Work Text:
3/05/2004
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It was a pretty boring day, or as boring as it can be when you’re the British government; that is, until Anthea comes sprinting into the room blurting out “Sir, this is urgent.” All eyes of the meeting room turning to her.
“Excuse me” he quickly leaves the 8 occupants who are staring open mouthed at the suddenness.
Mycroft hasn’t been able to find his brother for the past 8 months. He honestly should’ve seen this coming after letting Sherlock out of Sherrinford, he’s been using every security camera and form of tracking with little to no success.
“Anthea, is it Sherlock?” Mycroft says as he guides them into an unoccupied room.
“Yes, we saw him on Dorset street sir” Inside his head Mycroft is doing backflips because they’ve finally spotted Sherlock, but he can tell that there’s something Anthea hasn’t disclosed yet. He gave her an expectant look silently telling her to continue.
“There’s also footage of him with heroin and cocaine leaving a drugs den”
“Thank you Anthea.” He says in a clipped tone, Walking quickly to his office. “Please come with me Anthea I could use your help” he really does try to soften his voice but a prickle of anxiety is slowing ebbing away at him, not quite being able to shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.
_____
As he walks into his office he quickly brings up all of what M15 have been able to find, Sherlock being his brother having nothing to do with all the security requirements for him to be roaming freely. Ever since he was put into sherrinford at the age of 11, the government having knowledge of his intellectual abilities since the age of 5.
Mycroft found out how poorly Sherlock was treated in there and how detrimental it was to his mental health, therefore having him be removed from the facility at 16, Sherlock has since then developed a drug habit and has used his superior mind solely to evade Mycrofts watchful eye.
When he finally opens what little security footage they managed to find he’s shocked at how hollow his little brother looks. Sherlock has always been thin but he’s currently verging on skeletal, his prominent cheek bones making his face look gaunt, missing the little facial fat he had months ago. To say that Mycroft is concerned is a severe understatement.
“Where are his current whereabouts?” Not looking to waste any more time.
Anthea must have been reading his mind because not only a second later “he’s in an ally way in York street sir” already moving towards the door “we’ll get to him” she quietly promises as she holds the door open for him. Despite his icy persona he’s secretly grateful for her small reassurance.
Leaving the building as quickly as they can Anthea and himself make their way towards the car, Mycroft driving and Anthea keeping a look out on any and every device they can to make sure they finally find Sherlock.
_______
Running down the last ally way Mycroft hears laboured breathing, stopping in his tracks to hear better he can tell that the person has a fractured rib. Making his way closer to the sound he nears the trash cans and behind it, laying in a pile, is a mop of curly dark brown unkept hair and oversized cloths.
His heart drops as he recignises Sherlock curled into himself, his brain screaming at him as he drops to his knees onto the dirty semi wet floor of an ally way, but that doesn’t matter.
“Oh, brother mine” he whispers softly cradling a barely conscious Sherlock, he fights very hard not to flinch and sprint away when Sherlock promptly vomits only bile and some gets on him.
“M.. mm-Mycroft m’sorry“ Sherlock slurs fighting to stay conscious, it’s only then that Mycroft starts paying attention to the needle next to Sherlock and an open bag missing majority of its contents.
Mycroft didn’t think it possible for his heart to sink any lower and the next second Sherlock spasms and passes out.
Shit.
Lowering Sherlock’s head onto the pavement he quickly dials an ambulance, lifting up Sherlock’s baggy sleeves he finds him ice cold and sees that his wrists are littered with scars varying in size, Mycroft quickly takes his brothers pulse, which is hammering weakly, not good.
Sherlock seems to be getting paler if that was possible, moving Sherlock onto his side for easier breathing he can distantly hear an ambulance, finally.
A small amount of relief washes over him as he hears Anthea guiding paramedics down the ally.
Watching his brother getting put onto a stretcher and all but running so he can get into the ambulance he rushes into the vehicle.
After 30 seconds worth of driving Sherlock begins to go into cardiac arrest, shit. Mycroft was worried it had been an over dose. He didn’t think it could get worse.
The heart monitor goes flat.
It went flat.
Breathe Mycroft.
BREATH.
FUCKING BREATHE
He comes back into himself with a jolt to find he’s hyperventilating, watching as the medics speed to the hospital.
