A/N: Hey everyone! So I'm back with my second adult Sherlock story! Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship is definitely my favourite (as you can probably tell) and I hope I do It justice in these stories XD This one was inspired slightly from a fan art I saw, I'll see if I can find it again for you. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I apologise for any OOCness.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, and spoilers from 'His Last Vow'.

Please review if possible :) xx

Hospital Visits

Mycroft couldn't believe it. He'd been in the middle of a meeting when he got the phone call from the hospital. Someone had found Sherlock passed out in Hyde Park; another drug overdose probably. Mycroft felt angry at Sherlock and embarrassed to have him as a younger brother at that moment, yet he cut his meeting short and hurried to find the driver all the same.

He seriously thought Sherlock had grown out of this by now, found other things to entertain himself with – not that Mycroft agreed with many of them. The older Holmes just didn't understand why Sherlock would still even consider taking drugs when his deduction skills were at the height of impeccability; why would he risk corrupting such a wonderful mind? Mycroft had never denied Sherlock that, his mind truly was wonderful, it was just that Mycroft's was more so…

He didn't know what he was going to say to Sherlock, but Mycroft supposed it didn't matter if his brother was unconscious anyway. When he'd been in similar situations before the older Holmes would just go with the usual 'I told you so' speech, but that seemed a bit redundant this time around as it clearly hadn't worked before.

The first time it had happened, Mycroft had yelled at Sherlock the moment he came to. Of course Sherlock had sat there in a stunned silence – Mycroft had never been that angry at him before- but the truth was although Mycroft had been frustrated he was more afraid than anything else. Fear was a foreign feeling to Mycroft – as were most emotions - and he didn't at all like having to battle the physical symptoms as well as the mental. Yes, fear was a feeling he greatly detested.

The driver pulled up outside the hospital and Mycroft made his way into the looming building. As always, his umbrella was at the older Holmes' side, and he needed it to support him at this particular time as nothing or no one else would.

"Excuse me, I received a call telling me my younger brother has just been admitted here, his name is Sherlock Holmes" Mycroft informed one of the nurses at the reception desk.

"Ah yes, right this way, sir" the woman replied with an annoyingly bright smile. Mycroft wondered how on Earth someone who worked in this building of limbo could possibly find the will to smile.

Mycroft followed the woman in silence, not that he really needed to. The halls of this hospital were too damn familiar to him now.

"Your brother is –"the nurse started, but Mycroft interrupted her.

"Don't bother, I know perfectly what is wrong with my brother" Mycroft insisted "both in and out of this context" he added as an afterthought.

The nurse looked slightly taken aback but said nothing more until they reached Sherlock's room. "The doctor will –"

"Look, I understand very well what the doctor will do and what he will say, this is not a new experience for me" Mycroft snapped more harshly than he probably should have "I expect that my brother be given the best care and treatment, or else the doctor will have me to deal with. I also expect that we be left alone for the duration of my visit"

The nurse looked startled and her mouth moved but no words came out. Mycroft sighed; Goldfish -he reminded himself- just a goldfish.

"My apologies, I'm just…this gets to me a bit" he said in the most indirect way possible.

The nurse nodded once and went scurrying down the hall. Mycroft sighed once more before entering Sherlock's room and closing the door behind himself.

The sight of Sherlock lying in the hospital bed was pretty much like the previous four times his drug use had landed the younger Holmes in the hospital. Sherlock looked extremely thin, so fragile he could have been knocked over by a gust of wind. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, his skin was ghostly pale and his mop of curls were more out of place than usual, which Mycroft hadn't thought possible.

The older Holmes stood at the end of his brother's bed not sure exactly what to do or say; another feeling Mycroft hated, he couldn't stand not knowing, not being in control of himself. But it was the same image all over again. Eventually, Mycroft saw past the broken man before him, and instead it was just his baby brother asleep in bed back at their country home.

