December 20th, 2000

Mycroft stormed into the St. Bart's A and E doors, His assistant and two guards in perfect step behind him. His eyes were calm and collected. He was in one of his fine suits and a long jacket. As always, he was his best-dressed and always-pressed self.

His head, however, was in turmoil. He didn't believe the information he was given, and couldn't for the life of him connect the dots as to HOW and WHY this had come to pass. But it had. Somehow, someway, it had.

He needed to know the why and the how... He needed to know soon as well, so he could try and fix it. That was what he did, after all. That was why he decided to arrive first. Before alerting anyone else of the situation. He needed to see how to best resolve this before... Outside influences... Got involved.

So without a glace, a sigh, a signal, or a care he walked through the A and E doors. Pass all the nurses and orderlies, into Room 7. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them. Willingly or not.

The guards and 'Annie' stood outside.

And that was when Mycroft got his first look at him. Sitting on the bed, eyes closed, looking limp and lifeless. A dark mess of black hair on top his head. Pale skin, closer to someone dead then living. His arms littered with cuts and needle marks, Puncher wounds as well. Red and angry against the white of his skin and covering most of his veins. His throat and neck was one giant, nasty bruise. He was covered in dirt, with a dark blue hoody folded next to him. Not nearly enough to protect him from a London Winter. Mycroft stepped closer to him, and the patient responded by opening his eyes. Mycroft froze as his mind deduced what he was seeing.

Tired, light-less, cold eyes stared back at him. The eyes of a truly broken man.

They were the eyes of a man that WANTED to die.

Back to December 10th, 2015.

The A and E doors opened again, and Mycroft could barely stand the dammed silence anymore.

"Why is it always St. Bart's?..." Mycroft spat, as 'Alyssa' chuckled.

"It is Sherlock's favorite place... Lot of memories here." She quipped as she typed away on her blackberry. Mycroft huffed in response. The only outward sign that he was worried and livid. 'Alyssa's' smile dropped and she started typing more.

"Anything new?" He asked. She frowned, and read the page again.

"They're legit. They really are his parents, and they have been looking for him. But only in their world until today. That's why we weren't aware of them. I'll start digging more, but our contacts in the W.W..."

"Flighty, at best, I know. Try our personal contact. She'll be willing to help. Find out as much as you can. And quickly."

"Doing that now." She said, as she clicked away. Mycroft stormed past the nurse's desk and went to Room 10, as his assistant once again waited outside.

Sherlock had a blanket around him, and was currently trying to get past Molly to raid the medicine cabinets. Molly was having none of it, and nearly had Sherlock back in his bed. She sighed in relief when she saw Mycroft.

"Oh, Thank goodness... Talk some sense into him, please!" She called out, as she tried yanking the wrapped blanket backwards to get him to sit down.

"JUST GIVE IT!" Sherlock slurred, as he tried grabbing around her again.

"Why?... What is he looking for?" Mycroft asked with put-upon tone, afraid that he already knew the answer.

"Morphine!" Sherlock snapped. "There has to be some in here, SOMEWHERE, and Molly won't let me have it!"

"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft screamed in cold fury, and glare was nearly apocalyptic. Sherlock froze and stared at his brother in shock. He had seen Mycroft this mad before, but it had been quite a while since it had been aimed at him. But then he gathered himself and glared back at him.

"I need it..." He hissed, as he wobbled a bit on his feet.

"No, you don't." Mycroft stated firmly. "You want it; there is quite a difference between the two."

"THEY will be here soon! You can't keep them away for long. I won't be able to deal without it." Sherlock explained as Mycroft winced. He hated to admit it, but he had a point. John and Mary were on the way with little Violet, and he was sure Greg and the Potters would be close behind...

He sighed as he stared at Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock stared back. Molly finally shoved him back into his bed. Sherlock sighed dejectedly, knowing he was quickly losing the battle.

