still detoxing

Mycroft pulled Sherlock from the toilet. His little brother's face was drenched with cold sweat as he fell against his suit. A little spit fell from his lips, but he was too exhausted to wipe it away. Mycroft sighed, pitying Sherlock.

"C'mon you," He said, putting his shoulder underneath Sherlock's arm. "Bed."

"Fuck off, Mycroft," Sherlock murmured wearily. "I'm not a child."

"Really because only children act on their stupid little impulses." Mycroft snapped. He hauled him up and helped him to the tiny bed. Marie had fallen asleep beside mattress. Her head snapped up.

"I'm awake." She muttered.

Mycroft sighed. "It's alright. Sherlock needs some rest."

"Oh for-"

"If you swear again I will beat you to an inch of your life." Mycroft interrupted. "Marie go home."

"But..."

"Now!"

Marie staggered to her feet, grabbing her large coat. Rubbing her eyes she kissed Sherlock's forehead and left. Mycroft let his brother fall across the bed. He lay there shivering in cold sweat as pain ripped through him.

"How are you feeling?" He asked gently. "And don't swear."

"Mycroft, if I was to explain to you how much you're fucking killing me-"

"Sherlock!"

"Oh would you fuck off!" Sherlock shouted. "Just go away! You stupid bastard!"

Mycroft stared at his brother. "I'm doing this for your own good."

"Oh please not this again!" Sherlock moaned holding his stomach as abdominal pain shot through him. He shivered uncontrollably. "I don't need your fucking help. Alright? I was fine the way I was living!"

"Yeah, no job, no money, no degrees. Addicted to booze, drugs and cigarettes. No girlfriend cause she left you, no mother because you disappointed her. Yeah you're doing swimmingly. Sherlock you're one step away from becoming a guest on the fucking Jeremy Kyle show!"

"Now who's swearing...?" Sherlock said.

"Shut up," Mycroft said. "You said you wanted to sort your life out. And I vowed that I would help you to the best degree. I'm honouring that. Unlike you who seems to think it's ok to go back on a promise."

"How dare you!" Sherlock sat up before more pain. He fell back onto the bed. "Why would you dare bring that up here and now?"

"Because," Mycroft said. "because... Never mind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Too right you shouldn't have," Sherlock murmured. "Cold."

"Let me get you another blanket then." Mycroft said. He stood up and reached under the bed. He brought out a thick quilt and threw it over Sherlock's weary body.

He smiled a little. "Now, how are you feeling?"

"Well Mycroft, my head is splitting, my stomach has lost all its food content and now I'm spitting up acid. I'm cold, I miss cigarettes, I miss bloody alcohol. And can I not have a bloody glass of water?"

Mycroft poured a glass. "You don't miss the drugs?" he asked.

Sherlock took the water and drank deeply. He sighed slowly. "No. I don't."

"Why do you think that is?" Mycroft asked.

His little brother sighed. "I don't know. I guess I was never really – bucket."

"What?"

"Bucket!"

Mycroft grabbed a red plastic bucket and held it to Sherlock's face. Heaving he threw up noisily into it. Mycroft turned away. Sherlock coughed up the left and fell back against the pillow. Mycroft took the bucket from him.

"You alright?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock replied weakly.

"Yeah, stupid question." He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"Well it's obvious that you don't want me here." He shrugged. "Better go before you pull a gun on me."

"Mycroft..."

"Yeah, I'm going,"

"No, Mycroft..."

Mycroft looked down at his brother who was still shivering. "Yes?" He drawled.

"Please don't leave me." Sherlock whispered.

Shocked at this very human emotion, Mycroft stared at his brother. He nodded and sat back down.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yeah?"

Sherlock began to slip from reality and began to enter his dreams. "... Why doesn't dad like us...?"

Mycroft smiled sadly at his brother. "Don't know," He said.