him, please." Mycroft motioned to János to follow him.
When Mycroft entered the private room he surveyed the scene in one quick glance. Two nurses were tending to a multitude of drips and monitors while Doctor Slavic was frowning at the file in his hands. Sherlock was lying in the bed, showing signs of increased activity, but not fully awake yet. If Mycroft was shaken at all by the appearance of his brother, it did not show on his face.
"He should not be waking up so soon, the sedative we gave him is supposed to knock him out for at least another couple of hours." He noted, slightly puzzled.
Mycroft was not surprised. "His tolerance for painkillers and narcotics is very high. He has a history of drug abuse. Cocaine and Morphine. I recommend you adjust his medication accordingly."
Doctor Slavic turned around sharply and seemed to consider speaking up. Who was this man to give him lectures on how to treat his own patients? But one glance at Mycroft's face made him reconsider and close his mouth.
"I will see to it immediately." He said and hurried out of the room. Maybe the early transfer wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"János, can you get the nurses out of here for a moment? I need some privacy."
"Of course." He spoke some quick words in his native language and the two nurses finished with whatever they were doing and left the room. "I'll be waiting outside if you need me."
Mycroft did not acknowledge János' last words, his gaze fixated on his little brother. Though he knew that the injuries were not life-threatening, it was still painful to see Sherlock in such a miserable state. He stepped closer to the bed and gently took Sherlock's hand into his own. Two pale grey eyes opened upon the contact and blinked, trying to get the world back into focus.
"Sherlock, it's me. You are safe now."
"J-n…" Sherlock struggled to sit up.
Mycroft put his hand on his brother's chest and gently held him back, "John is safe as well. He is still in surgery."
Sherlock relaxed back into the pillows. His eyes drifting close again.
"Rest, brother. I will be here when you wake up."
* MKIH - Magyar Köztársaság Információs Hivatala, Hungarian secret service
AN: Mycroft to the rescue... Finally some comfort after all the hurt...