"Please?..." Sherlock asked weakly, turning his gaze back to his brother. Mycroft nearly twitched.

He silently wished he could bring himself to delete the memory of those eyes...

They were the eyes of a man that WANTED to die.

Fear started to creep up Mycroft's back. Fear that he might not be able to fix this one. Fix him. Mycroft pushed it down skillfully. He was Mycroft bloody Holmes after all... He would do it. No matter what. He, and England, owed him far to much not to.

The boy... No, the man, then glared back at him.

"So... Are you here to drag me back?" He asked, his voice harsh and deep from his injuries. Mycroft shook his head.

"No, as a matter of fact, Mr. Potter. I'm here to help you." He said, as he set his umbrella to the side, and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. Harry James Potter raised a eyebrow at the man, and still gazed at him mistrustfully. He obviously didn't believe him, or at the very least was waiting for Mycroft to name a price or demands. Mycroft, at the current moment, had no desire to ask for ether.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I hold a... Rather necessary position in the government. And I'm just here to ask you a question. We'll decide what to do, together, after that." Mycroft started. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"What's the question?" He asked, with a bite of mistrust to his words.

"Why?... Why did you do it?" He asked. Harry's eyes went wide at that.

"Why leave your world? Why leave your career? Why leave your wife of under a year, and why not go back? It's already been two weeks. I know they aren't telling the whole story. They are in to much of a hurry to whisk you away, back to Never-never land, as it were."

Harry blinked. He then slowly, and painful, sat up in the A and E cot. He then carefully turned his body, so he could look Mycroft in the face while they talked.

"I should start at the beginning, I assume?..." He said, with his abused voice still straining.

"That would be best." Mycroft said with a small smile. He was going to the information he needed without much of a fuss, and for that he was happy.

His smile was quickly wiped away when the real story began.

"List." Mycroft demanded. Sherlock grumbled and dug in his pocket, pulling out a small piece of wadded paper.

Molly Hooper looked very confused at she took turns glancing back and forth at the brothers. Mycroft stepped forward and snatched it out of his brother's hand. He opened it quickly.

Rum

That was the only word on it.

Mycroft turned and quickly looked over his brother. He concentrated on Sherlock's pupils and then his veins. He did smell of rum, and was obviously more then a little drunk. But there was no sign of anything else in his system. Not recently at least. At least he was still being honest with their list. But that didn't solve the problem of the choice he had before him. Mycroft took a second to think about the upcoming confrontation, and all possible outcomes. One array with Sherlock/Harry drugged, the other with him not...

The answer became quite clear very soon, and while his brother may hate him for it for a little while, it was best for everyone involved... He turned to Molly.

"You may want to leave for a moment, Miss Hooper."

Molly nodded, and reluctantly turned around to go stand outside. Mycroft then turned back to his brother.

"No. Not at all. You'll be getting nothing tonight." Mycroft answered. The look of betrayal and anger on Sherlock's face was instant.

"You've violent when you're under. You know it. Your biological mother and your goddaughter will be in this room in moments. And don't think i'm above calling Mummy in, as well... She's already frantic. Be angry with me if you must, but i want to make sure you'll be able to forgive yourself for whatever you do tonight, Tomorrow."

Sherlock snapped his jaw shut. Mycroft knew it was because of Violet and Violet alone. The infant had her godfather wrapped around her finger already, and then mere thought of any harm happening to her, or even near her, would be more then enough to rein him in.

Still, the angry, hateful light behind Sherlock's eyes didn't dim. And Mycroft nearly grinned like a Cheshire cat as he realized what it meant.

"I take it you've already got a plan for our... interlopers?..."

"About 7 or 8 plans so far, yes." Sherlock said with a dark tone to his already deep voice. A smirk appearing slowly on his lips.

NOW Mycroft smiled like a Cheshire. He then moved and took his normal seat next to the bed. He liked these eyes of Sherlock's much, much better...

"Do tell, Brother mine. I'm listening."