Struggling to open his eyes, Mycroft blinked under the harsh white overhead lights. His throat burned and his chest ached with every laboured breath. His lungs felt heavy in his chest and fog clouded his brain. There was something over his face...a mask. His fingers explored the edge of the mask.
Blinking hard, he looked to the large figure seated to his right finally recognising his uncle. Rudy’s size almost filled the room and seeing him squeezed onto a plastic chair would have been comical in any other situation.
“Do you know where you are, Mycroft?”
“Hospital.” He croaked, moving the mask to one side.
“Good. Do you remember what happened?”
Mycroft frowned. He remembered the well, finding Victor...shutting himself in his room, then smoke. Thick smoke. Eurus standing at the top of the stairs smiling strangely before skipping off giggling. Then the crackle of fire, of wood splintering. The heat. Sherlock’s door being locked.
Panic rising in him, Mycroft struggled to breathe causing him to cough and gag.
“Easy there.” Uncle Rudy guided him into a sitting position, holding out the paper bowl as he retched and rubbing his back being careful to avoid the bandages.
“Sherlock---” He wheezed.
“Is safe.” He guided the oxygen mask back onto his face. “You got him out. He’s unharmed. Unlike you! Dislocated shoulder, smoke inhalation, second-degree burns, broken leg.” Mycroft glanced down in disbelief at his plaster-clad leg. “Jumping out of the window was very brave, if a bit of a risk.”
“What about Eurus?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“Secured, for now. Once I can make more permanent---”
“She tried to kill you...or more specifically, Sherlock. She most certainly killed poor Victor Trevor, if we ever find his body.” Rudy’s eyes met his for a moment and Mycroft glanced away. “Your parents and I have discussed it before but now it’s become apparent she needs specialised care.”
“Are they…?” He felt guilty for only now thinking of his parents.
“Absolutely fine. They were here, but your brother had a...moment so they took him back to the hotel. I’m sure they’ll be in to visit you soon enough.”
They fell into a thoughtful silence.
“I need to go to the toilet.” He flushed red.
“Well, then. Let’s not leave you in discomfort.”
He disappeared for a moment and returned pushing a wheelchair, after a few attempts which left them both sweating with exertion, Mycroft was in the chair. Rudy wheeled him a short way down the corridor and into the accessible toilet. Giving him his privacy, Rudy waited outside until Mycroft called him back.
“Can I see her?” He asked as Rudy took him back to his room.
“It’s my fault.”
“I should have--”
Rudy stopped the wheelchair and with considerably difficult crouched down. “You are not responsible, Mycroft. You know that I don’t lie to you so hear this, you are not responsible. This is nothing you did or didn’t do.”
He began to cry. “Victor’s in the well.”
“I know.” Leaning forward, Rudy hugged him awkwardly. “It’ll be our little secret.”