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Mycroft almost ran up the stairs to 221B after two weeks of not seeing Sherlock, because he had been at a conference to mid-week, and Sherlock on an out of town case. The case had taken the Detective and Dr. Watson to Blanchland, Northumberland, England for exactly ten days, six hours, and twenty minutes. Mycroft had missed him, and the short phone calls didn't help the worry he felt that Sherlock was out of his protective influence in the woodlands and moors with a murderer.
When Mycroft tried discussing the case and danger involved in it, all his brother spoke about was the rolling hilltops of North Pennines and the tea shop where they served cream tea and scones that Mycroft just had to visit. Mycroft knew Sherlock was trying to relieve the worry, but the opposite was true.
The last conversation had ended in an argument about Mycroft interfering in Sherlock’s business and Mycroft hanging up on him in anger. He felt he was justified and hadn’t meant to intrude on Sherlock’s business but only let him know he couldn’t protect him there and was worried. Sherlock had yelled that he didn’t need anyone to protect him and that there was no need to worry about him. Soon they were yelling at each other until Sherlock had said, “You’re my brother and lover, not my babysitter, so stay out of my business.” It was at that spot that Mycroft had hung up
However, Sherlock was now back and in one piece. Mycroft was sure after they talked about the argument, they would work it out and make love. Mycroft just wanted to hold his brother, kiss him, and make love to him.
Opening the door quietly, the British Government slipped into the apartment. Knowing his brother would be out for a while, he started to take off his jacket and shirt as he opened the door to the bedroom, intending to surprise Sherlock by slipping into his bed and snuggling with him. However, the scene before him stopped him in the doorway.
In the bed was Sherlock with his arms wrapped around Dr. Watson. All of them thar he could see was unclothed. Sherlock’s head was on Watson’s chest while Watson was resting his head on the detective's shoulder. Clothes were thrown all over the floor as if they were in a hurry to get into bed. Then he noticed in the corner a pile of dirty sheets.
Mycroft’s heart dropped as he backed out of the room. The love of his life was in bed with another man, and from the looks of it, they had spent the night together. Heading toward the door, he grabbed his shirt, buttoning it wrong, and stumbled down the stairs.
Having driven himself, he fell into the car and raced off, not knowing where he was going. All he could do was think about what he had done wrong. Sherlock had said he loved him, but he was taking comfort from Watson. How long had it been going on? They left town frequently and spend the night away. Did it happen each time? How could I have fallen for the lie? Why did he ignore his own advice-Alone protects me?
It was only when the siren and flashing lights were almost on top of him, that he came back to how he was driving. Pulling over, he took out his wallet and prepared to show his government ID.
“Going to a fire, max?”
“I’ve been called in for a government emergency,” he easily lied as he handed his ID to the Bobby.
The Bobby straighten to attention, “Is there anything I can do sir?”
“No, thank you. I’m sorry that I was a little distracted thinking about solutions to the situation. I’ll be more careful.” Mycroft promised.
“Just drive carefully, sir. And good luck with your mission.”
Mycroft sat still for a few minutes before heading toward home.
The sound of the downstairs door slamming woke up Sherlock and John. The pneumonia fever was still burning in Sherlock’s eyes. “What was that?” He mumbled.
“A door slamming outside. You’re still burning up. I’ll get you some more Paracetamol.” John offered as he climbed out of bed. “We also need to change the sheets again. This set is soaked.”
A coughing spell had Sherlock unable to catch his breath for a minute. When he finally could breathe, he whined, “I don’t feel good, John.”
“I’m not surprised. I told you not to go into that icy water, and then I tried to convince you to change before heading to the police station for your statement. But no, you had to stay in those wet clothes and catch Pneumonia. Now sit up and take your medication.”
“You're not very kind to a sick man,” Sherlock complained.
“Not when the sick man keeps doing this to himself. You know you have a susceptibility to Pneumonia, but you always disregard your health. Now take this.” John shoved a spoonful of liquid toward the detective’s mouth.”
“That taste horrible,” Sherlock whined once more, moving away from the spoon.
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Stop acting like a child and take your medication,” John's frustration was apparent.