Since the day Sherlock was born Mycroft would sneak into his brother's room and just watch him in his crib. Mycroft had been fascinated by the tiny being, but he'd also had a strange sensation watching over the innocent little baby, watching over his sick brother when he had flu and Mycroft was the only one who'd take care of him, staying by Sherlock's bedside whenever he'd had a nightmare.

Mycroft now knew that sensation had been the need to protect his brother, and even though he didn't like to admit it, the older Holmes still felt the need to look out for his brother, whether Sherlock liked it or not.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Mycroft asked his brother's still form. "Even I struggle to comprehend what's going on in your mind sometimes, and I taught you everything you know."

He moved over to the chair beside Sherlock's bed, leaning his umbrella against it and then taking the seat. He crossed his legs on over the other and then pyramided his fingers together in a thoughtful way.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Sherlock" Mycroft continued to talk to unresponsive ears. "Is this you crying out for my help? Have you finally fallen so far there is no return?" he placed his hands on the arms of the seat and gripped them tightly. "You know how much I hate this Sherlock, how I hate having to deal with these people, how I hate not understanding!" he said in a raised voice and his tone harsh. "And I hate…" he sighed and lowered his voice so he was calmer now "I hate seeing you like this"

There was silence for a while. Mycroft was almost expecting Sherlock to reply with one of his sarcastic comments or dry witted humour, telling Mycroft to stop making a fool of himself because he was just overreacting and losing his dignified composure. Actually, the older Holmes almost found himself wishing for it, but he knew there was no point in putting any hopes on wishes, they were worse than believing in superstation.

"You'll stay with me for a few days when you get discharged, of course" Mycroft finely said, mostly just to break the deafening silence. "I clearly can't trust you to look after yourself, so I'll just have to baby you. You'll resent me for it, I know, but you only have yourself to blame and it's for your own good" and my sound of mind.

Again, the older Holmes fell silent, and after a while Sherlock began to stir. It wasn't the type of sluggish movement which suggested he was waking up, but rather sudden shivers and jerks, like he was having a nightmare.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft said leaning forward a little. "Sherlock, it's alright"

It didn't help, Sherlock continued to get even more and more distressed up until the point he started moaning and mumbling incoherently. Mycroft knew what he should do; there was a trick he used when he and Sherlock were children, but they were both grown men now, surely Sherlock didn't need that kind of treatment now and Mycroft shouldn't have to be moved that far out of his comfort zone.

However, something stirred within the older Holmes, and he didn't think he could bear to see his little brother in such a state for much longer. So, Mycroft stood and went to the blinds, closing them just to make sure they wouldn't be seen; it was almost like he didn't want word that he was capable of emotion getting out, he would surely lose his powerful image. He then went back over to the chair and pulled it a little closer to Sherlock's bed before sitting down.

Then, with a rather hesitant hand, Mycroft reached out to his brother's head and began to delicately stroke Sherlock's thick curls. As always, this wasn't good enough for the demanding Sherlock Holmes, and so Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes before using his other hand to take hold of his brother's and running his thumb delicately across it. Now Sherlock began to calm.

"Drama Queen" Mycroft muttered, trying to keep up his stony appearance, but from an outside view it genuinely looked like a concerned older brother lulling his younger sibling and making sure he knew everything was okay.

"It's alright" Mycroft said again, forgetting his icy persona for a few moments and being a big brother instead "I'm here"

Sherlock turned completely peaceful again after that, but not before muttering something which distinctly sounded like 'Mycroft'. The older Holmes removed his hand from his brother's hair and tried to retrieve his other from Sherlock's, but the younger Holmes took it in a sudden vice like grip, and no matter how much Mycroft tried he couldn't get his appendage free. Sherlock's strength was uncanny considering he was completely out of it.

"Alright, I'll stay" Mycroft said in a way which made it sound like he was being forced, but deep down he was secretly pleased. "You really can't cope without me, you know, and I'll make you admit it someday"

Naturally, Sherlock didn't respond and it didn't seem he was willing to budge, so Mycroft supposed he should make himself more comfortable. He placed the elbow of his free arm on the arm of the chair and rest his cheek in his palm. Sighing, the older Holmes gradually allowed his eyes to shut even though he knew he would very likely wake up with back pain and a crick in his neck; being an older brother is truly exhausting.

