Chapter Text
Vigil Part 2 – Mycroft and John
When Sherlock managed to open his eyes again, Mycroft had left.
Now that he was the only person in the room for longer than a few seconds, he had to admit it felt not-good.
Before, he had wished for privacy, but now that it was present, it caused an unsettling dark vibrating undertone in the detective's mind.
In hindsight Sherlock understood his sibling might have tried to 'entertain' him, kept him from sliding any deeper into his sinister musings. On some occasions Mycroft had done that in their youth, too, by being his obnoxious self, by overtexting him, by just being there and providing input.
Why was he only doing that when Sherlock was incapacitated and unable to bridle?
Right, because he wouldn't allow it otherwise, would shove him away, would escape if that didn't work, or would verbally and with all other means fight him.
Maybe it was Mycroft's way of revenge to talk the living daylights out of him; usually Sherlock was the one doing most of the talking.
Now that he thought about it... Mycroft hadn't said anything particularly 'un-nice' during his visit.
He was too drained to keep his mind awake and gladly slipped back into oblivion, being awake was awkward and painful.
But it didn't last long, he resurfaced what felt like only moments later.
To his dismay not John but his brother had returned and was once more sitting next to him. The younger Holmes kept his eyes closed, but the noise of Mycroft's breathing and his after-shave diverted him from thinking.
Why didn't he just leave?
Surely he had better things to do.
"I feel the need to make sure you are as comfortable as possible."
His pure presence was enough to make him uncomfortable, especially after the events of their last meeting.
"If you'd give in to the medication and do what every sensible person would do in your situation - which is sleep by the way - you wouldn't even know I was here."
Sherlock grunted in displeasure.
"Can't you just once in a while listen to me? I know I haven't given you much reason in the past to trust me, but just every 64th time or so you could try... please? It threatens my sanity to see you in this much pain," Mycroft sighed close to him.
What isn't there can't be threatened.
"I haven't changed my mind about the Magnussen thing, but certainly I didn't expect this to happen... Who did this, Sherlock? Was it Magnussen?"
Sherlock remained silent and concentrated on dialling down the pain the hole in his body radiated.
It was intense and it was spreading. He felt as if there were flames all over his torso. It was getting worse.
It's not that bad, Sherlock tried to convince to himself.
"Yes, it is. You are in a lot of pain, why deny it?"
John headed back to the floor where Sherlock's room was, he had had a coffee in the cafeteria, which was better than expected. He wasn't sure if he was ready to leave Sherlock to his brother's care for the night and had tried to clear his mind before checking on them again. When he returned to the outside of the room he looked in through the window.
Mycroft was sitting close to his sibling and was clearly talking to him.
John frowned.
Had Sherlock fully woken up?
His friend had drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, which wasn't unusual due to the medication he was receiving and the after-effects of anaesthesia.
He watched the brothers for a moment, but Sherlock was completely still and showing no sign of wakefulness at all, although Mycroft looked as if he was in a completely normal conversation, expressions, gestures and all.
A bit curious John continued to observe.
When he saw Sherlock twitch suddenly he winced, wondering if he had just woken for real.
The really amazing thing that happened then was that Mycroft stood up and reached for his little brother's hand, gently squeezing it and holding it for several seconds before he let go again.
For a moment, the doctor felt like a voyeur, observing the older Holmes' trying to comfort the younger one.
It was a private moment.
The doctor turned away to give them some space, then decided to have a short walk through the halls.
He knew Mycroft cared, but they almost never touched.
John understood the dynamics between the brothers had changed during the time of Sherlock's two year long absence.
On one hand they were more open with each other, discussing things John never thought were possible, but on the other hand they were also more painstakingly aggressive in their uttered attitudes and dislike sometimes. It seems they had gathered aversion as well as fondness.
Mycroft was clearly more protective about Sherlock than he had been before the fall.
It was the one thing John trusted Mycroft with and the reason why he called him after the positive drugs test.
A few hours earlier
John had been surprised when the older Holmes had suddenly appeared outside the hospital room and eyed them through the large observation window, mustering his sibling closely for some long moments.
Slowly and as silent as he could, John had stood up.
He knew Mycroft had been pulling strings in the background, had made sure John could stay no matter what time of day.
John joined him in the hall and closed the door.
"How is he?" Mycroft asked in a low voice, as if fearing Sherlock might hear him through the wall.
"Where is the use in staying in the background? He needs to know you are here," John bombarded the man without introduction, although his voice remained low. "I know you can't have his back in this officially, but could you for once just be a family member and provide some comfort? Respect the man that he is and the fact that he is willing to fight for justice, fight someone who does as much damage as Magnussen?"
John bit his tongue, he hadn't wanted to continue this conversation here but Mycroft's behaviour earlier had been on his mind for the past few hours.
"John," the other man greeted him. "Please keep your voice down and don't mention that name in public."
