John had always been protective of his big sister, and so he was always a little bit touchy when she came up in conversation, or at least in fights, and as that was what he was in the middle of with Sherlock, or rather a domestic spat, as Mrs. Hudson would say, he did not react well to him bringing her name into it.
It frustrated John because he had never quite understood how his sister's drinking problem had gotten so bad. It was not like she had a bad childhood, at least as far as he could ever tell growing up right next to her. He had to admit that she was picked on at school when she first came out of the closet, but just like Harry, soon that was one of the reasons why everybody loved her. Their parents were never harsh, and always supported their two children, and accepted them no matter what. They never showed anything but love for their little girl and baby boy.
Then again, the drinking didn't become a problem until she was older, and had already moved out. John supposes that there must have been something that she had never told him that had initially caused it. To be honest all John really knew was that he seemed to be the only person who could bring her down when she was blind drunk, and he seemed to be the only one who she would let help her, at least most of the time. He was the one that got her to go to rehab, every time, and he was the one Clara had always phoned when his sister fell of the wagon, that was before Harry finally chased her off for good. After years of being the one who tried to hold his sister together his protectiveness only became deeper. He supposed that was why he snapped so bloody badly at the consulting detective this time. He had unwittingly crossed the only line John had that was never ever to be crossed.
With his teeth gritted John tried to reply as calmly as possible, "What did you just say Sherlock?"
Sherlock blinked at him. He could tell he had touched a nerve, but he did not realize how bad it was, so he decided he was going to repeat himself, despite the nagging feeling it was a really bad idea. He didn't want to lose now. Trying not to sound worried, but angry, he repeated himself, "I said, Harry is nothing but a drunk, and I don't see why you have to run off in the middle of a case that I need your help on, simply because she fell off the wagon again, for the fifth time! She is a hopeless wreck of a human being!" He paused before he finished as he saw John's face turn an alarming shade of red. He could not make himself say the last sentence, but he still didn't want to lose so he looked down and whispered, sounding rather harsh, "She doesn't deserve another chance, John."
That was when John had lost it. He no longer had any self-control over the words coming out of his mouth. He had to focus all of his control on not punching Sherlock in the face. He took out all his pent up anger on Sherlock in one, rage inspired, rant. Yelling with an intense rage he said, "You do not have the right to talk about my sister like that Sherlock! You don't get to determine how many chances she gets! No matter how bloody brilliant you think you are; when it comes to people you are the biggest bloody idiot I know! You know nothing about caring for someone else, so of course you don't see why I have to go and help my only sister! Unlike you and bloody Mycroft we actually care about each other, like normal people do for their family members!" He continued his rant, now all he wanted to do was hurt Sherlock, but not physically, no, that Sherlock would brush right off, he wanted to hurt him emotionally, if that was even possible, so rather than yell John's voice went quiet and hateful, "I'm not a freak like you Sherlock."
Sherlock stumbled back like John had actually physically hurt him. John could see Sherlock go to say something then stop, close his mouth, and then do it all over again, but never succeeding in saying a word. John could see the pain in Sherlock's eye's as they had a silent staring contest for a short moment before John turned around and left the flat, only bothering a quick good bye to Mrs. Hudson on the stairs. Sherlock was left staring at the doorway John had left through, his mind blank of everything but the words John had said, ringing constantly through his head. He didn't understand why he felt like he had just been punched in the stomach; he didn't understand why he could not think. It was only when Mrs. Hudson came and stood in front of him that he realized he was could finally speak.
With concern on her face she asked him, "Are you alright dearie? That sounded like an awful bad spat. Like the ones I used to have with my husband." She looked at Sherlock thoughtfully, "John stormed off looking pretty angry. Do you think he'll be back in time for tea?"
Frowning down at Mrs. Hudson he answered truthfully, "I think I really messed it up this time. I'm not sure if he'll be back at all…" His voice cracked with emotion so he stopped trying to talk.
Mrs. Hudson's mothering instincts took over and she embraced the tall gangly man in a tight hug as she sat him on the couch and held his head to her chest in the way mother's do, and in her most motherly voice she whispered, "I'm sure he'll be back Sherlock. He cares for you a lot. I'm sure he just needs some time to cool off." Sherlock said nothing, but instead hugged Mrs. Hudson tighter, trying to fight the tears he felt behind his eyes, threatening to escape.
Meanwhile John was wondering the streets of London. He had a train ticket for the next morning, but didn't know where to go until then, so he continued to walk the strangely empty streets until he recognized someone leaving a pub, or rather until they recognized him walking past the pub.
