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[bigbrotheriswatching]

Sherlock is half blown up, lying in a hospital bed with machines attached.

Mycroft moves purposefully down the hallway and into the room as soon as he hears, as soon as he can make it there.

Comments

[bigbrotheriswatching]

"You know, men like you are an interesting phenomenon. You're eminently useful as long as you aren't put under some idealistic superior who thinks killing is more ethical when it causes regret and eventual psychological trauma for our soldiers."

Smoking, quietly.

"Interesting, that we live in a culture which only accepts military officers so long as they end up appropriately broken."

[fearfulhand]

He laughs, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"What can I say? You make the psychos work for you, or they'll sure as hell find a way to work against you. Shame you couldn't rope Jim into that fancy government of yours."

[bigbrotheriswatching]

"Oh, believe me, Jim is a class of his own."

He shrugs.

"You, however, I could find a cabinet position for."

[fearfulhand]

"Not interested."

He laughs, shaking his head.

"You want to know how many people have tried to buy me since I met that bastard in there?"

[bigbrotheriswatching]

"I can make an educated guess."

He admits.

"If you're responsible for a fraction of the handiwork I believe can be ascribed to you."

[fearfulhand]

"There you have it. I'm done killing for the queen anyway."

[bigbrotheriswatching]

"Very well. I will not inquire again, but if you ever find yourself with a surplus of time on your hands, consider the offer open."

He promises, still unperturbed.

[fearfulhand]

"Good to know."

A sarcastic salute.

"I'm nothing if not patriotic."

[bigbrotheriswatching]

It surprises him into a wider smile.

"I have a few phone calls to place. Please excuse me."

He'll take a few steps down the hall for this one.

[fearfulhand]

Sebastian is just going to keep smoking. He won't leave the door for an instant, not with Jim in there.

[bigbrotheriswatching]

Mycroft makes a few calls. Work, for once, since he doesn't intend to return this evening and won't be available. A second hospital, one where he has a little more control over the staff. Private, unmarked transportation.

Dinner, for two, to be delivered to the hallway.

[fearfulhand]

He glances up when the delivery man brings it by, barely managing a grunt in acknowledgement. Sebastian is starving.

[bigbrotheriswatching]

Mycroft returns a few moments later, repocketing his phone, a few seconds after a few of the bewildered orderlies who have been instructed by on high to drop off chairs for them.

He takes a seat comfortably.

[fearfulhand]

He looks up at him, before indicating to the food.

"You did this."

[bigbrotheriswatching]

"Obviously."

Picking up one of the containers of steamed vegetables.

[fearfulhand]

"Well-"

He reaches for a container himself.

"Thanks, I guess."

[bigbrotheriswatching]

"How long will they expect you to stay here?"

Curious. This does not seem sensible to him.

[fearfulhand]

"Until he tells me to go elsewhere."

He sighs.

"If you're moving Junior, he'll move me to watch him until he needs something taken care of."

[bigbrotheriswatching]

Mycroft will see him fed, he decides. Strictly in the interest of keeping Sherlock's supervision... effective.

[fearfulhand]

He shrugs.

"Why are you still here, anyway? No government to run?"