"You owe me for this" Mycroft muttered before allowing himself to drift off, but just before that, he could have sworn he'd felt Sherlock squeeze his hand in acceptance.

A number of years later and Mycroft was once more walking through the halls of the hospital towards his bedridden little brother. It hadn't been drugs this time though, Sherlock had been shot, and Mycroft couldn't decide if that was better or not.

He'd told Sherlock not to get involved with Magnussen, but clearly some kind of reverse psychology had kicked in and Sherlock had gone and done it anyway. Now look at the state he was in. Mycroft knew he was angry at his brother for letting things get that far, but there was that similar trivial feeling from within which was a mixture of concern and the need to protect his baby brother.

Mycroft didn't know if he could bear doing this for much longer, pretending his brother's frequent attraction to injury and danger didn't bother him. What Mycroft has said to John when they'd first met was true. He did worry about Sherlock, constantly, and this only helped further prove his right to concern.

However, Mycroft could never tell Sherlock himself this, it was better for his brother to believe he was mainly emotionless; otherwise it could lead to even more complications in their relationship than there already were. Besides, Sherlock had John now, and the good doctor made sure the younger Holmes took reasonable care of himself and was always loyally by his friend's side.

The latter point was proven when Mycroft walked by the window of his brother's room and stopped to observe as John sat at Sherlock's bedside, saying things to him even though Sherlock didn't appear to be awake. Something clenched deep within Mycroft at that moment, and it was almost as if he realised his brother didn't need him like that anymore, John was more comfort to Sherlock now than Mycroft could ever be.

The older Holmes went to the door, taking a grip on the handle, but he hesitated again and let out a sigh. There was no point intruding, he supposed, John was doing a good job. So instead, Mycroft pulled back his hand and clenched it into a slightly shaky fist before walking away.

"Mycroft!" a voice called after him, but the older Holmes chose to ignore it; he just had to get away. "Mycroft, wait…" he was stopped by someone gripping the top of his arm and was turned to face John Watson. "Are you not at least going in to see him then?" the doctor asked a little accusingly.

"No, he seemed perfectly alright with you" Mycroft said, swinging his umbrella around a bit to distract himself and hopefully John from being able to tell what was really bothering him.

"You're still his brother, Mycroft" John said as if the older Holmes needed to be reminded "Sherlock would like to know you were there for him…"

Mycroft scoffed "Don't make me laugh; I am the last person Sherlock would…"

"Then why are you here?" John but in. Mycroft looked speechless for a moment. "Well, why did you come if you didn't want to be here for Sherlock?" John pushed for a response.

"Mummy would never forgive me if she knew Sherlock was alone" Mycroft said, although he could tell John didn't believe him. That was probably the one thing John understood and could interrupt better than Mycroft; emotions. "But he's not alone, he has you" Mycroft said as he looked down at his umbrella. "He doesn't need me"

John frowned a little, more with sadness than confusion. "Surely that's up to Sherlock to decide?" he asked.

Mycroft smirked a little "He made that decision a long time ago."

"It's because he doesn't know that you…" John started in a rush, but this time Mycroft cut him off.

"John, please, just…don't" the older Holmes said.

John sighed "Why don't you want him to know you care? Why won't you let yourself care?"

"Because, caring is not an advantage" Mycroft relayed his own motto. "And I should know, caring has caused me too much stress over the years, especially with Sherlock Holmes as a little brother"

With that he turned away, leaving John in a stunned silence. Mycroft hoped this was the last time he'd have to be in this damned hospital, and he hoped he never had to feel that vulnerable ever again. He despised the feeling, and he wouldn't let it happen once more. At least, not whilst Sherlock's heart was still beating.

Everything would be alright for Mycroft as long his little brother still breathed.