Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Sherlock would not ordinarily have taken the tube; in fact, in twenty-three years, he had done everything possible to avoid it. He had walked halfway across London once because he didn't have cab fare. But this time, it was unavoidable. There was no way he would let Mycroft win this. He would get to Cambridge and he would do it without a cab.

 As he stepped into the tube, he looked around. It didn't seem as bad as he had thought it would be. It was crowded, yes, but he had at least a foot between every other passenger. He smirked, thinking how Mycroft would be when he arrived first. Even the jolt didn't seem any worse than a minor roller coaster, sans a lap belt. He could do this easily.

 At the next stop, at least five people got off. It was even less crowded than before. Then people started getting on.

 More people got on than Sherlock would ever believe could fit in this tiny metal box. They just kept streaming in, more and more and more, until he could hardly move his arm without receiving a dirty look. This was not at all what he had expected. But he would do it. He could do it. He couldn't let Mycroft win.

 Finally the underground started. It seemed to Sherlock that it would never get to the next stop. Even though he knew it was ridiculous, it felt as though time was moving slower than ever before. Then the tube hit a big bump on the rail. The whole car jolted to the left and he only just managed to keep his balance. Unfortunately, the man directly beside him was not so lucky. He fell hard onto Sherlock, knocking him painfully into the wall. The man gave Sherlock the most irritated look imaginable, as though it was his fault.

 His mind was racing-no, careening faster than it ever had before, like a racecar at top speed that kept getting more and more out of control. The information he was receiving was becoming overwhelming. He could see and hear and feel and smell everything. Every dull wedding ring telling a story, every word spoken, the motor rumbling, a baby crying, someone else's rough, heavy jacket rubbing against his arm, the feel of people squeezed up against him-even his sense of smell was overwhelmed with the scents of the metal bars and women's perfume and the smell of people and their sweat and perspiration- he couldn't speak couldn't hear couldn't smell couldn't see as his knees buckled and he fell heavily against his fellow passengers.

Chapter Text

Sherlock woke up in an ambulance. Of course, he didn't realize where he was at first, but it was easy enough to figure out when his mind cleared out. He tried to sit up but a paramedic put a hand on his chest, gently pressing him back down.

"Lay down. We're almost to the hospital. We'll be there soon and find out what happened."

"What hospital? What exactly-ohhhhh no, no I can't go to the hospital, I need to get to Cambridge before Mycroft! Let go of me!"

"I'll tell you what happened if you'll calm down. And you certainly aren't going to Cambridge right now-you're going to the hospital." Sherlockk scowled, then seemingly gave in. He stopped struggling to get up and rip the oxygen mask off his face.

"All right, I'm calm. What happened? Tell me."

"We aren't a hundred per cent sure that this is all that happened, but the basics of it seem to be that you had a major panic attack on the Underground. I don't immediately see anything wrong with you, so it may just be an out of control panic attack, but you did faint-"

"Collapse. I didn't faint. I collapsed."

"Collapse, then, halfway down the line, which could indicate something more serious. At any rate, someone called 999, and here we are now, headed to the hospital, just about to arrive. Now I've kept my side of the bargain, you keep yours. Stop struggling and come with us."

The ambulance turned into the hospital's parking lot a few minutes later. Sherlock said nothing throughout the last minutes, instead remaining totally silent and still. The paramedic was glad of this. It was difficult to keep oxygen going to such a tall man, no matter how thin he may be, when he didn't want it.

As soon as the van had come to a full stop, the paramedics opened the doors in the back and climbed out. Sherlock immediately ripped off his mask and leapt out the doors to run away as fast as he could, stopping for less than a second to find the name of the hospital in order to orientate himself on the map in his head. The medics didn't have a chance of catching him and he was quickly lost in the crowds heading down the side of the road, leaving only one thing in the van: his wallet.

The paramedic sighed; it had been such a good day. He supposed that something had to even it out. He picked up the wallet and looked inside. There was only one card in it-an id
for Mycroft Holmes (Top Clearance). It included a phone number on the face, and it was the only thing he had to go on. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

Chapter Text

Mycroft Holmes was not a particularly patient man. In fact, there were only three people in the world with whom he had any patience at all, and those were his parents and his childish little brother. Especially his little brother. What else could he do?

When he received the call that Sherlock had been taken to hospital again, he very literally dropped his coffee mug. When he was told that Sherlock had run away as soon as the doors were opened, he did something that he would never do ordinarily: Mycroft ran.

He nearly leapt into his limousine, barking orders to the driver to take him directly to the hospital Sherlock had been driven to. As soon as he arrived, he asked the woman at the desk where he could find the paramedics who had lost his brother. At first, she didn't want to tell him, but as usual his identification card got him what he wanted.

The paramedic told him that Sherlock had passed out on the tube, that no real problems had been immediately spotted, and that he had pretended to be calm but had run straight away, leaving just the wallet and ID.

Mycroft swore under his breath, another thing he didn't usually do, knowing precisely what had happened and where Sherlock was. He took the wallet and card and left, headed straight towards Cambridge. He had intended to get Sherlock there to help as quickly as possible; he had not intended for Sherlock to intentionally possibly endanger his own health to beat someone who wasn't even coming.

It took no less than half an hour to arrive at the crime scene, where he immediately saw Sherlock sitting smugly and waiting for him.

"Caring is not an advantage," he smirked. “I win again.” He looked perfectly all right from what Mycroft could see.

"For goodness sakes, Sherlock. That was childish. The whole ploy to divert me to make up for lost time? You understand I wasn't actually coming?" Sherlock looked angry, and with good reason.

"How on Earth was I supposed to know that? You sent me a text saying, and I quote, 'meet me here,' and the address." Sherlock stomped away.

"How do you intend to get back to London, brother dear? Are you going to walk? Perhaps take the tube again? I hear that worked out well last time. You fainted, I hear, from overstimulation."

Sherlock didn't look back. The only sign that he had heard what Mycroft had said was a slight stiffening. Mycroft sighed.