Chapter Text
"Hello, brother dear." Mycroft uttered yet no answer was given but that wasn't a surprise. How could it be when his little brother was there, lying almost lifelessly on the white hospital bed with a ventilator guiding his every breath?
It gripped Mycroft's heart seeing his brother like this again. It was enough years ago after a certain drug dealer of his brother's had beaten him up. Mycroft had only managed to find him when the doors of death nearly opened for his little brother. He wished for his younger brother to never get hurt again.
Alas, those make wishes .. well, wishes. They're something more of a childlike hope despite Mycroft fully aware that this could all happen once more especially since the younger Holmes was still friends with the raging doctor.
He was well aware John Watson wasn't as angelic as his little brother thought of him to be, especially when it came to the army doctor's hot temper. Still, Mycroft didn't expect his brother to become like this.
He didn't expect the ex-army doctor to become so … violent especially when it was regarding his little brother.
The elder brother bit his lip, eyes quickly scanning onto his little brother's heavily bruised face and limbs before he grabbed the black plastic visitor's chair and plopped down.
"Today's your birthday, little brother. Don't you want to get up and we could perhaps, celebrate together? I could even get you that chocolate cake you had your eyes on from our favourite bakery. No need to pay me by solving a case — I can assure you." His voice was gentle as he took a hold of the younger man's pale hand and held it firmly.
Once again, there was no response from his little brother and Mycroft's eyes watered slightly. This wasn't supposed to happen. His little brother was supposed to be rolling his eyes, mayhaps even spatting his usual diet jabs as he ate his birthday cake as usual.
Yet, here Sherlock was, battered and severely bruised from head to toe with no indications of waking up even in the slightest. Mycroft placed their gripped hands to his brother's side while his other hand ever so gently brushed the motionless man's bandaged head before it moved to caress the younger man’s sunken cheek.
God, his little brother was thin much like a stick. Even when his little brother was high on drugs back then, he wasn’t as thin as he was now. Then again, Mycroft supposed that his brother had always been on the lighter side of the scale and it had been so long since he had seen Sherlock in a much more healthy manner and weight.
Mycroft sighed, delicately bringing his brother’s limp hand to his face as he whispered the next few words. “I’m sorry, brother mine. I’m so, so sorry … You didn’t deserve this, Lock.”
The civil servant sighed to himself once more. Sherlock would've called him silly for his reactions, probably even tell him it wasn't necessary, that this will all be over and once it was, they could banter about or perhaps snipe at the other.
The ginger haired man laid a gentle kiss atop his brother’s back hand, laying the hand down to his brother’s side once more while he gave his brother’s bandaged smooth head another tender stroke. “You may never hear me say this aloud but I truly do care for you, brother mine. I have since I first saw your little self, crying to the world as a sign that you've come out. Naturally, we have our differences yet I … I love you dearly and as I've told you before, Lock."
Mycroft bent over slightly, brushing his lips over Sherlock's forehead and gently pressed a kiss, letting his lips linger for a while before he uttered a sentiment he hadn't managed to keep from his little brother during the Magnussen case.
"Your loss would break my heart so please … wake up when you can. I … I can't fathom losing you, brother dearest. I simply can't. Who would bicker with me now or even make our parents equally upset?"
Mycroft sighed, caressing Sherlock's cheek. "Who else but you, my dearest little bee?"
Perhaps he was showing weakness at this very moment but the civil servant didn’t have it in himself to care. Who gives a damn anyway? This was his brother and he would rather take the possibility of Sherlock hearing this than mumbling it in front of his little brother's grave, where he was well aware Sherlock wouldn't be able to hear him one bit.
They did say coma patients heard whatever their visitors had been saying and he had hoped that would be true because Sherlock would be able to hear how concerned he was and how much Mycroft actually valued his little brother.
The civil servant continuously stroked Sherlock's smooth bandaged head and began humming a familiar tune.
*Lull-a-bee, lull-a-bee,
Honey bees in the tree,
Rest your wings 'til the morning light,
Lull-a-bee, lull-a-bee,
Honey bees in the tree,
Your honey is safe tonight.
It was a lullaby that he used to sing to Sherlock to lull him to sleep when he was an infant as well as whenever the younger man had nightmares and would crawl into the elder's bed, wrapping his little scrawny arms around Mycroft's torso and snuggling his little self comfortably into Mycroft's hold as the elder sang him to sleep.
Just dream to the tune I am singing,
Time to stop all that buzzing and stinging.
A small smile plastered on the elder brother's lips as a snippet of Sherlock asking if bees could really sleep popped into his mind.
"Mikey, do bees really sleep?" Ah, his little brother had always been the curious little bee ever since he could speak.
"Yes," he remembered saying. "Bees do actually sleep, Lock."
