Mycroft Holmes was a man, well more of a very powerful government than a man, that had never submitted to any power in his life. From an early age, Mycroft had been known to completely get exactly what is he wanted, anything that ever caught his fancy was his in an instant. Grades, power, the occasional well concealed murder if he wasn't up to arranging an apology note.
His college and law school days consisted of gaining friendships that would only benefit him later on his life, of which they have indeed if not more so. The actual learning of anything in school had flown past Mycroft's head ages ago, he never needed to study to perform well in school and that still hasn't changed in his life time. He soon became a master of social interaction, well social interaction that would benefit him in anyway. Politics were, obviously, the only option for Mycroft to advance into that would accentuate his great mind and dominance he'd acquired.
He wasn't just thrust power to begin with, no, you have to work your way to the top if you want to survive in the political fishing net of the world. Ground work was where everyone started, Mycroft remembered fondly of getting the Prime Minister a coffee one day, now the Prime Minister brought him coffee. After ground work was the fun part, being an agent to the British Secret Service was a great past time of Mycroft Holmes. If he were still in the prime of his youth, he would no doubt of been out there in the world working as an undercover agent as the thrill was extraordinary to him. However, being an undercover agent had its prices as well that left a very sore older man to be had of Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft had been through every torture imaginable; Chinese Water torture, nearly crucified, hunger, thirst and on most occasions, Sherlock.
His body a road map of pain he'd suffered for Queen and country.
However, no one had ever broken Mycroft Holmes in any way possible that could have affected him in the slightest. No one had ever made the man feel remorse, guilt or pity, his walls were almost impenetrable by any living being on this world.
Anthea often jokingly referred to his mind as Azkaban, as he had a way of easily taking the joy out of another man's life. And if Mycroft was ever honest to himself, he couldn't hide the tenacious smirk that resided on his face whenever he thought of it.
Iceman Holmes soon became his title amongst any power in the political world, though no one would ever dare say it within the same country as him. Known for mystery, secrets, oppression and rage, Mycroft Holmes was no man to ever be tempered.
Mycroft could arrange an army within a day, choose the United States President by afternoon tea and then arrange a "natural accident" that could cripple a country by night time. The world never slept and neither did him, a working machine with cogs that never need redone.
The King at a game of chess played by the entire world.
Though as Mycroft stepped from his car and onto the Hospital's pavement, he couldn't suppress a nervous lurch that his stomach induced. His recent heated discussion with a certain Detective Inspector had left him crestfallen and vulnerable.
Two words that had never described Mycroft Holmes in his entire life so far.
Also, his mind was muddled with the thoughts of his reaction towards the angry Detective screaming in his ear. The harsh tones of a baritone voice danced about his mind, yelling obscenities of every sort imaginable. And for some odd reason, Mycroft enjoyed it, he enjoyed the sensation of being yelled at by this incredibly ordinary man that had just sprung up in his life like a weed. He'd killed men for even less than half of what Gregory had said to him, but for some reason he'd just let him speak his mind at him.
Mycroft had read intently at the Detective's background file, it wasn't unusual in the slightest, almost mundane but somehow Mycroft felt like there was more. Something had to of made Sherlock say that there was more to Gregory Lestrade, Sherlock doesn't just say that about anyone outside of the occasional murderer and psychopath.
No, there was definitely something more about Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft 'Iceman' Holmes was on a mission to find out.
Mycroft stepped into the Hospital, his nose crinkling in disgust at the stench of bleach and alcohol that permeated from the room. His hand holding onto his umbrella tightened involuntarily, he wasn't accustomed to entering hospitals for any reason. Slowly but deliberately, Mycroft walked over to the front desk to be firmly assaulted by another foul stench that sent his face muscles into an almost permanent disgusted face. The secretary that sat behind the desk was a man that looked like he could use a good six or seven showers and perhaps an acid bath if he were willing. Mycroft felt his hand tighten even harder against the umbrella, he wasn't accustomed to those that didn't bathe regularly either.
The man behind the hospital desk looked up with annoyance, obviously not a people person either by the looks of it, Mycroft let out an awkward cough before speaking.
"Hello, I'm looking for the room that Sherlock Holmes is residing." Despite Mycroft's obvious disgust, he still had his dignity to present, even if his dignity needed to be presented to the garbage heaps of London. The man however, didn't say anything and kept staring with annoyance, which threw Mycroft for a loop and made him instantly regret being so cordial.
