Chapter 9: But if you go, you'll never come home. You'll die there. "And you know this, mother?" I know it.

Mycroft's mind was in chaos. He kept drifting in and out of unconsciousness, just enough to know that he was in the hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses talking to each other in terms that he didn't care much about. Multi-organ failure, sepsis, anaphylactic shock. Their words echoed in his ears, Mycroft felt pain all over, the pain was persistent, although not as intense as before, Mycroft still felt extremely tired. And cold. He must be shaking right now without his mind even recognized though. He heard them shouting unfamiliar terms. His head throbbing, the sharp pain made him nauseous. He wanted to give up, to close his eyes and never to wake up again, to escape from this physical pain; and at the same time, he wanted to hold on just a little more. For what, he couldn't be sure, he just remembered that he should not die yet, he still hadn't said an important apology. To whom?

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes; he saw his parents sitting beside his bed. Sherlock was here too. His parents looked at him with reproachful eyes. Sherlock turned his back on him, he was looking away, Mycroft only saw his figure in the corner of the room. He was about to open his mouth, he remembered now, he wanted to say sorry to his parents, to Sherlock and Eurus. Before he could speak, his mother spoke first.

"You really let me down, Mike. Suicide? Could you have made a more cowardly and irresponsible choice?"

Mycroft felt his heart suddenly lose its beat. His mother's gaze was full of contempt, he could see blades in her eyes. Blades that pierced his soul, he felt pain, feeling numb, he didn't know what to say, the pain in his chest seemed to increase by seconds making him breathless.

"I..."

"You've ruined the family's reputation, Mycroft. After everything we've had to forgive you for, now this?!" said his father, he could not conceal the resentment in his voice. His face looked tired; wrinkles were forming on his old face.

Mycroft felt like crying, but he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He never cried in front of his parents; since forever. But he was really in too much pain. He never felt like this, this grief was drowning him, he felt suffocated. His parents were right, he could not be forgiven anymore, he was the shame of this family, apologies wouldn't help.

Sherlock suddenly turned to him. He saw him approaching, looking at him with a cold gaze, he noticed the distant look in his eyes.

"You really are not a proper big brother, Mycroft. To this day I truly regret not shooting you in Sherrinford. If I did, maybe I would have saved our parents from this disappointment, and you could still keep a little reputation for yourself; but now, do you know what you've become, Mycroft? How many have died under your hand? Have you any shame to feel disgusted at yourself, brother mine?"

Mycroft really felt like a hand was squeezing his heart hard. Sherlock's words were like knives, even though what he said was something he always knew, but to actually hear it come out of Sherlock's mouth, he felt pain. The pain was blinding all his senses. He opened his mouth but couldn't breathe, he was like a fish out of water, writhing, taking every sip of air hoping to prolong his miserable life. For what, there left no meaning at all. Why didn't he end this, stop this, give it all up?

Mycroft had been inside for more than four hours. It was quite early in the morning, the hospital lobby was still well lighted, but looking out the window, only a patch of murky sky was visible. Sherlock's parents had also arrived, two elders sitting on the hospital bench comforting each other, the scene was heartbreaking to look at. Siger gently patted his wife's hand, perhaps he also wanted to brace himself by holding her hand tightly. Sherlock sat next to John, across from his parents, he stared at them but didn't say a word. The emergency room lights finally went out. A doctor came out with a tiring look.

"Patient is temporarily stable. We tried to stop the intra-abdominal bleeding, but the intestinal mucosa was severely damaged. Furthermore, due to a sharp decrease in leukocytes, we could not perform laparoscopic surgery in fear of non-stop bleeding, so we could only continue high-intensity blood transfusions to avoid hypovolemic shock. Please be aware that this is not a long-term solution, with severe internal bleeding like this, the circulatory system will eventually fail to function. Patient has started showing symptoms of liver and kidney failure. Theoretically, organ failure should not occur at this early stage, but in this case, the amount of poison in the blood is too high, we suspect that the poison was ingested while the stomach was empty, so the osmosis rate was higher, leading to symptoms develop too quickly. Maybe family members have probably known that we don't have an antidote for ricin, we can only treat the symptoms. Given his medical history with anemia and asthenia for months without proper treatments, the current situation is very critical. We think family members should take the time to say the last words. We've tried our best, we're sorry."

