Dark Secrets (Sherlock x Reader)

Powerless

Mycroft raised the cup to his lips and lightly sipped his tea. ''How has he been?'' he asked solemnly.

John sighed, putting his cup down. ''Horrible. He hasn't said a word since she disappeared. Mary and I, we've tried to get him outside at least for a minute. We've tried to get him to eat something, but it's as if he's not present in this world anymore.''

The older Holmes rubbed his forehead before clasping his hands together. ''I think it's time I pay my brother a visit. He can't continue like this, it has to stop.''

''I hardly recognise him, Mycroft. I've never seen him this distraught before, not even when he thought Irene Adler was dead.''

''Sherlock was fascinated by Miss Adler, he was intrigued by her. This is different, John. I hate to say it, but he's grown to love (Y/N). I'm afraid he'll destroy himself if we don't find her soon.''

''Have you had any luck so far?''

Mycroft shook his head, leaning back in his desk chair. ''No leads whatsoever. Moriarty knows what he's doing, he's a professional. It'll be difficult if not impossible to find her if he doesn't want her to be found.''

''Then what are we supposed to do?'' John exclaimed. ''Sherlock is losing his bloody mind, Lestrade has murder cases piling up, Mrs Hudson has been calling me every day in tears, and none of that will go away if we don't find (Y/N)! Now you're saying we won't ever find her? You need to try harder!''

''I understand your frustration –''

''To hell you do! It's been five days since she was kidnapped and you haven't visited Sherlock once in that time.''

''I have put all other matters on a backburner in order to locate her. I am doing everything I can.''

''I don't think you understand how bad this is. Go to 221B and see for yourself.''

~

Mycroft trudged up the stairs, his umbrella ticking against the wood.

He was aware of his brother's condition as John had been keeping him updated ever since they came back from the pool. But Mycroft had been putting off visiting Sherlock in person. In truth, he was afraid. Afraid of the state he'd find his brother in.

The detective had never been this close to someone before. He had never been in love before. Now the person he had such a strong connection with was in the hands of his arch-nemesis.

Over the years, Mycroft had seen his brother deal with overdoses, addiction, depression, but he feared none of his previous struggles could compare to the pain he was going through now.

He twisted the doorknob and entered his brother's flat. As he took in the sight of it, he briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The place was in utter chaos.

The couch was upside down and had been pushed further into the room. The wall behind it was covered in a large map of the world with numerous articles, photos, printed files, and paper headlines surrounding it. Everything was connected with red and yellow threads.

There were even more files and photos littered on the floor. Sherlock's leather chair had been pushed out of the way to make room for his laptop on top of several stacked documents and John's chair had been moved to the kitchen, which was equally as big of a mess as the rest of the flat.

In the middle of it all, positioned on the floor, was an unconscious Sherlock Holmes. His skin was even paler than usual, his eyes and cheeks were sunken in and had adapted a greyish tint to them, his hair was a mess, and a light stubble had begun to form on his face.