“Well you're here now and that's what matters, but If you read John's blog, then you know they are overseas?”
Again Mycroft nodded. “I..have nowhere to go, I was hoping perhaps I could stay here until they came back or until I was able to get back in contact with my people. I was hoping for a few days rest before I do such a thing.” The sooner the better in his mind but his body disagreed.
“You need a lot more rest than just a few days, Mycroft Holmes” replied Mrs Hudson as if chiding a child. “You can take Sherlock's room, it's the neatest. Which is a bit odd really, considering the state of the rest of this house.” Mycroft gave her a small, grateful smile.
“Thank you Mrs Hudson, I promise I won't be in your way” She dismissed this with a wave and a warm smile. “It looks like I better go and buy some groceries for you, goodness knows what's in their fridge right now, I dread to think” She stood, forming a grocery list in her mind, she had no Idea what sort of food Mycroft liked, so he will just have to be satisfied with what ever she brought.
“...I am glad you're alive, I don't ever want to see poor Sherlock like that again. He'll be happy to I expect, once he's gotten over the initial shock” I hope so Mrs Hudson, I hope so.
He watched her leave, relieved that he now had somewhere to stay, somewhere familiar. He picked up the small bag that contained, at the moment, his whole life and lugged it towards Sherlock's room. It was very neat, even his bedroom as a child had not been that neat. But Mycroft supposed that now that he had more rooms, he could evenly spread around his life.
He placed the bag on the bed, his eyes been drawn to a corner of the room. There, against the wall, lay an umbrella. He picked it up, studying it. This was his, the one Sherlock had given to him as a child...so they had gone through his home then. He held the umbrella against his chest for a moment, before putting it back down. Sherlock....please forgive me...
-----
Meanwhile back in Paris....
----
Sherlock had just been released from Hospital into John's capable hands. More than ever, rest was paramount and John wasted no time in searching the entire hotel room for any spare syringes. Sherlock maintained it was the only one but as much as John would like to believe him, he didn't.
The man in question was again lying on the couch he'd nearly died in. John shuddered, dismissing the thought. The sooner they left Paris the better. He took out some bread and butter and began to make a sandwich. Sherlock needed to eat. Still so thin. John handed Sherlock the plate of food and did not move until he began to eat.
“I'm alright now John”
“Bullshit”
Sherlock couldn't think of anything to reply to that statement. John was probably right, he wasn't ok, but he would be. It would take time, but he would be.
Re: Oh Brother Of Mine 38/?
“Well you're here now and that's what matters, but If you read John's blog, then you know they are overseas?”
Again Mycroft nodded. “I..have nowhere to go, I was hoping perhaps I could stay here until they came back or until I was able to get back in contact with my people. I was hoping for a few days rest before I do such a thing.” The sooner the better in his mind but his body disagreed.
“You need a lot more rest than just a few days, Mycroft Holmes” replied Mrs Hudson as if chiding a child. “You can take Sherlock's room, it's the neatest. Which is a bit odd really, considering the state of the rest of this house.” Mycroft gave her a small, grateful smile.
“Thank you Mrs Hudson, I promise I won't be in your way” She dismissed this with a wave and a warm smile. “It looks like I better go and buy some groceries for you, goodness knows what's in their fridge right now, I dread to think” She stood, forming a grocery list in her mind, she had no Idea what sort of food Mycroft liked, so he will just have to be satisfied with what ever she brought.
“...I am glad you're alive, I don't ever want to see poor Sherlock like that again. He'll be happy to I expect, once he's gotten over the initial shock” I hope so Mrs Hudson, I hope so.
He watched her leave, relieved that he now had somewhere to stay, somewhere familiar. He picked up the small bag that contained, at the moment, his whole life and lugged it towards Sherlock's room. It was very neat, even his bedroom as a child had not been that neat. But Mycroft supposed that now that he had more rooms, he could evenly spread around his life.
He placed the bag on the bed, his eyes been drawn to a corner of the room. There, against the wall, lay an umbrella. He picked it up, studying it. This was his, the one Sherlock had given to him as a child...so they had gone through his home then. He held the umbrella against his chest for a moment, before putting it back down. Sherlock....please forgive me...
-----
Meanwhile back in Paris....
----
Sherlock had just been released from Hospital into John's capable hands. More than ever, rest was paramount and John wasted no time in searching the entire hotel room for any spare syringes. Sherlock maintained it was the only one but as much as John would like to believe him, he didn't.
The man in question was again lying on the couch he'd nearly died in. John shuddered, dismissing the thought. The sooner they left Paris the better. He took out some bread and butter and began to make a sandwich. Sherlock needed to eat. Still so thin. John handed Sherlock the plate of food and did not move until he began to eat.
“I'm alright now John”
“Bullshit”
Sherlock couldn't think of anything to reply to that statement. John was probably right, he wasn't ok, but he would be. It would take time, but he would be.