Sherlock couldn't stand anymore, he collapsed. John helped him to the bench. Siger also shakingly grabbed his wife's shoulder, he aimed to keep her from falling, but his knees also wanted to buckle. Marie wept quietly. Anthea tried to control her strong emotions, she looked at the doctor's clenched fist still covered in blood stains and asked tremblingly.

"How much time do we have, doctor?"

The doctor sighed, looking at her with an apologetic look.

"He just had a sudden cardiac arrest and actually, he died on our table, but fortunately, we were able to bring him back in time. So, we're sorry, we could not answer your question; this depends on many factors. We have just given him high doses of sedation and analgesia to prevent convulsions and make him a little more comfortable, but the fever has not shown any sign of abating. We are still monitoring closely, but as a special request from the upper board for this case, family members can come in to see him. At present, the patient may not be able to regain consciousness immediately, but when the anesthetic wears off, please remember not to provoke him no matter what. Family members may find his skin hemorrhages disturbing to look at, but actually, those were not to worry about. The bleeding inside his organs and brain are our main concerns now. But, he is still holding on with us, so we will do everything to reduce his pain and buy him more time. Again, we're sorry and we truly sympathize with you."

Sherlock sat blankly on the chair at the foot of the bed, looking at Mycroft, who still hadn't woken up. He had never seen his brother in a hospital pyjama. Mycroft always wore his suit, his mother even asked if Mycroft did sleep in it. Now, looking at his brother laying unconsciously and helplessly like this, Sherlock felt his panic grow, his heart pounding, and took his breath away. Mycroft's fever still hadn't subsided, although the doctor had ordered high dose of antipyretic, his body did not react well to it. Sherlock looked at his mother, who kept applying a wet cloth to Mycroft's forehead, in hope of breaking the fever, but it didn't do much. Mycroft's left hand was covered with IV lines, and the bags of fluids that had been tube-drawn from him hanging under the bed were full of blood. Sherlock bit his lip as he watched his brother's exposed skin covered in bruises as blood vessels bleed under. The doctor said the number of white blood cells was low which increased the tendency to bleeding. Mycroft wouldn't last much longer. He listened to Mycroft's rapid, chaotic heartbeat, the dripping sound of the IV, the sound of his watch's needles ticking by. So fast, time went by so fast.

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes. He felt like everything was covered in a mist, he couldn't see very well, but he could feel someone gripping his hand. His mother's voice sounded as if from somewhere far away.

"Mycroft, Mycroft, son are you awake? Do you hear me, Mycroft?"

Mycroft tried to answer, he wanted to, but his lips felt parched, he still had a metallic taste in his mouth, and an oxygen mask was strapped tight to his face. He blinked, trying to look in the direction of the source of the voice, and saw his mother's dim figure looking down at him. His mother dressed differently, he wondered why she was still here, wasn't she angry with him just moments ago, why was she still here?

"Mycroft, take it easy, its dad, how are you feeling?"

His father's voice sounded hoarse. He gradually got a better look at his parents. His father also looked different as to how he had just seen him before. His parents looked... anguished, they were all crying, oh they were all worried about him. He realized now, he must currently be in a dream. Or was he dreaming before? Which version of them was real? He felt his heart aching, he remembered what he had just heard his parents and Sherlock said to him. Closing his eyes, tears welled up in his eyes. The pain was still there.

"Mycroft, Mycroft, where is your pain, tell mom." Marie sobbed, she saw her son's tears streaking down his face, she shakingly raised her hand to wipe them away. How long had it been since she had done this to her own son, how long had she not shown any affection or concern for her Mycroft?

Mycroft tried to talk, his voice sounded like the wind.

"Mom..."

His mother cried even louder.