"John! What in the bloody hell are you doing out at this hour?" Greg Lestrade was looking at him like he was that strange singing pop tart cat that someone had sent him a link to. John looked down at his watch; it was almost two in the morning. Had he really been wondering for that long?
He didn't know what to say so trying to be truthful he simply stated, "Sherlock." The detective seemed to be satisfied with that answer, giving him an 'I know your pain' look.
Clearing his throat a little awkwardly Lestrade asked, "Are you okay? Normally you have a ridicules amount of patience for that man. He must have done something pretty awful to have you wandering the streets at two in the bloody morning." Lestrade threw his arms in the air, gesturing all around him.
Lestrade was showing real concern for John, which made him feel stupid as he answered, "Well he told me that my sister didn't deserve another chance." He could hear how lame that sounded as he said it aloud.
"What! Harry fell of the wagon again! Weren't you there only a few months ago for an intervention?" He seemed to truly care again, but John really didn't want to get into that, so he just gave Lestrade a sad weary look, and Lestrade seemed to understand. Now that he had said it out loud John was feeling guilty about letting himself blow up at Sherlock like that. He regretted what he had said.
Looking down at his feet John managed a few words, "I think I over reacted Lestrade. I said something I won't ever be able to take back. I hurt him so much."
He looked up in time to see a slight frown cross Lestrade's face. "Call me Greg; and what could you possibly have said to him to make you think it hurt him. I mean really the only time I have ever seen words hurt Sherlock Holmes is when Donavon or Anderson call him a freak, but you would never do…" Greg stopped when he saw Johns face fall even more with shame, "Oh…" He whispered, frowning a little again.
They stood there for a moment, neither of them speaking. Finally Lestrade offered the only comfort he could think of. "You could stay at my place if you'd rather not go back tonight. I've got a spare bedroom." He tried to offer the doctor a smile, but it was more of a sad smile. Greg could tell how much John was beating himself up, and could only imagine what Sherlock was going through at the moment. The person he cared about most, and trusted most, had said the one thing that could actually hurt him.
John tried his best to return the sad little smile as he accepted, "That would good. I was starting to fear I'd end up sleeping in the streets."
John drove them to Lestrade's place in the inspector's car, since Lestrade was too drunk to drive it himself. Along the way they talked about Greg's wife, and how she had run off with his daughter's P.E. teacher. They also talked about how his daughter was taking it, and they talked a great deal about Harry, as well as Sherlock. If the two men had not been friends before the car ride, they were by the time they got to Lestrade's.
Once they got inside neither said much of anything. John was shown to the spare bedroom, and then Lestrade was off to his own room to sleep off the copious amounts of alcohol. By the time Greg woke up at ten the good doctor was already gone, bed made, and a letter saying thank you left on a lid covering the breakfast John had made the inspector. Greg could not help but brighten a little as he looked down at the delicious looking breakfast. He hadn't had someone make him breakfast since he was a boy.
Mrs. Hudson had not slept well. She kept thinking about poor Sherlock and John. John had not come home at all, and she could have sworn she heard Sherlock crying in his room when she had passed it earlier in the morning. She had never known Sherlock to cry, so she was a little frightened by it. She was trying to work up the courage to knock on his door and ask if he was alright when she heard the front door quietly open and close, and saw John appear in the doorway of the flat.
At first John seemed startled by her presence, even though he was the one new to the room, but that quickly turned to guilt as he looked down at his feet before rushing off to his room to get his luggage. His train would be leaving in an hour so he was in too much of a rush to stick around, or at least that's what he told himself. As he went passed her again on his way out he only sent her a small wave before disappearing out the door.
Sherlock poked his head out of his own door just in time to see Johns heel. He was back in his room with the door closed before Mrs. Hudson even realized he had partly emerged. She was worried for both of her boys; she had never seen something come between them like this before. They had been through so much together in their brief time at 221B Baker St, and it would be a shame if they lost that over one silly argument.
Sherlock was ashamed to admit that he had let John's words affect him so much. He was ashamed that he had cried for the first time since he was a little boy and Mycroft had stolen his pirate hat and hidden it. He was even further ashamed when the man himself showed up around noon and Sherlock knew his brother could read it all off of his clothes, his red eyes, and the fact he was even more tired than he normally was during a case, and as if that was not bad enough, Lestrade showed up only a few minutes later. To Sherlock's horror he could see Lestrade successfully make the deductions in his own head as well. It had been bad enough when only he knew about his little emotional break down, and now both these men knew as well.
"What are you even doing here Lestrade? You have today off, and I have nothing new on the case." He was half-heartedly glaring at the detective.
"Hello to you too. Well Sherlock," Lestrade seemed to frown a little, "If you must know I wanted to come by and check on you. I know that John left for his sister's this morning, and I wanted to see if you two had a chance to work things out before he left."
