He couldn't shut it off.

The sight; the smell; the horror.

Faces mangled and bloody. Small, innocent faces.

Sherlock closed his eyes uselessly against the onslaught of images rushing through his head.

He groaned loudly, jumping back up from the sofa and pacing across his small living area.

"This is too much." he shouted, at nothing in particular. He needed to make it go away. Make it stop. Make it all stop. He tried and failed to delete it. It needed something else; something more... potent.

A knock on the door startled him, making him shake his head to bring himself back to reality. The knock came again, and he let out a long breath to compose himself before answering.

"I thought you might need something to eat."

Mycroft spoke with a knowing look. Knowing that Sherlock hadn't eaten during the past 4 days and knowing what he had dealt with and the horrors he was probably trying to delete.

He handed three tubs of take-away over and entered his brother's flat.

They would eat together tonight, and Mycroft would ensure that his brother was OK.