The hospital was almost empty. It was late, maybe around 2 in the moring. Sherlock felt terrible, but he couldn't stop, not yet. He was at the private clinic Mycroft was sent to. He's been here before too as a patient, before John. Rich people's hospital. He walked to the reception.
'Hello, how can I help you?' the younger woman asked sitting nehind the desk. Rather young, probably just started. Not used to night shifts.
'I'm looking for my brother, David Johnes.' It was one of the fake names Mycroft used. He was still an important person, his enemies would take advantage of his weakened state, so he usually uses fake names when going to a clinic. No wonder: he was a ghost. A man who shouldn't even exist. A man who sees through your secret, the man who can destroy your life with one phonecall. The man with the umbrella.
"He's on the second floor, room 11.'
'Thanks.'
Sherlock left the reception, and headed for the stairs. There was an elevator too, but he felt like he needed to keep was still in his bones, and his heart was beating fast. He felt like the world he knew was collapsing around him. All of his childhood memories were fake, nothing more. He walked up the stairs, but the stopped. He remembered how he used to play pirate with Readbeard. Sherlock was always the Captain, and Victor would try to take his ship. He had to fight with his wooden sword to protect it, and they would run between the graves, or in the forest near the estate. Sometimes Mycroft was playing too, but he was too slow and couldn't keep up, though he always made up great stories for them, about the ship or the treasure they are tryig to get. Sherlock was happy when they played together. Victor was a quiet one, but Sherlock didn't needed words to know what he was thinking. They were really close friends.
He walked up to the second floor. He had to stop for a minute to calm down. He didn't like this. He couldn't control his emotions, there was too many, and his heart hurt. It hurt so bad he just wanted to get it out and throw it as far away as he could. He felt it was broken, so broken, and that there was no way to fix it.
He wished John was here. He would know what to do. What is right. He would help him calm down. But Sherlock felt guilty for puting John in this situation in the first place. It was better this way, John looked tired anyway, he needed to sleep.
He looked for room 11. It was easy to find, stood on front of the saircase. He entered without knocking.
He saw Mycroft sitting in the bad in his suit, his head was in his arms, next to his a whiskey and his hair looked messy. "He never looked more volnurable" Sherlock thought. The older looked up when Sherlock entered, his eyes were sunken.
"Sherlock, I'm suprised. I've already got a call from Lestrade abou an hour ago, explaining how the situation ended, so you could've just gone home" he said with his sadly smile in his face. Sherlock knew that smile.
"Well, I'm here anyway. And I have no home to go, my flat exploded." he answered casually, just realising his situation. Oh, Mrs. Hudson going to be furious.
"Don't worry, my men are going to take care of it."
"Hmhm. What will happen to her now, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked suddenly. It was something they needed to talk about, and deal with somehow.
Mycroft sighed.
"She's sent to a temporary clinic until we fix everything in Sherrinford. Changing down the staff, secure her room. She sould be back in 2-3 days."
"3 day? In a normal clinic? She needed only 5 minutes to get us here"
"She's secured, Sherlock. I made sure everyone follows my instructions this time" Mycroft stood up and looked out the window. "You have to understand that I tried everything to help her. I'm his big brother, and that comes with a lot of responsibility, but I had to realise she's not like us. There's something evil in her, somethig bad you cant ran away from. She's not capable of symphaty, she's not able to set up rules, to realise when to stop. With a mind like hers, she's just too dangerous. The government only let her live because I promised to take care of her, to look after her, but I obviously failed." Myroft looked at his little brother. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. " he smiled sadly. Sherlock felt his heart ache again. God, how much more pain can he bear? Mycroft clearly feels dissapointed in himself, which he's not used to.
"I just wish I would've known about her." he answered. Maybe he could've done somethig. He could've prevent this night. But then again... She was a murderer. She killed a little boy as a child. He felt so many things. He's not angry at her. He's just sad. So sad.
"About Readbeard..?" Mycroft asked
"I know of it." Sherlock gulped. " I remember now." he whispered.
"I see." the older replied. Sherlock felt lost. He kinda wished he could forget all this. His sister, his dead friend. It was now like a chain bonding them together, and he could hear the chain everytime he moved. He felt sick.
"I should go now." he said quickly. He needed some alone time. He went back to the door ready to leave, but a hand gently grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He faced Mycroft again.
"I was scared when I woke up and you weren't there." the older said looking away, like he was ashamed." I'm glad you're fine. I really am."
Sherlock didn't know how to reply. How to deal with emotional Mycroft. It was something he always thought was impossible. He gulped.
" I-I don't know what to say to that." he said confused.
"That's fine. I'm being too sentimental. Don't tell anyone.-he smiled.
"I wouldn't dare" ha answered. They stood there for a few more moments, quietly.
"Sherlock are you going to be alright?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock heasitated. Will he? Probaly not. But Mycroft needs support so he sould be postive. His heart kept aching the way he never imagine it could.
"I'm fine, Mycroft. It's all going to be fine."he smiled
Mycroft hesitated then nodded. They really had this strange relationship, but after all, they care for eachother.
" I gotta go." Sherlock said finally.
"Right. Take care, brother mine." The older answered.
"You too, Mycroft." he answered and left the room.