Hurt But Healing

Warmth

Mycroft felt weaker than ever the next morning.

He felt sore and achy and although Sherlock weighed nothing, it hadn't helped that his brother was sprawled out on top of him when he heard the door open up to signal it was time to get out of bed.

Annalise had definitely not slept. Mycroft could see the dark bags swelling under her beautiful blue eyes when she sat up.

Sherlock rolled off his brother a few minutes after Mycroft had woken, and he fell straight to the floor, jolting awake tangled up in Mycroft's blankets. There was a pained yell from the curly haired boy, and the older sat bolt upright and asked if he was okay. Annalise was watching them but got up straight away, pressing the big button on the wall. 

Sherlock didn't want help to get up but relented when he couldn't do it himself, letting his brother help him to his feet, just as Greg and another male nurse Mycroft recognised came rushing into the room.

"What happened?" Greg asked promptly, coming to the brothers' aid. Sherlock whined in the back of his throat and leant his head against his brother, cradling his left arm to his chest.

"He fell out of bed. I heard his arm... I think it is broken." Mycroft said, worry eviden in his voice. "His bones are too weak." Greg nodded, gesturing for the other man to come over.

"I'm Doctor John Watson. Can I see your arm please, young man?" Sherlock was barely able to move it without crying, and when the doctor took the fragile limb in his hands and felt it carefully, a few tears escaped the boy's eyes. Greg put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him gently from his older brother.

"We will get this sorted, Lad. Do you hurt anywhere else?" he asked him, obviously following procedure. Sherlock was about to nod but instead he shook his head. Greg cocked an eyebrow at him and the boy sniffled.

"Hip." he mumbled, taking his arm back up to his chest when the doctor let it go. 

"Alright, Sunshine. I can grab you your shoes and we can go and get this all taken care of for you. You will be back well before lunch."

~

Mycroft managed to get away with skipping breakfast, too, to his surprise. He had drunk his carton of orange juice and opened up the bottom, spooning porridge into it every time he saw that nobody was watching. Somebody noticed, though. Not that she said anything to him at that moment. 

After breakfast was a morning therapy session, where each patient was forced to say at least one thing they were feeling. Mycroft smirked to himself when he thought of what his brother would say, so he said it for him when he was asked what he was feeling.

"I feel bored."

A few people snickered or smirked, and Miss Hooper just gave him that too-happy smile and asked him: "Why?"

"Because this is pointless." he had answered, getting up to leave, a little unsteady on his feet for a moment. 

"Mycroft, please don't leave again. We can talk about why you are feeling this way-" she tried, but he wasn't having any of it.

"I did not ask to be here, so do not expect me to be complacent and go along with this little self help group. I do not want help and this is a total waste of my time. I will be in my room."

~

The therapy session was followed by two more creative groups, an hour each, and you were expected to go to one or the other. Mycroft didn't. He had been curled up on the sofa reading his book when Annalise entered the room, surprising him by joining him on the sofa.

"You need to eat, Mycroft." she came out with immediately, shocking him a bit.

"Excuse me?"

"You need to eat." she repeated, looking him in the eye.

"I eat." he told her, trying to focus back on his book. He gasped when she took it from his hands and threw it on her bed. "Hey!"

"Eat." she demanded, pulling a little snack packet of custard creams from her pocket. "Please?"

"I- I cannot do that... I really cannot..." he mumbled, rubbing at his neck. The girl's eyes softened as she took in the anxiety on his face. 

"You can, Mycroft." she told him, taking his hand and pulling it away from his neck, holding it loosely in her own, giving him the option to pull away. He didn't.

"I really can't eat in front of you. Please, I beg you, do not make me do this." he pleaded, a tear rolling down his cheek as he started to panic. She reached up and wiped the tear from his face.

"We can do it together." she told him, letting his hand go to open the packet, taking one biscuit herself and handing him the second, one left in the packet that she set aside. "You can do it. Do it for your brother."

She took the first bite, chewed, swallowed and looked up at Mycroft. "You can do it." she told him, so, eventually, he took a small bite. It tasted so good - too good - and he closed his eyes as he chewed. Before he knew it, the biscuit was gone. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed and actually looked around for it in his lap.

"I told you you could do it, Mycroft." Annalise whispered, a small smile on her face. Mycroft felt sick. His head began to shake slowly, and then it picked up in speed. He was shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut as he rocked on the spot, muttering to himself inaudibly.

"Mycroft... Myc, it's okay... calm down. Please, you did so well, I am so proud of you, Mycroft." 

But he just rocked back and fourth, anxiety flowing off him in waves. Annalise took his face in both of her hands, holding it still. He stopped moving so much and his eyes shot open.

"I hate being fat!" he cried out, causing her heart to hurt. 

"Fat? Mycroft... you are not fat at all. You are as thin as your brother. It is frankly worrying how small you are." she told him honestly. "How old are you?"

"I am twenty one... why?" 

"You look younger. Being this thin makes you look sickly and breakable."

"I am not thin. I am jealous that you get to have such a perfect body; why can I not be a perfect man like you are a perfect woman? I want to be perfect." he whispered sadly, looking down. She tensed up a little.

"Myc, I tell you now that I am anything but perfect. I am disgusting. But you; you are not going to ever be perfect if you die, and at the rate you are going - much the same as your brother - you won't survive another year. You are really thin, Mycroft. You are sick." He was taken aback, slightly confused.

"What did I do to make you care about me? We barely know each other. And-and since when do you talk?" Mycroft blabbered, stressed out and emotional. "This makes no sense!"

He froze when he felt two arms wrap around him. He just froze, letting warmth embrace him and hold him close. This was not the same as Sherlock last night. Sherlock was cold. This was warm.

He melted in her arms, letting her just hold him. It was such a strange sensation yet he devoured it selfishly, wishing to have it forever - this warmth - all to himself.