The Watsons' Care

Chapter 29

The procedures next morning took hours. But eventually, the Holmes's boys were released back to the Watson's, a police report had been filed against their father, and Mycroft had been discharged from hospital. And now Mycroft was sitting alone on his bedroom floor, his back pressed against the wardrobe, his arm resting on his knees which were pulled up to his chest, just as he had been when he'd cut himself. He remembered the relief, the spark of life that had sprung back inside of his heart. And then he remembered the consequences, the pain of losing Sherlock. The pain of knowing he had betrayed him. He could never do that again. Mycroft let his head droop to his chest. Suddenly, he heard a voice from the door.

"You're not going to hurt yourself again, are you?" Harry said quietly. Mycroft sprang to his feet, embarrassed.

"No" he wouldn't look at her.

"Good. That was the most terrifying thing of my life." She slid to the floor next to where he had been a moment before.

"Lucky you." He said bitterly, remembering in an instant all the scary things he had had to deal with. He sat down again next to her.

"I feel like I hardly know anything about you." Harry mused quietly, looking around at his room.

"There's not much to know."

"You really think that, don't you? Well, I disagree."

"And now you want to know how much of a freak I really am" he said accusingly.

"What are you on about? I don't think you're a freak."

"Everyone else does."

"No one here. No one at school."

"They don't say it..."

"You're not a freak, Mycroft" the eleven year old looked piercingly through his walls.

"Anyway..." he tried and failed to change the subject, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"I was asking about you. I want to know how you got here."

"No you don't, not really."

"Trust me, I do." She nodded.

"Even I don't want to know."

"A burden shared is a burden halved. My grandma used to say that a lot."

"I'm here because my dad doesn't like me and my mum doesn't care."

"Did your dad hurt you?" She asked calmly. He looked startled, but she shrugged "a boy a few years ago came here for a couple of months because his mum hit him lots."

"Yes. He hurt me." Mycroft wouldn't look at her, and he pulled his knees in tighter to his chest, resting his forehead on his bony kneecaps.

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe now." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, noticing the saltiness on his skin but not commenting on it. "You don't need to be scared anymore, My. We got you." They sat together in silence for almost an hour. When they stood back up, Mycroft felt closer to her than he had to anyone his age in his entire life.

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