Mycroft woke up to soft sheets on his skin, a mattress behind his back and the quiet beeping of monitors around him. He took a breath in and then took a slow pan of the room around him. Instantly his brain fired giving deductions as his gaze passed.

Door opens left, mostly likely on the third or fifth floors.

Room is fifteen feet by twenty four feet. Paint is aging slightly at the bottom giving hospital age to be over five years at least.

Windows haven't been cleaned in the past four days due to dust collection on the window pane.

It was a lot slower and shallow than he was used to but the fact that he was doing it made his eyes mist up. 'Sentiment,' he thought but or once did not feel very bad about it. He gaze fell on a figure that sat crouched in a small hospital chair, black mused up hair fell over sharp pale cheek bones.

"Sherlock," he said and the word fell from his lips with the stirring of hundreds of bad memories mingled with a few good ones. But the good ones made it bearable. The figure snapped up and startling blue eyes locked gazes with his own steel grey ones.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said his eyes roaming over Mycroft. Mycroft knew that Sherlock was deduction his condition.

"You have been unconscious five days on your own and three days via drugs," Sherlock said, knowing the first question he would ask. Mycroft winced at the word 'drugs'. He saw a flash of something cross Sherlock's face. Was it guilt? Concern?

"Who was it?" Mycroft asked.

"One of your goldfishes," Sherlock said, "that you apparently placed in a smaller pond than usual and he got angry. His name is Henry Fillner."

Mycroft flickered through the list of names and associated faces in his Mind Bank.

"Ahhh," he said finally, "I do remember him. But very little to say. He was never high on my list."

"Apparently you were the top candidate on his," Sherlock replied.

There was silence for a few seconds.

"Your friends at the Government came and took over the case from Lestrade and his friends," Sherlock said finally.

"Yes I would expect so," Mycroft replied, "They would deal with him in our own way."

There was another few seconds of silence that felt awkward and tense.

"Sherlock" Mycroft began the same moment Sherlock said his name. They both stared at each other till Sherlock waved him to continue. Mycroft swallowed hard then decided that he would just say it.

"During the time of my incarceration, I was placed subject to hallucination of your death," Mycroft said, "It has served to make me realize how much I do care for you. And how much I have failed you in the past and may continue to do so in the future. What I can say however is that I will not stop trying to help you. Because…I do love you. And I really can't bear to lose you."

There was an even more awkward pause. Sherlock had his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond Mycroft. Mycroft sighed and turned his gaze away his brother.

"I love you too," Sherlock said stiffly.

The Holmes brother turned and held each other's gaze. Then Mycroft sighed.

"Now will you please fetch me my phone so I can get out of here," he said, "I can't stand these generic sheets."

John Watson hid a smile as he heard Sherlock retort. HE shook his head. IT never ceased to amaze him how much those two loved and hated each other.

"It's fine," he said to Lestrade, "Want to go to the pub while those two catch up?" The Detective Inspector nodded and followed a chuckling Army Doctor out the hospital.