Hurt But Healing

Sick

Three days later, Mycroft was sat in the day room, staring absently at nothing in particular. He felt sick. He needed to be sick. The staff had noticed him filling his empty apple juice carton with scrambled eggs the following day at breakfast and he admitted to not having eaten his entire stay. He had therefore been forced to have a NG tube put in. It fed him a whole fifteen hundred calories in one go and it made him feel rancid. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die a quick death.

After an hour of steeping in his own self hatred, Mycroft realised that something was wrong. His thoughts had travelled to her, to her and her warmth. She would be so disappointed in him. But he then noticed that he hadn't seen the girl since lunch. Where was she? His only guess was in their room, so he got up slowly, glancing about. Sherlock. He was sat on a beanbag in the corner, bashing his arm against the dragon tree's plant pot. Mycroft watched as Gregory left one of the other girl's side and hurried to stop his silly little brother from hurting himself. Mycroft sighed, walking away unnoticed by the rest of the staff members, making his way to his shared room.

~

"Sunshine, you need to stop that." he had told him, grabbing the boy's blue cast-encased limb and held it, moving it to set it carefully in the kid's lap. "What's bothering you, lad?" he asked him, sitting down on the beanbag next to Sherlock. 

"I'm bored! " the boy had sighed dramatically, letting his head loll back, causing it to bang on the wall. "Ow." he stated more than anything, sinking lower into his comfy seat. 

"Is there anything else that you are thinking about?" Sherlock looked at the man sceptically, eyeing him up a little.

"I feel gross." he mumbled, after a moments deliberation. It was Greg's turn to sigh.

"Why is that, Champ? Wanna tell me?" the man prodded, trying to get this young boy to open up and express his feelings. Sherlock sniffed.

"You and those other annoying people keep making me... eat too much. It makes me feel gross and sick and fat and ugly; I hate it." Sherlock whispered. Greg had a sad look on his face, his heart clenching when he saw the tears well up in his eyes.

"I don't try to be annoying." Greg told him honestly. "I just want you to be better. I can tell how special you are, Sunshine, and your brother for that matter. You are both so intelligent, it just fades a little when you are this ill. It is saddening." Sherlock looked up at him, innocent wide eyes glassy, flooding the cold, dull blue irises. Greg could see the sparks that were once there attempting to break free.

"I don't find you annoying..." he told Greg in a hushed tone. "You make me feel safe here." Greg felt a swell of affection in his chest towards the boy, tentatively reaching out to run his hands through the young boy's marvellous head of luscious dark brown curls. Sherlock seemed to loose all tension in his little body, sinking down fully to rest his head on the older man's arm, leaning into Greg's hand and almost purring beneath his touch. The counsellor/nurse knew that he most definitely should not be touching a patient like this, but he didn't really care. He was noticed by two other staff members, both of whom smiled at them. He just wanted this kid to feel safe and calm and at ease.

He knew that the Holmes boys were different to the rest of the patients in there, and so did the rest of the staff. They all usually followed the rules by the book, strictly enforcing them, but with the two Holmes', the entirety of them had made an exception. If the boys ate, if they got healthier, they would not be forced to go to all of the therapy classes, just one in the morning or the afternoon. If they did the weekly weigh-ins and tried to get better, nobody wanted to try and push these boys.