Ch. 8 Brotherly Love

Mycroft Holmes was not an easy man to work with. He knew he was stubborn to a fault but felt it was necessary in his line of work. He had finished up his classified work and returned home by charter jet as soon as he could arrange it. His brother needed him.

Mycroft liked the fact that Sherlock had a friend like John who truly cared for him as a person and not an odd freak like others thought of him. Sherlock was always the odd duck and was difficult to find friends that suited his lifestyle of games and detective work. He did not always see things from Sherlock's point of view and they had argued time and time again but he still cared for his brother.

He gathered his always present umbrella as he exited the cab. Anathea had his luggage and was taking it back to his home office. John had texted him Sherlock's room information and the staff was aware that he may arrive in the early morning hours to check on his brother. Sherlock's primary care nurse had went over his chart and highlighted his status with Mycroft. He was shocked at the state of injuries that Sherlock had been through. He wasn't this ill when he was tortured while working for Mycroft during his 2 year "death" nor when he was shot by Mary. He was then led to a dim room at the corner of the nursing station by the kind staff.

His brother lay pale and still in the hospital bed surrounded by machines, wiring and tubes. Oxygen was being artificially forced into his brother's lungs. Multiple medications hung along with fluids being intravenously pumped into his ravaged body. Mycroft cringed at the sight of his brother's hands restrained by soft wristlets attached to the bed's frame. He knew it was for his own safety. A chair waited beside the bed and Mycroft found his way over to sit, not moving his eyes from his brother's face.

He studied the monitors a moment. He was not a medical man, government business being his forte. He knew enough about medicine to know that Sherlock was seriously ill. Sherlock was shockingly pale and his black curls made him look whiter than the sheets on the bed where he lay. He took Sherlock's hand gently into his as he had done many times before when he was withdrawing from heroin. He had been through so many health scares with his brother it was not funny anymore.

He felt Sherlock's fingers twitch slightly as he rubbed some warmth into cool fingers. Mycroft saw a faint grimace as his brothers brow crinkled up in some form of distress. The nursing staff had warned him about the lightened sedation so Sherlock could wake up and begin recovering. He stood and leaned over to softly speak to Sherlock and smooth down his wild curls. This seemed to help soothe him when he was ill or injured.

"I'm here, brother mine. You're doing well. Relax and calm your mind. There is nothing here that will hurt you."

After a few moments of stroking Sherlock's hair, Mycroft saw a sliver of blue-green eyes trying to find a focus. He placed his hand upon his brother's cheek and tilted his head to face him.

"Here, Sherlock. It's Mycroft. I'm right here." His heart was breaking seeing his brother struggle to grasp his surroundings. His eyes cracked open a little more and Mycroft saw the recognition there. Sherlock drew in a deep, raspy breath of his own before setting into a gurgling cough. Two nurses rushed into the room upon hearing and Mycroft gave way to them, settling in the corner near the door. The look on Sherlock's face was a combination of fear and confusion mixed with pain. He was suctioned and repositioned, lying propped up on pillows under his right hip and shoulder.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes. Your brother has pneumonia and has required frequent suctioning. It really wears him out and he is sleeping deeply again. Please stay as long as you like, the doctor will be making his round soon. He will want to speak with you and answer any questions you might have about Sherlock's treatment and injuries."

Mycroft smiled slightly and nodded, not knowing what to say but "Thank you" as he took his place beside his brother again.

After a light breakfast with Ms. Hudson, John took a cab to the hospital to check on Sherlock. He nodded a quiet hello to the desk staff as he made his way to his best friend's room. Quietly, he rounded the corner to see Mycroft sitting in a chair beside his brother's bed. Sherlock lay slightly turned on his side and his restrained hands were being gently held by Mycroft.

He could hear Mycroft softly soothing his brother.

"Brother Dear. You're under the best of care. No worries." Mycroft was dabbing Sherlock's face with a damp flannel, so carefully because of the breathing tube and gastric tube in his nose.

Sherlock's eyes were slowly opening and closing, wearily focusing on his Brother. It was such a tender moment between them that John felt he was intruding on something sacred. Perhaps it was.

Mycroft noticed John in the doorway and gave him a light smile before leaning in to tell Sherlock that he had company. John walked over to the bedside so Sherlock could see him. Mycroft reached out for John's hand not to shake it as a hello, but to place Sherlock's now warm hands into his. He stood so John could sit.

"Please, John, sit."

Sherlock's eyes seemed to get some brighter and he tightened his grasp on Johns' hands. Sherlock's mouth tried to speak around the tube in his throat but he only made a harsh sigh.

"Shh, shh. Sherlock. Don't try to talk. It's all right."

Sherlock's eyes closed and his brow furrowed in the only frustration he had the energy to show. John touched his cheek.

"Just try to rest. Close your eyes and rest. I'll be here when you open your eyes again." John tried calming his friend. Sherlock slightly nodded and closed his eyes. A tear slid from the corner of his eye. John wiped it away with the flannel that was handed to him from Mycroft. It was then he noticed the dialysis machine behind Sherlock. He looked to Mycroft.

"His kidneys are still in shock. With his kidney function stalled, his liver don't have anywhere to send the drug toxins. Dialysis was his only choice, John. All that heroin and other drugs they had given him along with the medicines for pain and sedation were just making him sicker. This could jump start his kidney function.", Mycroft explained.

John's mouth became suddenly dry. He knew that the dialysis treatment could be permanent if his kidneys were damaged beyond repair. Sherlock's hands still grasped his as if he were his lifeline. He grasped back.

"Did they say how many treatments?"

Mycroft sniffed. "One, possibly up to five. Two hours every other day. He's going to be started on some tube feedings today. His system needs the proteins. He's having some problems clearing his lungs of the thick secretions from the pneumonia so the breathing tube has to stay in until they are sure he can clear his airway on his own. Right now he's too weak but he's breathing on his own. The drain in his, um, scrotum has been removed so I suppose that's something."

John nodded, looking at his best friend Sherlock, seriously ill and there was nothing he could do for him but wait.