"Oi, you won't get any information from him, mate." Mycroft, startled, turned around sharply to face the voice only to be greeted with a blonde nurse carrying two coffees in each hand. Her features were pleasant, brown eyes, small nose, a dimple on one cheek and a nice mouth. However her tired expression aged her features slightly, a good night's rest could fix that if she could sleep. Mycroft stared intently at her, he wasn't certain how to go about this mess of a situation.
"And why is that, exactly?"
"That's Old Mr. Hathaway, has severe Alzheimer's and thinks he works here, mute though and damn near deaf as well."
"Well if Mr. Hathaway is unable to point me in the direction of Sherlock Holmes's room, perhaps you could assist me, Miss-?" Mycroft firmly tucked his annoyance away, though some of the words were almost drowning in anger under his breath.
"Mrs. Lestrade, but you can call me Minnie, I'm headed up there right now so you can follow me." Minnie gave Mycroft an apologetic smile, seeming to understand the situation at hand and trying to give her condolences to his brother. Mycroft simply pursed his lips, his thoughts drifting away from the smelly, Alzheimer man behind the desk to the Detective's wife. He didn't know when, but soon enough he found himself following the woman through hallways and elevators, the wafting sent of alcohol and coffee bringing about a headache Mycroft didn't need right this second.
"Your brother is doing very well, Mr. Holmes, he's lucky Greg was around to save his arse again. That man has been driving my husband up a wall, but I think Greg enjoys it sometimes, you know? Kind of endears your brother as if he were his own, Greg's always had a thing for lost souls, takes 'em in like strays." Minnie had decided that the silence needed to end, obviously a woman that couldn't stand anyone not being sociable for very long.
"Had to say though, you got Greg pretty riled up earlier, he was going off like he'd just been publically humiliated by you." Minnie looked back at Mycroft, obviously perplexed by the stoic expression his face decidedly made. He wasn't accustomed to random women talking to him either, Mycroft wasn't in his greatest mood at the moment and her comments were only adding to the throbbing his head made. However, Minnie's comment about the Detective's outrage at Mycroft's unfortunate uncaring earlier had struck a chord within him.
"I assure you Madame that I have every intention of apologizing to the Detective of my recent uncaring endeavor towards the subject of my brother."
"Greg said you were one of those pompous, political types, I think I know exactly what he means now." Minnie joked, she was clearly trying to lighten the mood that was beginning to settle within the hallways.
"I'm afraid, that's only the half of it, Mrs. Lestrade." Before Minnie could say anything else, they had finally reached their destination within the ICU of the hospital. Minnie opened the door, maneuvering her hands around to try to balance the coffee cups and turn the door knob. Inside, the room was as any hospital scene would have depicted. Mycroft's eyes however went straight to his brother lying in the bed, an endotracheal tube inserted into his mouth, a heart monitor beating beside him and an IV in his arm. It wasn't his presence in the hospital bed that made Mycroft a bit uneasy, but it was the color of his skin and how somehow he didn't look anything like the tenacious brother he saw not so long ago.
There was a childish game that Mycroft and Sherlock had been playing since Sherlock had been cognizant enough to understand him. A game in which, Sherlock and Mycroft cared very deeply about one another as most brothers do but showing their affection consisted of rude remarks and glares. Mycroft would never admit to it, but he did in fact love his brother, because Sherlock was the only one to ever actually understand Mycroft to his core as well as Mycroft understanding all of the thoughts that constantly raged through Sherlock's brain. Mycroft felt his stoic expression fade into a faintly pained one, he never wanted any of this for Sherlock.
"Here to grace us with your present, then Mr. Holmes?" Lestrade's voice sprang up, heavily laced with suppressed anger that would no doubt unleash upon Mycroft. Mycroft slowly closed his eyes and scrunched his lids down while his hand massaged one temple lightly.
"Has he been conscious at all?" Mycroft decided to just keep this conversation about Sherlock, he needed to know what exactly was going on now.
"He was up for about five minutes before the medication kicked in, he's been asleep since then and won't wake up until the morning, his body needs to flush out whatever kind of drug cocktail he took." Minnie spoke up, she was standing beside Greg's chair, and coffee still in her hand as Greg was too busy staring daggers into Mycroft.