"How do we know they're sleeping?" Mycroft leaned slightly forward and rubbed Sherlock's back hand ever so gently.
"Well … When our little buzzing friends fall asleep, their legs start to flex and they bring their heads to the floor. Their antennae stop moving and if the bees are really tired, they sometimes fall over sideways."
"Oh! I really want to see that, Mycroft! Can we please see that happening when we visit grandmère?"
"But it would be past your bedtime, Lock and you know how upset Mummy would be if she knew of our whereabouts."
"Then how about we don't tell her and this could be our little secret mission? Please, Myc? Be my partner in crime?" Mycroft leaned back, his stomach dropped as his little brother's mischievous smirk came to mind. God, how he wished he could see the smirk once more.
He would do anything to bring back his young, mischievous, force of a nature albeit slightly haywired little brother.
Anything.
Lull-a-bee, lull-a-bee,
Honey bees in the tree,
Don't sleep lightly, sleep very tightly,
Happy slumbers to you.
As he finished singing the nostalgic lullaby, his phone rang. Quickly, the ginger haired man fished the metallic device out and accepted the call.
"Mycroft Holmes."
"Sir, our agent has successfully spotted him and is bringing him to the specified location as we speak."
Mycroft may not be able to stop the damage John Watson had laid upon his little brother but rest assured, he could definitely deliver a suitable outcome for the short tempered doctor.
With a shark-like grin, the civil servant replied, his voice smooth. “Splendid. Thank you, Anthea.”
“Oh course, sir.”
“Oh … and Anthea?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Ensure Gregory’s alibi is solid in case the police suspect he is on this little adventure we are about to have with the atrocious doctor.”
“Very well, sir. Consider it done.”
“Thank you.”
He hung up and finally, his plan was going as he expected it to. Mycroft’s grin ceased however as his eyes drifted back to his motionless little brother. The one person that used to be an absolute manic and wouldn’t have appreciated being stuck in the hospital, immobile and dependent on a ventilator to breathe.
No, little brother would be livid, whining and perhaps even yelling to the staff and his loved ones, pestering them to release him and let him go home.
Mycroft clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white before he unclenched them and ran his hand over his little brother’s pale face. The same pale face that once held an imaginary halo; or as their mother once loved to describe Sherlock when he was a mere child and if Mycroft were honest, he didn’t mind it at all.
For his little Lock truly was an angel until of course experiences ruined his innocent nature and it didn’t help that Mycroft himself back then lost whatever connection they had as soon as he stepped into his needed training.
God, how he wished they didn’t because if they still had that connection, none of this would’ve happened and his little brother would still be here, gracing Mycroft with perhaps a fondness he had longed to share with — instead of the constant spat they've had going on.
Stop reminiscing about the past, Mycroft. It does you no good. A voice that strangely sounded like Sherlock resonated within his mind palace. Mycroft hummed. He supposed the voice was right. Reminiscing what had happened wouldn’t be good but planning for what will take place soon was his goal as of now.
He better get on with it then. Gregory and Anthea were waiting after all.
The civil servant gently took a hold of his little brother’s hand for the umpteenth time and cradled it closely as he whispered the promise he had always, always set out for himself.
“Lock, I know you would disapprove of what I’m planning to do with your beloved doctor, perhaps insisting to me that you’ve made a vow to protect them but just as you’ve made your promise with them, I had made mine concerning you ever since I had first set my eyes on you,” He paused, as he felt his vision blurred. Swiftly, the teary eyed brother blinked his tears away and proceeded with his little speech. “I promised I would always protect you at all costs even if something were to happen to me. It doesn't matter as long as you’re safe.”
Mycroft closed his eyes, his breaths a bit heavy as he leaned in and pressed feathery kisses upon his younger sibling’s bandaged head and forehead before he pulled away.
"And I'm bound to keep my promise, brother mine — no matter your protests." The elder brother sighed, straightening up and gave Sherlock one last gentle caress. "Goodnight, dearest. I'll see you soon and with tremendous news for sure."
Then, off he went to where resided a doctor he once hoped would be the better for his brother, only to be harshly proven wrong at every angle.
Though, Mycroft made sure that if Dr. Watson somehow miraculously survived and ran off, he wouldn't be able to hurt Sherlock any more by telling the doctor and nurse that John Watson was forbidden from entering his little brother's hospital room.
The ones that were permitted freely to go in were himself, Gregory, Anthea, and Mrs. Hudson. He was debating on whether to put Dr. Hooper on the list but thinking back to some of the pains she had caused, he had decided against it. She wasn't forbidden to visit but if she were to ever want to get in, the doctors in charge will inform the civil servant of her presence and if he were to give her permission, she wouldn't be able to be there for long.
Good. No need for those supposedly healers hurting his brother anymore than they've had.
As he went off far too quick, he didn't catch the single tear that ran down the unconscious man's cheek.