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It was a danger night for Sherlock.
John was gone. Somewhere with Rosie.
He didn’t care to find out as he dragged a blade against his wrist.
I mean, who would want a mistake such as Sherlock near their kid?
As he went to add another cut, his phone lit up.
Mycroft.
”Don’t.”
A simple word.
He ignored it as he lifted the blade again.
”Do not, brother mine.”
He sighed, cutting himself again, feeling petty for it.
The front door opened.
Heavy shoes ran up the stairs.
The door was locked to 221B, but it was opened swiftly.
Why did he give Mycroft the key?
Sherlock was kneeling in front of John’s old chair, blood seeping into the rug.
Mycroft ran to his side, kneeling and taking his brother’s wrist and examining the cuts.
Sherlock sighs, dropping the blade, knowing he’s lost.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I was in Russia, it’s my mistake.” Mycroft’s voice lacked the normal gruff tiredness, and was full of worry.
“Why were you in Russia?” Sherlock asked, as he was lightly forced into a standing position and dragged to the sink.
“Better question, where is Mrs.Hudson?” Mycroft noticed no signs that she was even in this flat today, or yesterday for that matter, no perfume scents lingered.
“Hmmm. I think staying with a sister? I don’t recall what she said.” Sherlock winced as cold water rinsed off the blood on his arm.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” The taller -not by much- brother turned off the tap, dried off the arm and bandaged it. Sherlock learned after a bit that anything too deep would result in a hospital visit, and going to the doctors would result in running into John. Which neither wanted.
“It’s whatever. Alright you can go now, I’m fine.” Sherlock always tried to get away from his brother after days like this, but it was no use.
“No, I’m staying. We can watch crap telly, I’ve taken the next two days off.” Mycroft said, planting a kiss to Sherlocks forehead and promptly going to the living room, discarding of the blade on the floor, and sitting down dramatically on the sofa like they both did when they were kids.
Sherlock sighed, but followed, and crashed into Mycroft’s side, hiding his face from the world around them, and decided not to mention when a hand came to find a place in his curly hair.