Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes.

I wanted to write something about Holmes and Mycroft… now I don't know a lot about Mycroft but I'm going to try and write him.


The knock came again and again, finally rousing Mycroft his sleep. It was almost midnight when he slid out of bed to see who in their right mind would be knocking at his door this late. His bare feet smacked against the tiles as he stood straight, ready to scare the person off for waking him.

"Do you know what time it.." Was all he was able to say, looking out the doorway in shock. "Sherlock?" he whispered dumbfounded at the sight before him. His younger brother sitting on the ground, his head and back leaning into the metal stair railing as his eyes met his brothers.

His clothing was soaked from the pouring rain that was flooding the cracks of the cobblestones; thunder cracked from the sky with lightening by its side. "M...Mycroft.. Forgive me, I haven't the f-faintest idea." He said quietly watching the elder kneel down to his level with his mouth slightly open in unspoken confusion.

Mycroft put his brother's arm around his neck, slipping his other arm around the smaller man's waist he started to pull him up. Mycroft nearly dropped Sherlock when he suddenly screamed out in pain, throwing a hand to his left side and almost losing his footing.

Looking down Mycroft pulled Holmes' hand away and saw the red stain on his clothing; still being silent he tried his best to block out Sherlock's gasps of pain as he walked him through to doorway. Using his foot to shut the door, and practically dragged his brother to the main bedroom; it was when they were at the bed that he finally spoke.

"Sherlock are you with me?" He asked, feeling his brother's shallow breathes on his neck. "Yes." Holmes' answered as Mycroft got a different hold on him, "I must lift you up." He said sternly, feeling Sherlock nod with understand. Feeling Mycroft put his arm on his back and the other behind his knees he struggled not to gasp in pain when he was lifted off the ground for a moment.

The movements made it feel like his wound had doubled in size before he was laid on his back, almost sinking into the cold mattress while Mycroft began to strip him of his shirt and coat, grabbing towels. "Where is the doctor?" He asked trying to keep his brother awake, "Gone with.. w-wife…"

Mycroft pressed down with the towels, feeling Sherlock's body tense up. "Shh…It's alright." He said trying to comfort his brother as the bleeding began to slow; he cleaned it before reaching to the table.

He took his other supplies he gently lifted Holmes' enough to move the bandages under him, pulling them to cover the wound he secured them, trying not to get them too tight. He pulled the rest of the clothing from Sherlock's body, replacing his brother's wet pants with a fresh pair.

"Who did this to you?" Mycroft said to try and keep Sherlock awake until he was finished, "On a case… guy got away..h-had a knife." He answered his elder brother before coughing, "Tired…" He said weakly as Mycroft finished dress the bottom half of his brother.

Leaving his torso naked as he began to gently towel dry Sherlock's wet hair. Finishing he stroked his brother's face and put another pillow behind him before speaking to him in a comforting voice.

"Rest now." He told him watching Holmes' eyes shut almost immediately and his labored breaths slowed down as he fell asleep; he touched Sherlock's cold skin while looking over his body one more time. Relieved when he saw no other wounds.

He pulled the blanket over his brothers prone body; getting another one from the closet he laid it over the first blanket, making sure they were close enough to keep Sherlock warm. He changed his wet clothes, getting a book, a basin of hot water and some wash cloths. Wetting one he wiped the warm cloth across his brother's deathly cold skin, taking moments to use his free hand and see if it was improving.

"Where's that doctor when you require his assistance." He whispered to himself as he continued to wipe down the man's face and neck, finding himself worrying at how still his brother was.

'Is he breathing!?' He thought, watching as the rise and fall of his brother's chest reassured him that he was indeed alive; brushing some hair from Sherlock's face, he leaned back in his chair with a book.

Opening it to place he'd marked and continued reading to himself, silently shifting his tired gaze from the book's pages to his brother, switching between reading and bathing his brothers cold face with warm cloths.

He kept watch until dawn, finally giving into sleep until noon when he was woken by groans. Opening his eyes he saw Sherlock moving on the bed restlessly, sweat dampening his hair as his head moved side to side.

Muttering different words in his sleep and screaming out once before Mycroft was at his side, the book he'd been reading left forgotten on the bedroom carpet.

"Sherlock, I'm here. Brother, please calm yourself it's alright." Mycroft said, repeating himself to try and break through the fevered nightmares that were harming his young sibling, he shook Holmes' shoulder trying to wake him but it was in vain.

His brother fighting to get away as Mycroft held Sherlock's arms down until his violent thrashing lessened, looking over his brother he sighed with relief when the nightmares eased their grip on Sherlock's mind.

Mycroft gently lifted his brother's head and flipped the sweat soaked pillow over before laying him back and placing a hand on the detective's forehead.

