From the Rooftops
Show: Sherlock (BBC)
Paring: Gen
Rating: K
Summary: For the sherlockbbc_fic kinkmeme, Prompt: Mycroft has to pause to maintain control during an emotionally tense situation. It's not much, but to the people around him it's as shocking as if he'd screamed.
Theres a lot of screaming at hospitals, its one of the reason's Mycroft hates them. Disease, shouting, crying, helplessness, chaos, and death. Hospitals were just meant to delay the inevitable or help the weak close the book of a loved one's story.
Mycroft hated hospitals.
The beeping of the machine made one irregular noise causing Mycroft to turn his head and stare at the body of John Watson, not moving but alive.
Sherlock was still in surgery.
DI Lestrade would not stop pacing the room. Anthea was texting avidly on her blackberry, informing him that he still had work to do. There was civil servant just outside the door, Mycroft knew she had a dull name but he couldn't bring himself to care that he couldn't remember it.
Sherlock was still in surgery.
Lestrade was swearing as he continued his pacing, mumbling insignificant things, sometimes in french but Mycroft couldn't focus and instead turned his attention back to the pale doctor laying in the hospital bed.
Alive.
So very much alive.
He should be in that room.
That closed off room across the hospital where his baby brother was bring ripped apart. Mycroft felt an off sensation in his throat but swallowed it down as a doctor obviously coming from Sherlock's surgery walked into the room.
"Mister Holmes?" The doctor glanced at Mycroft who gave him a nod. "Your brother has a piece of metal shrapnel near his spine."
His brother's blood was on the front of the doctor's scrubs.
"We were able to get it out successfully but-"
His baby brother was laying somewhere, all alone, in this wretched place they say is meant for healing people.
"We're not sure if there will be any side effects until he wakes up from the surgery and-"
Sherlock was going to live.
Mycroft blinked at the doctor as he realized the other man had stopped talking. He opened his mouth to speak before he felt that odd sensation in the back of his throat and forced it back down, but it was too late it seemed.
Anthea had stopped texting, staring at Mycroft in shock.
Lestrade had stopped pacing and Mycroft suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder and the older Holmes didn't have to turn around to know it was Sherlock's beloved DI trying to show some form of support.
Mycroft continued talking to the doctor as if the pause never happened. He didn't care that these people somehow were able to see the pain he had just been in.
Didn't care if that changed their opinion of him.
Mycroft didn't care.
Because Sherlock was alive.
XXX
XXX
XXX
The End.
Paring: Gen
Rating: K
Summary: For the sherlockbbc_fic kinkmeme, Prompt: Mycroft has to pause to maintain control during an emotionally tense situation. It's not much, but to the people around him it's as shocking as if he'd screamed.
Theres a lot of screaming at hospitals, its one of the reason's Mycroft hates them. Disease, shouting, crying, helplessness, chaos, and death. Hospitals were just meant to delay the inevitable or help the weak close the book of a loved one's story.
Mycroft hated hospitals.
The beeping of the machine made one irregular noise causing Mycroft to turn his head and stare at the body of John Watson, not moving but alive.
Sherlock was still in surgery.
DI Lestrade would not stop pacing the room. Anthea was texting avidly on her blackberry, informing him that he still had work to do. There was civil servant just outside the door, Mycroft knew she had a dull name but he couldn't bring himself to care that he couldn't remember it.
Sherlock was still in surgery.
Lestrade was swearing as he continued his pacing, mumbling insignificant things, sometimes in french but Mycroft couldn't focus and instead turned his attention back to the pale doctor laying in the hospital bed.
Alive.
So very much alive.
He should be in that room.
That closed off room across the hospital where his baby brother was bring ripped apart. Mycroft felt an off sensation in his throat but swallowed it down as a doctor obviously coming from Sherlock's surgery walked into the room.
"Mister Holmes?" The doctor glanced at Mycroft who gave him a nod. "Your brother has a piece of metal shrapnel near his spine."
His brother's blood was on the front of the doctor's scrubs.
"We were able to get it out successfully but-"
His baby brother was laying somewhere, all alone, in this wretched place they say is meant for healing people.
"We're not sure if there will be any side effects until he wakes up from the surgery and-"
Sherlock was going to live.
Mycroft blinked at the doctor as he realized the other man had stopped talking. He opened his mouth to speak before he felt that odd sensation in the back of his throat and forced it back down, but it was too late it seemed.
Anthea had stopped texting, staring at Mycroft in shock.
Lestrade had stopped pacing and Mycroft suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder and the older Holmes didn't have to turn around to know it was Sherlock's beloved DI trying to show some form of support.
Mycroft continued talking to the doctor as if the pause never happened. He didn't care that these people somehow were able to see the pain he had just been in.
Didn't care if that changed their opinion of him.
Mycroft didn't care.
Because Sherlock was alive.
XXX
XXX
XXX
The End.