You spin me right round

Chapter four

Mycroft entered in the hospital a few minutes after Doctor Watson called him, trying to keep his habitual composure, calm, detached but it was hard, since he really was worried for his brother.

They had such a hard time in their childhood. Mycroft knew Sherlock had never loved him, and he didn't try to change that. Not that he didn't love his young brother, but because it was useless. He kept this sentence, "Caring is not an advantage" every time he was feeling he could feel he was about to break down. But he already did, and Greg Lestrade was the proof of it. He just told himself it was some need he had to satisfy (it repelled him at a high point) and so, that it was not a sentiment he might feel, even if a little voice in his head was whispering the opposite.

Noise. People. Too many people. That was why he hated public places. But well, it was for Sherlock, so he decided to make an effort as he walked to the reception. There was a blond girl who was looking at her red nails as she was on the phone, and a black tall guy who was typing on the keyboard of his computer. None of them were looking at him, and he couldn't really say why but it irritated him.

-Good morning, Mycroft greeted with a forced smile. Could you help me?

The girl didn't seem to hear him, and the African boy slowly raised head.

-Of course, sir, he said with enthusiasm and a smile much more realistic. What is it?

-Someone who works here called me and told me my brother was here, the elder Holmes explained, already losing patience.

-Alright... What's the-

-Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft wanted to finish as soon as possible with this idiot; he had better things to do. The guy in front of him kept staring at Mycroft for a long time, then he looked down at his computer, as Mr. Holmes looked away, trying to stay calm. He could be really impatient sometimes.

-Okay, right now, he's in his room, with one of our best doctors, wait a bit, he'll come to take you there, the guy of the reception explained, pointing the seats on the right of the welcoming room.

Mycroft sighed deeply as he apparently had to wait more. He went to sit down as far as possible from the other people who were in the same room, and he cleared his throat, playing with his umbrella and looking down to his feet. He should have brought something to occupy his mind, like the 'enormous' (according to Greg) book he began to read some days ago. It was fascinating, and the story and how everything was analyzed made him think about his brother. Sherlock... What had he done this time?

As far as he remembered, it always had been tumultuous with him. He hadn't really searched for it, it was just the young Holmes who seemed to have some aversion towards him. He used to act like he didn't care, but in the inside, this quite made him sad. He just wanted to help him, at the end. But Sherlock repulsed him. Why? Was it because of those stupid arguments? Like, who's going to earn more money, which's going to be smarter (Mycroft thought it was himself), who's going to have a good life..? This now was of course not important, to his or Sherlock's eyes, but there were some things that hurt, and that you couldn't forget... There were a lot of stories like that between the two brothers, terrible things they both kept growing and growing.

"Don't get involved in this, I am the smart one." "We're leaving. Have a good week alone at home." "This, you know, is the beginning of execrable things people call sentiments. Sentiments get people down. You don't have to feel them. Avoid people. Stay on your own."

This could seem weird now especially that he was in a relationship... Well, he wasn't even sure how it would keep going...

As he thought about it, his phone made a little sound. Text alert. He slowly put it out off his pocket. What a surprise. That was Greg.