Hurt But Healing

My Brother, Fatcroft

Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes did not like it one bit.

Their parents couldn't cope with one of their children 'forcing illness upon themselves', let alone two of them. Mr and Mrs Holmes had noticed Sherlock's lack of eating from the very early age of five, but they didn't expect their son to stop eating altogether. They did try very hard to help him themselves, but it was just too difficult.

When they had talked to Sherlock about the arrangements they had been making, their son had been enraged; Mycroft had attempted to talk his brother out of the fit he was throwing, regretting saying a word almost immediately...

"Well, if you are sending me away, Mycroft is coming too. At least you didn't walk in on me passed out in front of a toilet filled with undigested mush!" his little brother had screamed at his parents. The older boy's stomach dropped, despite being completely empty.

~

That was why Mycroft Holmes was perched precariously on a rather uncomfortable red plastic chair in a circle of patients. In a mental hospital. 
At least, that is what most people called it; the therapist called it an 'Inpatient Help Centre', but what did that matter? He was still there.

Mycroft looked around the circle at the small group.

He tried to read them, observing them for little details the average person would miss. Staring intently at the young man opposite him, Mycroft let his eyes scan over him for a few minutes. Nothing...
That was odd. It normally took mere seconds to make multiple deductions. He tried again, this time on the girl sitting next to him. 

'She is in for... uh... oh! I know... For...'

"Fuck." Mycroft said aloud, everyone now turning to look at him.

"Is everything alright, Mister Holmes?" the group therapist, Mrs Hooper asked him, giving him a jolly smile that frankly was scary. Mycroft nodded once, rising from his chair.

"I refuse to participate in therapy, group activities or meal times until my little brother is moved over here from the children's ward. Good day." he announced, deciding to walk straight to his assigned room. He was surprised to find a girl in there, unpacking her things into a chest of drawers by the bed closest to the window. 
There were four beds, four chest of drawers and two desks with two chairs in their room, along with a two person sofa between his bed and the window. 

She turned around to look at him, gave him a once over and then got back to unpacking. Mycroft sat on the sofa, curling his legs underneath himself until he was happy with how little space he took up. When he looked back at the girl, he got slightly jealous. Her body was lovely. He wished for the hundredth time that day that he had the 'ideal body type' for a man like the girl had as a woman. Her long blonde hair was up in a bun. She had pale skin and she was wearing a pair of black dungerees, long sleeved red top underneath it. She was curvy in all the right ways - a stunning specimen. 

The girl placed what seemed to be a diary with lock under her pillow, bent down to get her left shoe from underneath her bed and pulled up the insole. He smiled at her - not that she saw - as she pulled out a tiny little key on a gold hoop. She reached into her top, bringing up the gold locket around her neck, opened it up, placed the key inside it, and then closed it again, flicking down the tiny latch to keep it shut. 

'Smart girl.'

"What is your name?" he asked her when she was done. The girl looked up at him and frowned, then she looked back to her lap. "My name is-" he started, but was interrupted by the door swinging open and his little brother barging in.