Sherlock Imagines and Preferences 2

Hold On

Requested by LokiHiddlesConrad

Song: Hold On by Chord Overstreet

I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I completely lost myself while creating this. I highly recommend listening to the song! Have a lovely day, everyone!

<♥>

Loving and fighting

Accusing, denying

I can't imagine a world with you gone

The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of

I'd be so lost if you left me alone

You locked yourself in the bathroom

Lying on the floor when I break through

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming, "please don't leave me"

It reeked of dirt, urine and smoke. Mycroft took a deep breath, trying to block out the smell in the building. Desperate, he began his search for what felt like the thousandth time that month. It didn't take long before a motionless figure caught his eye in the middle of the crowded room filled with barely conscious people. 

His curly hair was displayed across a piece of fabric that couldn't even be called a pillow anymore. Mycroft felt his chest ache as he slowly knelt down next to the poorly looking mattress. He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, gently trying to shake him awake. Gradually, the young detective's eyes opened and stared up at his older sibling, his gaze blank and empty. 

Mycroft sighed, firmly placing his hands on Sherlock's sunken in cheeks and forcing him to make eye contact. ''Did you make a list?'' 

Sherlock nodded weakly, his eyes fluttering shut as he shakily pointed at his hoodie's pocket. The government official's long, slender fingers slipped into the pocket and retrieved a crumpled up piece of paper. He anxiously straightened it out and let his eyes wander over the letters. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips. Not enough for an overdose. He'd be fine. 

''Oh, Sherlock,'' he muttered, his arms dropping to his side. ''You need help, brother mine. And I can no longer provide you with that.'' Fresh tears brimmed his tired eyes but he blinked them away. There was no time for emotions. He had to take Sherlock home. 

Without much effort, he placed his arms securely underneath Sherlock's thin frame and lifted him up. The young detective's head lulled onto his brother's shoulder in defeat. He was barely conscious, the drugs dragging him into an inevitable slumber. 

Mycroft's grip on him tightened as he whispered, ''It's alright, brother. Sleep it off.'' 

Sherlock hummed softly in response before shutting his eyes completely and falling asleep.

It wasn't until he was safely back in Baker Street when he woke up. He squeezed his eyes shut a couple of times before they adjusted to the brighter change of scenery. He moaned softly, leaving his body limp on his bed. 

''Good morning,'' Mycroft said. He straightened up in his seat, leaning on his umbrella with both hands. 

Sherlock parted his lips, ready to say something. However, no words came out. He was exhausted, completely spent by yet another night of visiting various drug dens. But he wasn't just tired. He was also embarrassed. Embarrassed that his older brother had found him high again and had to bring him home. He felt ashamed, guilty even.