"Mycroft, why did you do that! Why are you doing this to mummy?"

Mycroft looked at his mother without answering. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to take off his oxygen mask, but his hand was powerless. Suddenly Sherlock spoke up.

"No, Mycroft. It may feel a little uncomfortable, but leave it be."

Mycroft didn't realize Sherlock was also in the room. He gently held Mycroft's left hand. Mycroft's fever still hadn't subsided. His brother must be in a lot of pain right now. Sherlock felt sadness whelming in his heart seeing his brother like this and not being able to do a thing for him.

Mycroft found himself terribly cold, and even though his senses were numbed by painkillers, he still felt very cold, and tired. His head ached, the pain in his chest stayed stubbornly, it urged him to give up, to hide in the land of unconsciousness where there shall be no pain. Drenched in fever, Mycroft lost all his senses to the oblivious.

Sherlock saw Mycroft pass out again, he felt like something was squeezing his heart. His mother was sobbing harder, and his father was still sitting at the bed foot, lost in thought. Sherlock gripped Mycroft's hand tightly, he kept his thought to himself. Hang on, Mycroft. Not now, please, you haven't even said goodbye to mom and dad yet.

It took more than 2 hours later till the fever broke, and gradually subsided. Sherlock and his parents still sat in the same spots, they looked at Mycroft with their teary eyes, and felt his struggling with their weary hearts.

When Mycroft woke up again, it was almost noon. He was surprised that he barely felt pain, only his head felt a little dizzy and his stomach felt much less hurtful than before. Mycroft could see his parents and Sherlock quite clearly. He decided to greet them with a smile, but they didn't smile back. They looked sad, and exhausted. Understandable.

Mycroft raised his hand aim to remove the oxygen mask. But Sherlock was faster, he stood up to help his brother with a swift movement, he looked intently at the screen showing the oxygen saturation, then looked down at the corner of Mycroft's dry lips that still had a few ripples of blood on, Sherlock sounded quiet.

"Let me ask for a cannula for you. Would you like to lay your head a little higher? Do you need more morphine? Can I get you a glass of water?"

Mycroft smiled and said nothing. He stared at Mycroft for a few more minutes, then resolutely he walked out of the room. He wanted to give Mycroft some alone time with his parents.

"I'm going out... for a while. I'll just be outside; I'll be right back later."

Mycroft's eyes followed Sherlock's back. He wasn't wearing his famous long coat; he was just wearing a shirt that was still stained with blood. Mycroft turned his gaze to his parents, who were still looking at him with teary eyes.

"Mom, dad, I'm sorry. I..."

His mother suddenly burst into tears.

"When you're gone, what about us, Mycroft? Why are you leaving your own parents behind, Mycroft?"

Siger closed his eyes. He reached out and grabbed his wife's hand.

"No. Mycroft, it's okay. Mom and dad will be fine. And even if we can never be fine..." Pausing for a moment, he took a deep breath as if trying to muster up the courage to continue. "For years, you've done enough, you don't have to take responsibility for any of us anymore, son. I know it's too late, but I still have to say that if this is what you really want, we won't blame your choice. Even if what you want is to give up everything, even your own life. You don't have to worry anymore, Mycroft, neither us nor Sherlock or Eurus."

Mycroft felt his chest choke with emotion, he knew he didn't have much time left and he must grab the chance to tell them what he needed to, but for a moment he didn't know what to say. He could only look at them with tears start welling up in his eyes again.

"I'm sorry. I'm such an unfilial son, please forgive me. Mom, dad, when I leave, please don't think about me anymore."

Siger gripped Mycroft's hand tightly. Avoiding Mycroft's eyes, he looked down at the hospital blanket.

"No, I must say sorry. Over the years, I have never been a good father to you. Mycroft, you know what I'm saying. I beg you to forgive me, son, I was too indifferent to you, I..."

"Dad... please..."

Siger looked up at Mycroft. He smoothed the hairs that were hanging loose on his son's forehead, then continued in a low and hoarse voice from trying to hide his crying."To us, you were and will always be our pride. Dad will always remember my Mycroft..."

