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Mycroft had to hold back his reflex to throw up as he stepped into the old, almost collapsing building. It was gross, to say the least. He wasn't even sure whether there was more human or animal excrement covering the crooked walls. His whole body screamed at him to turn around, run away, and never come back here, but his mind knew he couldn't do that. Not until he had found his brother and brought him home. Sherlock had been away for almost two days now. Yesterday, their parents had even been desperate enough to call the police. They were useless, of course, they wouldn't find Sherlock sitting in his own room. But Mycroft was better, much better, he was a genius. He had analyzed the clues and deduced Sherlock's possible whereabouts based on them. He took all his courage and stepped further into the building. Sherlock had to be here, there was no other way.
After leaving the dark corridor behind, he stepped into a shabby room, only enlighted by a tiny window. Silhouettes of people were lying on the floor, barely noticing anything. Mycroft quickly scanned them with the desperate hope that his brother was among them. He had no idea what to do if he didn't find him. "Sherlock?" he hissed into the room, "Sherlock? Come on, where are you?" Torturing silence for a few seconds, then Mycroft heard a grunt from behind a mildewed couch. All his disgust forgotten, he sprinted towards the noise. And there was his little brother.
"Oh, Sherlock!" exclaimed Mycroft. He grasped his younger brother's torso and sat him up. Sherlock looked at him and only slowly seemed to realize what happened. "Mycroft? Is that you?" he murmured. Mycroft was not able to contain his anger anymore: "Of course it's me, you idiot!" he hissed. Sherlock moaned: "Don't yell at me, my head hurts" The older Holmes rolled his eyes: "What did you take, exactly?" "I don't know" "What do you mean, you don't know?" "I don't know. I don't remember. There was so much!" "You're telling me you took so much you don't remember what it all was? Are you insane? You could be dead!" The last sentence, he shouted. But Sherlock was too high to notice the concern in his brother's eyes. He just grunted: "Let me go back to sleep Mycroft" and tried to push his brother away. "No, Sherlock, I'm taking you home, come on!" contradicted his brother while desperately trying to make him stand up. Mycroft ended up carrying Sherlock out of the chamber, as the younger Holmes was still barely conscious. On their way out, passing many more teens in an even worse condition than Sherlock was in, Mycroft heard his brother murmur something. "What did you say?" he grunted between his teeth. "Thank you. You saved me." the younger one repeated in a sudden clear state of mind. Despite the circumstances, Mycroft had to smile. "Always, little brother."
A few hours passed until Mycroft was finally allowed to talk to his no longer high brother. Not knowing what exactly Sherlock took in which dose made it harder for the doctors to medicate him properly. Despite his worry, Mycroft was angry. How could Sherlock have been so stupid to not even noting what he was taking? But it wasn't just that. Above all, he was angry at himself for not taking care of his brother enough. For not preventing him from going to this place or at least finding him earlier. It was at this moment that Mycroft decided he wouldn't let this happen again.
He let their parents talk to Sherlock first, then he asked for a minute with his brother alone and walked into the hospital room. The huge bed he was in made him startle for a second. Sherlock looked so small in it, even smaller than he'd always stay in Mycroft's mind anyway. Upon seeing his older brother, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What now, Mycroft? Are you going to tell me how worried you were and how much you love me as Mum and Dad did?" Mycroft grinned. There he was, his moody, easily bored baby brother. "Actually, I was gonna tell you what a huge fool you are." "I know I know, I'll never do it again!" The older Holmes sighed and sat down: "Sherlock, listen, I know you cannot guarantee for that. There's too much temptation and you are still so young and easily influenced..." -Sherlock interrupted him with an insulted huff- "...but I want you to promise something else. Please, Sherlock, shall I ever find you in such a state again, carry a list of everything you took, so we can help you detoxicate faster. I don't care how often it will happen, I'll always come for you, but I want you to carry that list. Do you think you can do this for me?" Sherlock remained silent for a while, then he looked at his brother with suddenly very mature eyes and nodded: "Yes, Mycroft, I promise."