He could feel a slight fever, not too high but wet a cloth in the now cool water. Placing it on Sherlock's forehead, gently moving the blankets and found the bandages still still in place. Thankful his brother hadn't loosened them in his thrashing he pulled the blankets up again and ran his hand through the damp black hair.

The elder wet another cloth and quickly wiped the sweat that had formed from Sherlock's face, lying the cloth on the table beside the basin before he turned around to face his chair.

His neck stiff from sleeping in the chair he rubbed it, using his other hand to pick up the fallen book and marked the place he last remembered reading before gave into sleep. Making sure his brother was alright he went into the kitchen and made breakfast for himself, eating it quickly. Returning to the room and brushed his hair back so it didn't look as unkempt.

He had things to do today but ignored them all, leaving most of the telegraphs he received from people he knew or worked with unread or unanswered. He spent most of the day cleaning the blood from his tile and carpet that was left, when he finished with the floors Mycroft took Sherlock's dirty clothes from the floor.

Throwing the bloody shirt he'd been wearing away, he washed his brother's coat and pants, wringing them through the mangle before settling down with some tea. Spending the next two days at his brother's bedside.


The only thing Holmes could feel was pain as he opened his eyes to find himself in a bed. He tried to sit up only to fall back down panting as his wounded side throbbed relentlessly, his small groan and panting was enough to wake Mycroft who had over the past few days, been sleeping lightly.

"Thank the Lord, you're finally awake." He said sitting closer to the bed while Holmes' took in his surroundings, trying to remember how he got here; after a moment it all came back… the last thing he remembered was his brother telling him to sleep.

Looking out the windows behind Mycroft he could see it was almost morning, the soft glow the candle light showing the tired features of his elder brother as he blinked to clear his vision.

"Brother Mycroft… h-how long?" He asked quietly to Mycroft who didn't answer, leaving the room and coming back with a hot cup of tea. Helping Sherlock sit up with his left arm as support, "Small sips brother." Mycroft said softly, helping his brother drink the warm liquid. It soothed the soreness of Sherlock's throat but he could barely keep his body up.

Almost falling back into the bed before Mycroft stopped his decent; sitting on the bed Mycroft let his brother rest his head on his shoulder. "Please Sherlock… You must drink." He said again in a soft tone holding the cup to his lips again, tipping the cup back so his brother could finish.

Setting the empty cup aside he supported his brother again, this time with both arms as he laid him onto the pillows which helped him to sit up without hurting him.

He quietly checked the bandages that he'd changed last night, finding them fine he left again without a word. Coming back with hot broth and bread.

"Mycroft.. How long has it been?" Sherlock asked again, his voice sounding a little better but still weak while Mycroft tore the bread and put it into the bowl, letting it make the pieces easier to swallow.

"You've slept for three days my brother… the last two nights you fought a high fever." Mycroft told him, without a word he placed his hand on Sherlock's forehead and smiled with relief. "Luckily your fever has lessened." He said lifting a piece of the broth soaked bread to his brother who accepted it, deciding it wasn't worth it to fight Mycroft sense he felt famished.

"I apologize." Sherlock said as his brother fed him more bread, "I have been a burden to you." He said causing Mycroft to shake his head, "Sherlock..I shall not turn you away when you need me." He explained and didn't say another word.

When he finished the broth and bread Mycroft put the bowl aside, taking in the sight of his brother finally awake after three days of restless sleep and nightmares. "He got away."

"You'll find him again." Mycroft said trying to be reassuring as a telegraph came through; going to his machine he smiled. "It's the doctor. He wonders if I've seen you."

Sherlock looked at his brother and smiled as he told Watson where his friend was. Finishing the message he sat back in the chair and waited, looking over his younger sibling and noting how just eating and drinking even with his help had taken all his strength.

"Rest Sherlock…You're exhausted." He told the detective who only shut his eyes, his body relaxing into the bed as Mycroft brought the blankets higher for more warmth.

It wasn't long before Watson was there with his wife Mary beside him at Mycroft's doorstep, with Mycroft's permission he quickly made his way to the room to find Holmes sleeping. Going to the man's bedside he did a quick examination but found that his friend was recovering well.

"Doctor, if you don't mind I'd like my brother to continue his recovery with me." Mycroft said quietly to Watson as he pulled him outside to talk, "Well… it seems you have things handled."

"John?" Mary said from the doorway as Watson nodded to her, "I'll take my leave now, let me know if anything changes." Watson said with hesitation to leave his friend, "I will doctor, he's safe here" Mycroft said to calm the Watson's nerves as he shut the door.

Watching them leave then turning and going back to his brother and sitting down, he began reading again. Promising himself he'd be there to help Sherlock catch this man so Mycroft could be sure of his brother's safety… and to always check in to know how he is doing.


Okay, I didn't know how to end this story so I just put that. I hope the ending isn't that bad and I hope all you hardcore SH fans can forgive me if I didn't get Mycroft's character right. I do hope that you enjoyed this.