Breaking the ice {Mystrade}

Chapter Thirteen - Recovery

"Help me! Please! I'm on a plane and everyone's asleep. Help me."
"Frightened. I'm really frightened!"
The world gave an alarming lurch. It was bright - sickeningly bright, as if someone had switched on a hundred floodlights and was now directing them inwards to the windows of the airplane. Mycroft squinted, using his hand to shield himself from his blinding surroundings.
Every seat was empty, every space utterly devoid of signs of others. Except for one; right at the end of the isle, one small child.
"Please! I'm on a plane and it's going to crash! It's going to crash and I can't stop it!"
"I... I don't... I don't know what to do..."
Slowly the light began to fade, and the world came into focus. Mycroft took a few cautious steps forward, swaying slightly with the motion of the plane.
"Please, help me. I'm all alone and scared and I don't know what to do..."
He continued to move along the plane, head inclined as, blinking, his bleary eyes tried to focus upon the child.
"Please, Mycroft! I'm alone. You left me. You took everything from me!" Her voice was harsher this time, more familiar.
"How do you know my name?"
"You don't see me, do you? You never did and never will. I always preferred Sherlock - I could make him laugh."
"Eurus!"Mycroft cried out, leaning against a plane seat as his legs seemed to melt from beneath him.
"You though: You and Uncle Rudy with your schemes and your orders. You, Mycroft Holmes, who can control a country, can control a prison, but couldn't control the madhouse - or what did you call it? Hell. Yes, brother mine, you can play your games, you can construct your perfect little power structure, but can you control your own family? But, more importantly //now that it crosses my mind//, can you control yourself? Look at yourself. Playing the game. //socialising; branching out//. You call it love, but what is it really? Just another plaything for you to control. Just think about your Gregory dear - why is he here, brother mine? An essential commodity to your travels? Well look where that's got him. Scars leave a mark, brother dear. You of all people should know."
All over, Mycroft shuddered, his slender hands clenched over the edge of the seat, knuckles waxen from the strain. Each breath felt like fire and he desperately tried to reach for oxygen, until his mind began to fold in on itself and he realised there was none. Masks dropped coldly from the ceiling, speaking unheard words of terror and tragedy. He reached out for one but it was too far, the yellow cup just inches away from his outstretched fingers. Then suddenly he was in a hospital - the clinical smell of antiseptic was unmistakeable. Someone was in the hospital bed - someone with black, curly hair. Sherlock. The cardiac monitor, a simple red line. Eyes closed, face obscured by a yellow oxygen mask. Then he was back in the plane again, reaching out for the mask but it was still too far.
He couldn't breathe. He was going to die. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die...

"Mycroft?!"

****

"Mycroft? Honey? Come on dear, wake up..." Greg reached across the plane seat to give the auburn a tentative pat on the shoulder. Mycroft continued to toss and turn, muttering snatches of pain stricken dialogue.
"Come on, wake up sweetheart..."
He opened one eye. Then the other.
"W-where are we?" A broken whisper escaped the auburn.
"...we're on the plane back home. You just had a bad dream, that's all, love."
"Fuck!"
"Eh?"
"I - I need to get off this plane - I need to - oh god!" Mycroft gaped as he looked out of the window, only to see the endless ocean beneath them.
"Mycroft, what's going on? What's happening dear?" Greg took up Mycroft's shaking hands in his own. He flinched at the touch, then tried to pull away, but Greg brought him gently back.
"Look at me, honey. You had a dream, yeah?" Warm, brown eyes met frosty blue. Greg ran a hand along Mycroft's arm.
"I... I never should have asked you to come." He recoiled, burying his face in his hands. "I put you in danger - danger I fully realised was possible, and like the fucking arsehole I am, I asked you to come here to... to protect me."
Greg wrapped his arms around the auburn, who still sat rigidly, not at all yielding to Greg's affections.
"Mycroft, listen. You are not an arse. Believe me, you mean so much to me, Mycroft Holmes. So much. I know we barely know the truth of each other, but we've worked together for god knows how many years and honestly these past few weeks... They've changed things. I'm starting to see you. I know I'm not great at consoling people, but you have to believe me."
Mycroft collapsed into Greg's arms, unable to speak. The D.I. ran a hand through the other's hair.
"I'll be okay, Mycroft. It's a terrible thing what happened, but I'm in the force, I see these things all the time... I guess that's just how crappy this world is, y'know? ...Do you think you can tell me what happened in the dream?"
A sudden sob told him all he needed to know.
"Look, sweetie. I'm here, we're gonna get though this, okay? We've got a few days off from work anyway, seeing as we're back so early. How about I speak to Anthea?"
Mycroft suddenly sat up.
"No! Don't - she'll only arrange more time off for me... I can't spend another month without my work, Gregory, you have to see that."
"I do, Myc, I do, but I can't see you like this... What if you were to work from home?"
"Not possible."
"I won't speak to her, then. I promise. I just need you to know that I'm here for you, yeah?"
"Yes... How long until this damn plane lands?"
"Half an hour, why?"

A few minutes later, Greg settled himself under the blankets, next to Mycroft. He'd fiddled for a while trying to work out how to recline the seats and as a final touch, he grabbed a couple of blankets from the cabinet above and draped them over Mycroft. Soon both men were fast asleep, finding some comfort in the closeness of the other - almost platonically, a mutual empathy.

****
As the plane touched down at Heathrow, Mycroft woke again sharply. Greg was fast asleep with his head resting upon the auburn's chest, snoring softly, his own chest rising and falling with each breath of oxygen.
It was pitch black outside - well, the sky was - but floodlights lit the empty runway.
It was a curse to be a Holmes, Mycroft reflected. A curse which brought danger upon not only himself, but many, many around him too. 
In that moment, he swore to protect the silver-haired man whose head was still nestled in his chest.
And in that moment, he hoped more than anything in the world, that Gregory Lestrade would always be around to protect him.

A/N: G'd evening!
I'm back! (Again)
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Chapter 14 will be around sooner than you think. In fact both Chapters are to be published simultaneously. Bet ya weren't expecting that (so there, Daniel. Both chapters before the release of Sherlock Season 5).
Love you all,
Ellie xx