Holding his nose, Sherlock swallowed liquid before uncontrollably coughing again. “My throat hurts.”
“Take the Paracetamol and sit in the chair for a minute while I change the sheets.”
After helping the detective to the chair and a quick bed change, John helped him back to bed.
“John, why were you almost naked in my bed before?”
“You were completely out of it and had trouble breathing when you were coughing. I needed to sit you up so often that it was easier to lay here. As for almost naked, you were sweating so bad and holding me so tight that my shirt was soaked.”
“Oh. I’m sorrrrrry John.” Sherlock said, sinking into his pillow and falling asleep as his head hit the pillow.
_____________________________________________________________________
Jerking up from a sound sleep, Sherlock shook John awake. “When was Mycroft here?’
“He wasn’t. Now go back to sleep.”
“He was. Look over there. His suit jacket is on the floor.” Being sick slowed his observation abilities to realize there was something that didn’t belong there on the floor. ” Oh, no. That could’ve been him. What must he think? Where’s my phone?” Sherlock tirade stopped with another coughing bout that had his lips turning blue.
“Breath Sherlock. Slow your breathing down by breathing with me,” John ordered.
“Phone,” he huffed out barely.
“After you calm down so you can actually talk. Now breathe with ME!”
After about five minutes, Sherlock’s voice, what little of it there was, returned. He held out his hand out to John, who sighed and placed the phone it into his hands.
Dialing Mycroft’s private number, it rang and rang. No voicemail message, no answer. Next, he tried Anthea, who answered immediately. “Anthea,” Sherlock wheezed, “I can’t reach Mycroft.”
“I’m sorry Sherlock. He’s fine but doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“Please tell him that it wasn’t what it seemed.” Sherlock pleaded.
In the background, Sherlock could hear Anthea talking to his brother, and the ‘I do not wish to speak to him’ that was Mycroft’s answer.
“I’m coming there. Mycroft has to let me explain.” The detective said.
Before Anthea answered him, Sherlock could hear her heels clicking across the floor, and a door closing. “Sherlock, I’m not sure what happened, or what he saw, but he isn’t himself. I’m not sure that’s a good idea for you to come over here right now.”
A severe coughing spell overtook the anxious detective again, causing his breathing to be restricted. The fear he felt of losing his brother’s love caused his heart to pound so loud that he heard it in his ears, and his ability to move was paralyzed. He started to hyperventilate, causing light-headedness. Breathing because more difficult until he felt he was receiving no air.
John grabbed the phone, saying, “He’s having a panic attack along with Pneumonia, also an extremely high fever. I’m calling an ambulance as he can’t catch his breath. Will you inform Mycroft?”
Waiting for the ambulance, John tried to help his roommate to slow his breathing, but the anxiety was preventing Sherlock from following his instructions. By the time the medical personnel arrived, Sherlock lips and fingernail beds were blue. Oxygen was quickly applied, and an IV placed. Once the IV was available, the med-tech administrated Lorazepam (Ativan) to relax and put him to sleep. The hospital was prepared for him, and a private room was available, no doubt courtesy of Mycroft.
Anthea arrived to see John pacing the hall. “Dr. Watson, is there anything more Sherlock needs?”
“His bloody brother would be great. Where is he?” John’s demanded angrily.
“I don’t believe he’s coming. He did give me orders to see that Sherlock has everything he needs.”
“That big idiot. Where is he now?”
“In his office at the Diogenes Club but I wouldn’t attempt to talk to him now. He’s very disturbed about something that happened between them.” Anthea offered, although she knew John wouldn’t take her advice.
“Just stay with him. I’ll deal with Mycroft and his misconceptions. Those two and their misinterpretation of emotions are going to be the death of me.” John began to leave. He turned, trying to add some humor to the situation. “If I suddenly disappear, look for me, will you?”
“Good luck, Dr. Watson. These two need each other.”
Leaving an unconscious Sherlock with Anthea, John grabbed a taxi and headed toward Mycroft’s club. At the entryway, John reverted to his Captain Watson persona and demanded to speak to Mycroft, which earned him shhh from the doorman. “Either I’m taken to him, or I’ll make it very uncomfortable and loud for everyone.”