During the past twelve hours John had called him about a dozen times and although Mycroft had asked for the medical side of things and seemed to be updated about his sibling's state of health in real time, he had refused to come by.
Nevertheless, he was there now.
Before, while trying to convince the older Holmes to come over on the phone, John had expressed his disapproval in colourful detail.
"They gave up on him when his heart stopped. He was on his own, as so often in his life. He had to gather the strength and struggle for life all by himself!" John had yelled into the mobile.
"I am sure he doesn't want my company, so why don't you stick to his bedside and please him?"
"This might have more devastating effects on the human soul than most people think. Being shot causes emotions and horrors to stir many people aren't even aware exist. He has been in a very bad place, still is," John continued.
"He is used to it. He has been in this kind of situation before," the older Holmes said coldly over the phone.
"Mycroft, are you nuts?… Shit… Really?"
"There is no need to insult me. Though I may assume you are a bit beside yourself after the events of last night."
"You mean during his... the hunt for Moriarty's men? Well, that is actually proving my point. Who was there with him? Who had his back? As I understand you were drawing strings in the back but he was the one who had to face all kinds of demons... alone!"
"I tried my best."
There was a long silence on the line.
John realised his outburst might be incomprehensible, but he had been over hours of worrying and he was tired and his unexpressed frustration and stress had piled up.
Nevertheless, he understood he had hit some sore point, but couldn't put a finger on what it was, just that it was something deep and that Mycroft was holding something back. He wished he wasn't on the phone but seeing the other man's face.
"You went with him to do legwork?" he poked.
"No. Only to Serbia. But he trusted the safe haven I was able to offer on several occasions."
"What does that mean?"
Mycroft just sighed and John realised this was not the time to dig deeper.
"Right. We are here, and it's something very disturbing to experience death this up close. He needs support right now. He knows he wants company. He would have fought me viciously if he didn't."
"Is that your modus operandum, if he doesn't fight you, he agrees?"
"Don't turn my words in my mouth, you know what I mean. He can't ask and he can't express his emotions, even if he wanted to. You know exactly what I mean."
"Being shaken by such an event is absolutely normal, as is wanting company."
"And what makes you think he shares your 'average' psychological emotions and experiences? My brother is different."
"I know, so get in here and protect that difference, he needs it."
John had then hung up without waiting for an answer.
And here Mycroft was, he had come to see his sibling.
John continued their earlier conversation, "We already missed the chance to keep him off the drugs. Any theories why he might have turned to them in the first place?"
Mycroft looked away and with a pang of guilt John realised he might know or apprehended more than John did.
When the older Holmes kept his silence, he continued.
"Maybe the relapse happened because he needed an escape from what he has been through. And now, we have this one chance to soften the impact of this, so lets do it. What is ahead of him won't be easy, he needs every support he can get."
"I never even tried to not give him my best support, so what are you insinuating? The drug issues just gained momentum, getting him off them will be even more difficult now that he gets this kind of painkillers. I agree with you, he has even more reasons to seek relief after the recent events... Why are we discussing this? You know I worry constantly."
"I am not asking you to worry, I am asking you to be a good brother and actually be present, provide a safe haven once more. Mycroft, I don't know what happened between you two in the past. Why don't you just tell me so I know how to handle this."
"Unacceptable."
John hadn't dared to hope he'd get a straight answer, but God had he tried to figure this out over the years. At first he had just thought it was sibling rivalry, but after the years he had known them, he had changed his mind. It was something much more sinister and far-reaching.
"Go home. I will look after him for the night."
When John hesitated, the older Holmes added, "Fine, if you feel unable to leave then at least get a break and have a coffee."
"Alright. I'll be back in a bit, text me if you need to leave."
"I will stay. For the night in case you chose to get some rest. He'll need you rested once he wakes up."
The initial telephone call had taken place five hours ago and Mycroft had arrived almost an hour ago and was still present. John hadn't dared to hope he would actually stay for more than five minutes, therefore he hadn't gone far, also he felt unable to leave his best friend alone in a situation like this.
John's stroll finally brought him back to Sherlock's room, and he once more was gazing into the room, trying to conceive the situation. He couldn't stay away, he was drawn back, as if anxious that his best friend might vanish again.
But before he had time to really observe their interaction once more Mycroft turned towards the window and spotted him.
He said something to his sibling and stood up, then entered the hallway.
For a moment, they silently stood there, side by side, both staring in through the window.
"You are aware he is too much out of it to understand you properly? He's probably just babbling when he talks, he won't remember most of it."
"I advice caution with this kind of attitude, my brother is conscious enough to receive everything if he chooses to, and if he is awake, he understands every single word that is bandied... He hasn't said a word, though. He certainly doesn't want to be, but he is aware. He is also unwell… Don't underestimate his level of consciousness due to the dose of medication. He senses more than he wants to and he is in quite some pain. This is only partially self-inflicted by his former substance abuse. His ability to 'go under' was already impaired when he was a child."