“Uh sir? Please remember to breathe” one of the paramedics speak to him.
“Copy me. In 1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. out 1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. repeat with me” and she continues until his breaths finally stabilise.
“Terribly sorry about that” he mutters to her. “What is his current condition?” He asks.
“We have stabilised him to the best of our ability in the ambulance, his heart nearly stopped because of all the drugs he has used and him being young not helping, which by the way please fill out this sheet as we are nearly at the hospital and need to know basic information.” She says looking wary as he just had a panic attack, though he will never admit to aloud.
“Yes, thank you” he quickly says and fills out the sheet, texting Anthea to meet him at the hospital.
_______
Finally sitting down next to the hospital bed Mycroft can take in the full situation. Sherlock has been turning to drugs for the past 8 months, no doubt to cope with his ever rapid mind and trauma, he is malnourished and looks like he will be in ICU for at least a week after such an intense OD. He looks dirty and as far as Mycroft knows does not have any money so he’s probably been living in off grid drug dens.
He plans on sending Sherlock to rehab once out of hospital, Mycroft really doesn’t want to risk nearly losing his brother again.
The heart monitor starts to pick up slightly and Sherlock begins to open his eyes, Mycroft already reaching for water to give to his brother.
Sherlock gulps it all down, spilling some on his chin but not being able to lift his tired limbs to do anything about it. Mycroft wipes his mouth with a tissue nearby and stares at him, waiting for anything.
Once it’s clear Sherlock isn’t going to start the conversation Mycroft gives in. “Why did you do this?” He really does try not to sound harsh but it still comes out that way.
Sherlock flinches slightly at his tone and looks away “I’m sorry, myc” Sherlock croaks, his eyes filling with tears.
Mycroft silently grabs the water jug and refills Sherlock’s cup and brings it back up to his lips trying harder than last time for it not to spill.
“Was this an attempt?” He questions almost inaudible. the anxiety from earlier still lingering and dread pooling at what the answer could be.
“Yes” he hears Sherlock quietly mutter.
“Why didn’t you stay with me? Why did you run away and avoid me like the plague? I was looking for you brother mine, I was worried. Why would you want to throw your life away?” He desperately wants to understand, all the emotions he suppresses bubbling up at once.
“Why would I trust you again? What did it get me the last time Mycroft. YOU LEFT ME THERE. You cannot truely expect me to trust you just because you took me back out. The damage is done and now this is the result.” Sherlock spat, voice still rough.
If that wasn’t a stab to the heart he doesn’t know what would be. Had he really been that blind to it all? He distantly remembers Sherlock telling him he wanted to die just 2 years ago suddenly coming to the front of his mind. But Mycroft had just made sure to double the security. How did he let it get this bad? How did he let it escape his notice the intensity of what his brother had been dealing with? To top it all off it’s all his fault. Their parents died when Sherlock was 11, they didnt have any relatives so he became Sherlock’s guardian, having already fully graduated by 17, Mycroft was working for the government, he was only new to it, still gullible and to young to make right decisions.
He let them take Sherlock to sherrinford, he was told that it was because he was such an excellent mind and could be a great asset to the country in future years. Desperate to climb the ranks he agreed. He’s never going to forgive himself, he still remembers finding out what kind of Experiments they did on Sherlock, ‘to find out how a mind like his was possible’ he had been told. He should have known better.
“I’m sorry Sherlock. You will never go back there or any where alike, I promise. I can never tell you how sorry I am brother mine.” Sherlock finally met his gaze at this, the tears in his eyes began sliding down his pale cheeks.
“You promise?” And he truly did look hopeful, young shoulders carrying weights too heavy for anyone.
“Yes, Sherlock I promise” and he slowly took his brothers hand and gave it a squeeze.
“I’ll be putting you into rehab so that we can stop this drug habit you’ve picked up, and after that I’ll help you with a living situation until you can find work. How does that sound?” Mycroft tried to hide his hopefulness for his brother to get better, already knowing it would be hard. Having 2 suicide attempts before the age of 17 was going to be hard to over come, Mycroft could only hope.
“Okay” sherlock says quietly.
Moments later the heart monitor begins to go way to quickly and Sherlock seizes, nurses flood the room and Mycroft is forced out. Why, why, why why whywhywhywhyWHY THIS IS ALL HIS FAULT HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER.
He should have been better.