Having encounters with the angry doctor before, the doorman led him to Mycroft’s office. As the guide walked away, John took a deep breath before slamming the door open.
“What the bloody hell?” Mycroft demanded before seeing the doctor. “I’ve no time for you, Dr. Watson. Please leave.”
“No.”
Mycroft blinked and shook his head, “Did you just say no to me?”
“I did, and you’re going to listen to me before I do something neither of us will find healthy. Your brother needs your comfort and love, not you turning your back on him.”
“I’m sure he would prefer your company to mine, Dr. Watson.”
John huffed, “You Holmes and your limited knowledge of human nature are going to drive me back to alcohol. What you think you saw isn’t, in fact what it was.”
“I’m not blind, Dr. Watson. Two naked men tangle together in bed with dirty linen in a pile. I do not need emotions to understand what it means.”
“What think you saw and what you saw couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Then enlighten me,” Mycroft mockingly ordered.”
“Your brother decided to jump in an icy river and spend hours in the freezing clothing. Of course, he developed Pneumonia. We spent hours without sleep on the case, and when we arrived home, Sherlock was running a high fever and coughing uncontrollably. He needed help sitting up when this happened, so instead of constantly getting up, I fell asleep in his bed.”
“But you were both naked.” Mycroft reminded him.
“Sherlock was so hot that I took off his top to make him more comfortable. As for myself, my shirt was soaked with his sweat.”
“What about the sheets? They smelled like something had happened.”
“Being an octopus in his sleep, as you well know, Sherlock was sweating so much the sheets were ringing wet. They needed to be changed to keep him dry.”
“So, nothing happened?” Mycroft asked ashamed that he had jumped to conclusions.
“Nothing other than your brother becoming so distraught that it triggered a panic attack in addition to his Pneumonia, which is why he’s now in the hospital ICU on oxygen. When I left Anthea with him, he was still unconscious.”
Mycroft placed his head in his hands, “What have I done? He’ll never forgive me.”
“Look, just get there before he wakes up and let him know you’re not angry at him. He’s going to need a lot of TLC that you would be the best one to give him.”
Mycroft and John were driven back to the hospital where Anthea met them.
“He’s awake.” She informed them. “The doctor said his high fever is making him hallucinate and begging for his Mikey. I’ve explained that was his nickname for you when he was a child and that you were the one who always comforted him. I thought it was the best way to explain the situation, sir.”
“Thank you, my dear. You have my back.” Mycroft acknowledged her help in the matter.
When he reached his brother’s door, he opened to the sounds of his brother’s voice calling for him. Hurrying across the room, he said, “I’m here little brother.”
“Mikey are you mad at me? I didn’t do anything wrong this time. I swear it. I would never hurt you. Will you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. If anything, you need to forgive me,” Mycroft assured him.
“Can’t you hold me? I really need you.” Sherlock tried to climb out of bed and on to his brother’s lap.
The nurse giggled, “Don’t worry Mr. Holmes, fever does the strangest things. When his temperature goes down, I doubt if he’ll remember anything.”
Giving the woman a small smile, he thanked her as she left.
Making sure no one was around, Mycroft leaned over to place a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“Mikey, I’ve something important to ask you,” Sherlock whispered as he waved Mycroft closer.
“Anything, my love.”
“Do you still love me?” The sadness in Sherlock's voice made Mycroft flinch.
“More than life itself. I admit that I was jealous without reason. You mean everything to me, and I thought you left me. Forgive me?”
“I love you too much not to forgive you. Can you climb in here with me?” Sherlock lifted the covers in an invitation.
“There’s nothing I would like more, but we’re in a public area that would get us both in trouble.”
With a pout, Sherlock peeked under his bangs at his brother.
“That’s not going to work this time. I can, however, hold your hand until you fall asleep.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?” The little boy's voice made Mycroft smile.
“Now and forever. Sleep and get better so I can show you how much I want you.”
Sherlock’s eyes closed as he sighed. Perhaps they needed to ask Dr. Watson to explain emotions a little more, but for now, love would be the most important emotion, and they seemed to understand that one quite well.