"Are you saying he deserves being in pain as a punishment for his drug use?"
"No. I am saying behave as if he is awake and can't answer. Which is quite an ordeal for him."
"Right. Sorry."
"He's in severe pain," Mycroft underlined by repeating himself, which he rarely did, a clear sign of his own distress.
"I know, but his doctor thinks he had enough painkillers."
"Then you need to talk to that doctor."
"I'm as uneasy about this as you are, but I don't want them to sedate him and neither..."
"They will listen to you, they did before. Consider easing not his physical but his mental agony, it will help the other first if you take care for the latter."
"Mental? What the hell are you saying, Mycroft?"
"That he needs a break from thinking."
"I'm not sure I understand..."
"Well, surely there is medication for this he can have in his state. You'll have trouble on your hands if he gets bored or decides he needs to escape his own circling thoughts."
"More information if you don't mind…"
"I meant that when he gets bored or thinks too much, 'things' will happen. He is clearly already starting to ponder more than is good for him. His dazed mind might make odd choices. You'll regret not having done anything to prevent that."
"Err, shit, Mycroft. What...?"
"Yes. You are the doctor, find a solution. You'll be listened to by his 'official' doctor, he will be happy to consider your advice, as you have seen before."
"It was you then, who..."
"Of course, do you think they let you interfere just because you showed them your license? I will talk to them if you don't."
Of course not. It was Mycroft Bloody Holmes who was the British Government.
John's jaw tightened, unsure yet if the kind of drugs the older Holmes was suggesting were in Sherlock's interest.
But his friend had been agitated and given them cause to worry, although no one had deemed it to be an issue as significant as Mycroft did now.
"Glad you share my interest in his wellbeing, Doctor," his tone was soft now and John could hear the worry, though it was carefully tugged away and he was only able to spot it because he knew the Holmes brothers this well.
With that the man in the posh suit nodded a greeting and turned away. A moment later he had walked into a lift. Sometimes John wondered if Mycroft had the same gift of calling lifts that Sherlock had of calling cabs.
The doctor decided to sit with Sherlock and observe him closely before considering the suggestion in earnest.
When Sherlock woke again something was different, more time than usual between his periods of waking up had passed… and - more important - the quality off his floating had changed.
He felt spaced out in a completely odd and unsettling different way.
After a moment he realised that this was part of the problem itself; he should feel distraught, just that he didn't really experienced it.
His brain knew this should be unsettling, but the feeling just wasn't there any longer, it had been, he remembered it clearly.
He needed a long moment to deduce that he must have been given some of those 'not-giving-a-shit pills' - as John called them sometimes - just not as a pill but directly through his IV port.
His agitation from before was only a vague memory.
To make sure he couldn't care less about anything distressing for now, he hauled back the memory of Moriarty in the padded mind cell while he was out of his mind from the pain, but even graphically remembering that situation failed to cause any panic.
For god's sake!
But even that wasn't anger, he just didn't care, just knew he should be angry about it.
Whatever…
He blinked and saw John sitting in a chair next to the bed, still in the same clothes and unshaven.
Outside, the misty but sunny atmosphere indicated the sun had risen not that long ago. Mercifully, John had lowered the shades and thoroughly aired the room - and he had slept through that.
"There you are. How are you doing?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, feeling unable to speak - or just too lazy.
"Yeah, it's alright."
He grunted in disapproval, but the larger part of his brain was glad John was here and Mycroft was not.
His mind was aware he should be annoyed and make a nasty remark about the stupidity of the idea to be given this kind of medication but he couldn't be bothered to be angry at all.
"It's going to be alright, Sherlock. Mycroft was a bit of a twit, but I am sure you already figured out what he opted for, your doctors shared his opinion - at least for now. My refusal was noted. But I have to admit I understand the reasoning. So you better behave and get better. You're going to be fine."
John smiled down at him and waited for several moments, probably he was just now realising Sherlock was in fact listened to him.
"Mycroft left some books, I must say they sound interesting, I mean really interesting. I could read them to you. Let's see... What about this one... it's quite new and about Canine Olfaction in Science* - or something. Mycroft thought you might like it."
Without waiting for an answer, he opened the book and started to read.
Sherlock missed the introduction almost entirely since his thoughts were trying to race but only managing snail speed... and when memories of Redbeard resurfaced he found he could just watch them pass without any feelings of sorrow coming up. In awe about that he spaced out for a bit, just watching the pictures and memories fly by. It was nice to just watch his childhood companion for a while.
When John said, "Chapter One," he was dragged back to his softened reality and started to listen.
It was slow way of gaining information, but his mind was slow anyway.
Information like this transported by John's soothing voice was something new.
He had missed that voice so much during his time away, he had welcomed the odd comments from the mind palace floating into his reality, even when they said nasty things.
It was good to indulge in listening to it and fill a new mind palace room with this knowledge wrapped in John's unique pattern of speech.
Thank goodness John was there.