Then, unable to bear it any longer, he stood up, turning his back, not letting Mycroft see his tears. His shoulders trembled. Mycroft looked at his father's thin back, he also turned his face away and cried silently. Tears ran down wetting his pillow. He spoke softly, as if speaking to himself.

"It's because you don't know the disgusting things I've done."

Siger and Marie were silent, for a moment they didn't know how to answer their son. It was not that they didn't understand his position in the government, they always knew it was impossible to guarantee that their son would only do the naïve things. But what surprised them was, they didn't think Mycroft would feel so bad about himself to actually said that.

After a moment of silence, Marie spoke softly, still circling her thumb on Mycroft's hand.

"Son. I also don't understand why I've waited until now to say these things to you... For all these years, we've always been at daggers drawn with each other. You probably won't be able to forgive mom..."

"I don't..."

"Let mom finish, okay? Mycroft, I don't know why you are doing this to yourself, but I think that among the reasons there was my inattention toward you... Mycroft... I didn't treat you as well as I did to your sister and brother, I had always blamed you unreasonably for the things you had done so well. Son, mom is truly sorry. I should not have blamed you for what happened to Eurus, or Sherlock. They should have been my responsibility, but I myself refused to stand up so I forced you to become both their brother and their parent. I shouldn't have let Rudoph be with you so much, I was irresponsible. Mom still remembers little Mycroft used to want to be an astronomer, didn't you? This road you're following has been too hard, too lonely for you, my son. I thought you were so strong, so I wasn't thinking much when I let you take on so many responsibilities like this. I didn't even notice that you were suffering so much to finally made this choice... Mycroft, whatever the reason is, no matter what you've done wrong, you're still my son, and I won't look at you any other way than being the most reliable son I've ever been fortunate enough to have in this life."

Mycroft didn't dare turn around. He was afraid to face the suffering of his parents. Mycroft bit his lip, he cried quietly. He wished his parents were angry with him, and despised him, maybe he would feel more comfortable when he left.

"I didn't think I was still loved this much..."

Marie stood up, she bent down and put her arms around Mycroft. Siger also hugged his wife.

On the hospital bench, Sherlock was still sitting silently next to John, Anthea, and Lady Smallwood. Suddenly, he raised his voice.

"Lady Smallwood, previously you talked like... somehow this is about me? Is it because of me that caused him to do this? Lady Smallwood, I sense that you must know something more than us, please do tell me."

John and Anthea looked at Sherlock in shock.

"No, Sherlock, you will not blame yourself over this." John spoke up.

"Yes, he is right... Sherlock, sir takes all responsibility for the plane crash, this has nothing to do with you." Anthea added.

"Why do you two need to defend me this immediately? Is that because you two also sense there is something unusual in all this whole suicide due to work failure? Lady Smallwood, please..."

Lady Smallwood stared at Sherlock.

"You're always so good with your deduction thing, but you know what, sometimes it's easier and nicer to just... care, just ask him for what he is thinking, what he is hiding from you, if you suspect there is. He is still alive, isn't he, so if you need to know the reason behind all of this so damn much, why don't you just go in there and ask him directly, instead of me?"

Anthea and John were both shocked by Lady Smallwood's unexpected reaction. Sherlock was startled, he muttered under his breath in reply to Lady Smallwood but also saying to himself.

"Yes, you're right, I...I will just ask him..."

Lady Smallwood also felt rather overdone herself, she staggered to her feet.

"I cannot do this, Anthea. I thought I would just sit here and wait, but when I finally be able to get in, I didn't have the courage to go and watch him suffer on his hospital bed. Mycroft was right, yesterday should be our last meeting... Anthea, I can't be here anymore, Mycroft doesn't want this either, I... I'm leaving."

Anthea rose to follow Lady Smallwood. She didn't know what to say for a moment, so she decided to send her off to the car. Lady Smallwood turned abruptly and said to her in a low voice.

"When... when the time comes, please tell me."