Sherlock laughed darkly, "Please, why would you care if John and I…well… if we had a bit of a tiff? How do you even know about our fight? Have you taken to spying on me like my dear brother here?" Sherlock sent a death glare at his brother in the arm chair John usually occupied. Oh how he wished John was there, he always helped him deal with his brother.
Lestrade sent him a sad tired look. "I care because you and John are my friends Sherlock…"
Sherlock cut him off, "No, your friends with John, I'm just your consulting detective that…"
Lestrade cut Sherlock off this time. "No, Sherlock. You're my friend too, and that is why I'm here. I ran into John last night when I was heading home from the pub, and he was in a right awful state. He felt horrible about the fight you two had last night, and no matter what you say I know that you have feelings Sherlock, and I know how much John means to you." Lestrade sent him the sad little smile again, "I was hoping he had talked to you when he came for his luggage."
Sherlock's expression softened a bit as he replied, "I did not see John this morning. He was gone before I had realized he'd been here." In a sad little voice Lestrade had never heard the man speak in before he added, "I don't think he wanted to talk to me. I think he hates me now." Both men frowned at Sherlock.
Mycroft spoke for the first time since greeting Lestrade. "Really Sherlock, I don't think that hate is even something that John Watson is capable of, let alone hating you. He cares about you far too much to hate you."
Lestrade spoke up before Sherlock had a chance to retort. "Ya Sherlock, the man seemed heartbroken over the fight you two had, and it wasn't because of anything you did, he was heartbroken because of what he said." Lestrade actually stepped forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder before continuing with a sign that meant 'you should already know this you great idiot', "You are one of the most important people in John's life, if not the most important."
Sherlock looked up at the detective, knowing he was very close to losing what little control he had left. "I wasn't important enough to him for him to stay here with me instead of going off to his sister who will only hurt him more without even caring enough to notice." He was fighting hard to keep the frown off his face but not succeeding.
Lestrade sighed again as he spoke, "Sherlock, she's his sister. He has to go and help her, no matter how much he doesn't want to. No matter how much he rightfully resents her, or how much he would rather be here with you, solving cases. You don't think he knows by now that it won't work? It's not a matter of him choosing her over you. He had an obligation to go. It hurts him to see Harry like that, but he has no choice. As long as he is the only one who she will listen to, he will be going to her rescue. That's just how John is, you know that."
Sherlock did know that. It had been one of the things that fascinated him about his flatmate. His capacity to care about people seemed endless. But it still bothered him that John had gone, he didn't understand why someone would put them self through that if it hurt them so much, and he voiced that to the two men, "But why is he making himself suffer? Shouldn't his sister care that she is hurting him? I just don't understand why he has to go through this when all it ever does it make him feel worse." He looked at the men imploringly, and they just sent back the same sad little smiles they had been giving him repeatedly since their arrivals at the flat.
Mycroft spoke with a surprisingly light and comforting voice, "Brother, it pleases no one to see the good doctor go through this alone, again, but it's not like we can stop him from helping her. He grew up being the only one who she leaned on. He's the only one who is holding the poor girl together."
Almost sounding like a child Sherlock asked the two men, "If he's holding her together than who's holding him together?" He truly wanted to know.
The two men exchanged a look at that, and Sherlock knew what it meant. It meant his best friend had no one helping him, and he could see the worry in Lestrade's face, and the way his brother was holding the umbrella in his lap, which meant he too was worried. He had been so stupid. He should have realized that John needed him, weather John new it or not. Sherlock jumped to his feet, startling both men, Mycroft enough for him to spill his tea a little, and ran to his room. He knew what he had to do.
"Oi! What's all this about than Sherlock?" Lestrade yelled behind him as he handed Mycroft a napkin.
Sherlock reappeared a few minutes later with luggage. "I have to go to make sure John gets through this without any more permanent damage. If no one else is there for him, then I will be. I just need to get there and apologize first."
Lestrade was gaping at Sherlock in half fake, half real surprise as he teased, "Sherlock Holmes, actually apologize for something? I must be dreaming." Mycroft let out a small snort of laughter despite himself at the detective inspectors joke, but before he had completely recovered himself Sherlock had his coat and scarf on, and was out the door.
The two men left standing in the room looked at each other in silence for a moment before they both broke into hysteric laughter. Not completely sure why. Maybe because it had taken Sherlock so long to realize he actually cared about John, or maybe how long it had taken him to realize John actually cared about him too. It might have also simply been that the two men were in a serious need to just laugh. In any case the two men left 221B feeling a lot better than when they had arrived.