"Minnie, love, why don't you leave us for a minute, yeah? I'm sorry to push you from the room but Mr. Holmes and I need to have a talk."Lestrade pulled his eyes away from Mycroft's presence to stare at his wife, he took the coffee from her hand as she nodded and placed a kiss on his cheek. Mycroft felt a pull in his stomach at the simple action, but made no physical indication that he'd noticed. Minnie walked away from the Detective and opened the door, but she stopped dead in her tracks and looked back at Greg.
"No rough housing in my hospital, boys, I mean it." With that, Minnie Lestrade went about her nursing duties once more.
"She's a pistol, Detective."
"Don't I know it?" Lestrade's anger seemed to wash away at Mycroft's mention of his wife, seeming to understand that Mycroft didn't come here for a fight.
"I want to apologize, Detective, for my attitude earlier." Mycroft found another seat and placed it on the other side of Sherlock's bed, facing Greg, he sat down and placed his umbrella against the nightstand.
"Yeah, you really should, your brother almost died of an overdose and you're trying to tell me he's some selfish child that's just warranting attention. Of course I know he's a damn child! But that's what children do, Mr. Holmes, they act out because they want attention, they want help. Your brother might be the most intelligent man to have ever visited the Yard, but his smarts come at a price, his sanity is a tightening thread. At first I couldn't understand him and his less than orthodox ways but now, now I understand why he wants to solve these murders and crimes. They're the only thing that can keep his mind fully entertained, otherwise it's just a constant streaming line of thoughts invading his brain. No wonder the crazy git goes straight back to the drugs, they numb his brain for a while and give him some damn peace." Lestrade looked over at Sherlock as he spoke, his hand reached out and lightly touched the pale man's hand as if he were going to break at any moment.
Mycroft soaked in every last bit of Gregory's speech, each word somehow cutting into him like a knife against his stone cold heart. The Detective was right, in every sense, Mycroft had always been so clever and smart but somehow he couldn't see the plainest thing dancing around his nose in front of him. Mycroft slowly reached his hand out towards his brother's leg, as if to make sure he were still really there beside him.
"Your knowledge behind my brother's actions rather exceeds my own, Detective, but I will say that everything you've said is completely true."
"Of course it is, you pompous bastard, this is what my job is completely about. If I couldn't do this much, I wouldn't be the bloody Detective Inspector." Greg finally made the leap in lightening the conversation, finally receiving the satisfaction of getting Mycroft Holmes to actually feel remorse for his actions.
"Well as a man who is accustomed to these types of situations, what do you suppose we should do about this?"
"Well we obviously can't let him live alone again, he needs to be somewhere where he can be supervised enough." Lestrade said, sipping slowly at his coffee and grimacing at its awful taste with disdain.
"Then he'll live at my apartment, I can keep him more than thoroughly supervised without any problems arising." Mycroft replied shortly, staring down at the hand he still had on Sherlock's leg, almost as if it were stuck in its place.
"Mr. Holmes I-"
"I told you to call me Mycroft, Detective."
"And I told you to call me Greg, now Mycroft, I understand your wanting to keep close tabs on Sherlock but shutting him away inside your apartment is a sure fire way to coaxing him into another episode like this. I've thought this over though I haven't talked it over with Minnie yet, but I'm thinking of having Sherlock move into our guest bedroom in our house. I've decided already that Sherlock needs to be in these cases, helping as much as he possibly can, he might be utterly unorthodox with his methods but I need him there as much as he needs me to let him be there. If he stays with me, he'll more than likely always be home when I'm home or when Minnie's home, he'll have free reign to come and go as he pleases but only if he'll tell us first. I could probably get Minnie to do a drug test on him every now and then too. I think it's in his best interest if he moves in with Minnie and me, you'll have free access into our home as much as he does." Lestrade said his peace and then drank the rest of his awful hospital coffee in one go.
"You're right, Gregory." Mycroft said, his hand finally removed from Sherlock's leg and back into his lap while his other hand still rubbed at his temple.
"However, I do believe that you're missing one final detail."
"And what would that be?"
"Sherlock is a grown man, he won't be so agreeable as to let you and I make these decisions for him." Mycroft did have a point, Sherlock was one Hell of a pistol when it came to decision making and whether or not he was involved.
"Well for a grown man, he's making some pretty damn awful decisions lately, I think that he's just going to have to suck it up and accept our help because I'm not taking No for an answer."