Caring / Chapter 7 Mycroft x reader

Light. Too much of it. Close. Much more bearable.

You could hear voices. Was that Sherlock? Mycroft? Someone else..  a voice you didn't recognize.

Was there someone poking your arm? What was that annoying beeping noise?

Your fingers twitched in protest of the sharp feeling and the room went silent.

“She's awake.”

The light still wasn't very welcoming so you kept your eyes screwed shut. That voice definitely belonged to Mycroft. It held a tint of relief in it. Had something happened? Now that that was thought of, where were you? Wait. Poking your arm. Constant beeping. You were in the hospital, but why?

“Take it easy,” that was a woman, nurse maybe? “You've been asleep for a long while. We're glad you're back with us.”

“Do not lie to her, “ Sherlock. “Tell her what has really transpired. She's been in a coma.”

“Mr. Holmes, if you could please be quiet.” The nurse seemed irritated, though, that did not surprise you. She has been dealing with Sherlock for who knows how long.

“No. (Name). I'm going to ask you to open your eyes. Staying in a hospital is tedious. I'd like to leave.”

“This is the first time of showing she is waking, brother. Do not bother her.”

The last thing you remembered before falling back into the dark was a hand covering your own.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


You made soft noise this time and that hand from before squeezed your own.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After many trial and errors, Sherlock's childish tantrums and that encouraging hand, you were finally fully aware of where you were and who was around you. Sherlock, Mycroft, and that pretty nurse who was probably going to behead Sherlock if he didn't shut up.

“I told him on multiple occasions to go home and rest, but he would not listen to me. It seems his worry for you won out every time.”

You smiled and chuckled at Mycroft, who happened to be the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. Not at your full capabilities yet, you whispered in response, “S'okay. Nice to see.. familiar face.”

Sherlock was in a chair in the corner in his thinking position. What he was thinking about, you couldn't quite figure out. Your attention was turned back to the elder brother when he brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles.

It took a couple minutes before your brain connected the dots from here to there and a blush rose to your cheeks. “My..”

“Sh,” he hushed, placing one last soft kiss to the back of your hand before resting his and your hand back on the bed by your side. “We'll talk about this when your in full health.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Everything was progressing quite well. You could speak and had full mobility of your arms and legs. It wasn't the most reliable mobility, often wobbly on your legs and tired joints, but you could move. That was all that mattered.

You couldn't remember the specific time Sherlock had said hospitals were tedious, but now you were beginning to agree. The paper thin gown was providing no comfort and, or cover for your body. Which lead to several embarrassing moments with the brothers. The food wasn't all that impressive and there really was no privacy.

But one night, upon your many nights here, the three of you were enjoying the company of each other for once. Sherlock had sneaked in your most-liked snack. You were grateful. And Mycroft was helping you stretch your legs, offering himself as a person to lean on.

The pair of you were near Sherlock when you finally asked. “What actually happened to me?”

Mycroft froze, which in turn caused you to stop and Sherlock's head snapped up to your face. The brothers knew it was bound to happen eventually.

“You were kidnapped,” Sherlock started,standing up from his seat to look down at you. “You were stabbed. No. You were mutilated. I'm sure you've seen the multiple scars.” You frowned at the word 'mutilated', hand instinctively covering the lower part of your stomach. “Martin, as you told the detective, left you to die on Mycroft's bed.”

“And you did,” came Mycroft's distant voice.

As you were about to reach out to him, Sherlock stopped you by putting both of his hands on your shoulders and making you face him. His forehead was nearly on yours as he spoke, “He only believed you did. For a split second, I thought that same thing. (Name), we watched them drag you off. There was nothing left to you. All the blood, all the life you had was left on Mycroft's bed that night. To this day, we still shudder when we walk past that room. We saw something that day (Name). Something we can never forget.”

The close proximity of Sherlock to you, the intense glint in his eyes, and what was behind even that. The small flash of worry for you.

Many people called the Holmes boys strange, distant, cold, heartless, rude and unkind. But they just didn't know them like you did. And it was moments like these when you remembered how much you truly loved these boys. The extension of your family. Your only family.

You knew they hated to admit it out loud. You could barely ever get Sherlock to touch the subject. How much they really cared. One day, you can feel it deep down, they're going to have to let it out. They will have to rely on each other. And they will have to care.