Chapter Text
Sherlock had passed out in the midst if his frantic search for the strange woman in the street. His friends had lugged him up the stairs and to the couch, his bed simply being too far away.
It was nearing four in the afternoon by the time he woke - the sun low in the sky. 221B was eerily silent; Mary dozing in John's chair and Mrs. Hudson had disappeared hours ago back in to her own apartment. John was fighting sleep on the floor in front of the couch. Sherlock has to be looked after - he had overdosed and that came with lasting consequences, heaven only knows what could happen to the detective. So John, ever the physician - ever the best of friends, sat uncomfortably on the floor in front of his sleeping best friend simply watching him breath. He maintained a constant hold on one of Sherlock's wrists, telling himself it was to monitor his pulse.
Eventually John did doze off, still clinging to his best friend. It wasn't for very long though - a grunt followed by a confused "John?" Spelled the end of his little cat-nap.
John awoke with a jerk, he knew he wasn't asleep for long - the sun had barely moved, yet a platter of fresh tea and biscuits had appeared on the coffee table behind him.
"Um. John?" Sherlock looked a touch uncomfortably at him.
John hummed in assent, too out of his senses at the moment to form words.
"Why are you holding my hand?"
"I most certainly am not!" John jumped away from the detective who was in the process of sitting up - it was a bit awkward, Sherlock's usual grace failing him.
A giggle erupted from John's, clearly, no longer sleeping wife.
John huffed "I was monitoring your pulse you over grow child!" Mildly amused defense had managed to turn in to spitting anger in a single sentence. "You know, because you tried to kill yourself with drugs!"
Mary was at John's side in a moment, hands sliding around one of his arms in a failed attempt at comfort.
John simply marched on, voice rising with his temper "How can you justify yourself!? How can this be at all ok!? Any sane people would walk away Sherlock!" He breathed heavily. "You are a selfish bastard with no concept of reality! You think it's ok to hurt those around you! You think it's ok to treat those who love you the most as though they are insignificant! And damn it Sherlock, they" he paused, shaking with the frustration "I" his fury melting to shame "I keep coming back, you keep kicking me and I keep coming back." John scrubbed a hand over his face. "You know, Mycroft is as big of an idiot as I am because he's right here too. You keep doing horrible things and you keep drawing us back in."
John was done with his diatribe for the time being. He pulled his arm from Mary and made for the door, blindly grouping for a coat on the rack as he pushed past Mrs. Hudson who had appeared at the door at some point.
Mary walked around the coffee treble and sat next to a very out of sorts and mussed-up Sherlock. She sat so her right side was pressed close to his left, a comforting hand on his knee. Mary looked over at a still oddly silent Mrs. Hudson who was gaping at Sherlock.
Mary finally took a moment to examine the detective, and he looked utterly broken. And was that... tears welling up in his eyes?
Mary instinctively warped her arms around him. Cradling Sherlock's head to her shoulder with one hand while the other began tracing soothing circles on his back. "Shhh." She soothed. "He'll be over it soon enough."
Somehow though, this time, Sherlock felt an odd gravitas to the injury he paid John.
Not just John, really, but to Mary and Mrs. Hudson and even Mycroft - a bit, at least.
**********
John slammed the door to 221B Baker Street behind him as he strode out in to the frigid evening air. He went to put the coat on only to realize that he had grabbed, and he groaned audibly at this, a long grey bell-staff.
"Damn it!" John bellowed, "Damn it all!"
He had truly become fed up with everyone in his life being- well - who they were.
John threw the coat to the sidewalk like a child throwing a tantrum. He carded his fingers through his already mussed blond locks. He paced and contemplated going for a pint, but in the end he simply snatched the coat from the ground and climbed back up the stairs to 221B and flung open the door.
**********
It had been nearly twenty minutes - about an average time for one if John's little tantrums. Mrs. Hudson had moved in to the kitchen and was shuffling about in there when they heard the door fling open down stairs.
Sherlock had still been tucked in Mary's embrace - it wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it sufficed. The sound if the door had not only startled Mrs. Hudson in to a clatter, but had also caused Sherlock to leap from his place on the couch.
Sherlock scrubbed his face viciously as John's heavy footfalls drew closer up the stairs. He hadn't been crying - no, that is the last thing he would ever do. Ever.
John walked through the door, threw the coat on to the rack and made a beeline to his chair. The other three people in the room couldn't help but stare as the doctor plopped himself into the chair.
"So," John began.
Sherlock braced himself for another lecture, or at the vary least some emotional reverie from his companion. But it never came.
John had surely wanted to deliver an epic speech, something that would truly get through to the gangly detective - but the idea was quickly abandoned.
"Who was she?" John settled for.
Sherlock let out a sound that was at once a question, relief and surprise.
"Oh yes!" Mary was beginning to pour the clearly lukewarm tea. "That woman, who was she?"
They both looked at him expectantly as Mrs. Hudson picked up a pair of cups - one to John, the other to Sherlock, before sitting on the couch next to Mary who had her own cup in hand.
Sherlock sighed internally, relieved at the abrupt return to the statues-quo. He ran his fingers through his messy curls and looked down at the tea in his hand with a bit of distain - it was cold, how unfortunate. Sherlock set it on the table as he made a show of turning to look out the window. He steepled his fingers a moment in contemplation - even though it was an unnecessary display, intended only for his audience.
"She is an associate of my older brother." Sherlock stated as he spun back to face his company, making a mental note to turn more slowly until he has fully recovered.
"Yes," John sighed impatiently, "we gathered. But what made you go after her the way you did?"
"No." Sherlock strode across the room. "Nog Mycroft. I" Sherlock held a hand to his chest "am the third son of the Holmes family. I fear that this young woman is employed by my eldest brother. Sherrinford Holmes."
John chuckled impulsively, the room suddenly captivated by him instead of Sherlock. "Where did your parents come up with these names?" John blurted. The ladies on the sofa dissolving into giggles.
Sherlock fraught a smile, his - no, not his - John was back to, somewhat closer to, normal. "He is truly a genius. Unfortunately."
John's lingering amused grin grew slightly. "Someone, besides your self is 'a genius'?"
Sherlock ignored the quip. "He is the only person I believe could truly give Mycroft trouble, and he did. He challenged Mycroft in many ways and that is why Mycroft was forced to rid himself of our eldest brother."
The room was captivated by Sherlock's tail.
"You see. Mycroft chose to exercise his mind through the accumulation of legitimate power. I utilize the criminal classes by solving their wrongs. However, Sherrinford Holmes sought to alleviate his boredom through a more direct interaction with characters of dubious moral constraint. He is a criminal unlike any other - he has never broken a single law. He does however maintain power and control over various criminal organizations through the manipulation of legitimate businesses. It is known that he is a master criminal, yet there is nothing to charge him with. He had grown too powerful by the time Mycroft took the office he now holds; a scheme had to be concocted in order to remove the eldest Holmes son from England."
Sherlock fell in to his chair as though the tale had taken so much out of him "and now" Sherlock went on, "he is back."
The room was silent for a moment.
"Whow-Whow-Whow." John held up his hands in a dramatic gesticulation. "You mean to tell me that, not only is there another one of your kind, but that he is so smart he is actually a bad-ass... Ok. No."
John simply looked at an unwavering Sherlock.
"No." He repeated. "No. This - this is crazy..." John paused a moment, thinking back on his life since meeting Sherlock. "Which is not at all surprising." He melted back in to his chair with a resigned groan the thought *only god knows what this adventure has in store* floating around his mind.