Give Me A Label (I'll Make Confetti)

Chapter 53: Doctor Phil

After lunch in the cafeteria- Greg really didn't mind the food the hospital served, he didn't get why people complained about it- Phil stood and rounded the teenagers up for the tour. Sherlock's bad mood quickly dissolved as he was showed the various labs, rooms, equipment, etc, etc.

He bounced around like he was on a sugar rush- or doped up on ecstasy- and tugged on John's hand the entire time. Poor John was dragged along like a poor parent... or poor boyfriend.

Greg and Mycroft walked a little behind them, Doctor Phil in the middle, and Mycroft spent his time either smiling at his brother's antics, sneaking quick kisses and touches with his boyfriend, or rushing ahead to stop Sherlock grabbing medical equipment.

Mycroft had to break away from Greg to grab Sherlock when the younger Holmes entered a patient room. There were six beds, three either side of the room, and five of them were occupied.

Sherlock jumped onto one and demanded, 'How long until you die?'

The woman blinked at him and Mycroft quickly hoisted his brother off the bed. 'My apologies, my brother has a social disorder,' Mycroft explained.

'I do not,' Sherlock huffed and flapped his arms about, trying to worm his way free from Mycroft's arms.

'What would you call it?' Mycroft demanded.

Sherlock scowled but let himself be lowered to the floor. He immediately took off and Mycroft rubbed his eyes while John rushed after his best friend. Mycroft looked up at Greg and Doctor Phil, who were standing in the doorway.

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft apologised.

'It's okay,' Phil smiled. 'He's just... enthusiastic.'

'A nightmare,' Mycroft replied and followed them from the room.

'Believe me, I've seen stranger in hospitals,' Phil said. They caught sight of Sherlock stabbing at the button to the elevator and John trying to calm him down. 'Drunks falling over themselves,' Phil continued, 'men and women trying to kill each other because someone forgot to make dinner; junkies OD-ing on all kinds of crap.'

Mycroft ducked his head and Greg looked at him. He could never forget that Mycroft had once been an addict; had overdosed and had to be taken to hospital in an ambulance. He didn't know exactly how long Mycroft had been addicted to cocaine, or even if he'd taken anything else. And really, Greg didn't want to ask; it was Mycroft's business, after all, and he said he was clean. Greg trusted him and respected his privacy.

Phil noticed the sudden quiet and somewhat tense mood that had descended and looked between Greg and Mycroft. He didn't have to ask to know what was going on; he was a doctor and a smart man. He'd seen his fair share of junkies and people getting themselves clean.

He just pursed his lips and ushered the teenagers into the elevator.

'Are we going to the morgue now?' Sherlock demanded.

Phil glanced at him. 'Well...'

'I assure you it's fine,' Mycroft said. 'We've visited morgues before; neither of us is worried about seeing dead people.'

Phil looked at John, who said, 'My uncle's a doctor, I've seen dead people before.'

'Me too,' Greg added. 'So no worries here.'

'Alrighty then,' Phil chuckled. 'To the morgue it is.'

Sherlock started bouncing up and down, entire body alight with energy, and John grinned at him while Mycroft rubbed his eyes in exasperation.

When they reached the morgue both Mycroft and John followed Sherlock to make sure he didn't touch the bodies. He was allowed to open the freezer doors and take a peek, but other than that he was made to keep his hands to himself.