Title: Clean
Author: AnnieVH
Summary: Mycroft makes a difficult request.
Rating: R
Genre: angst.
Characters or Pairing: Sherlock/John, Mycroft.
Prompts: "a tight squeeze" by lemonflav_lopfe
Warning: detox, mentions of alcoholism and other addictions.
Spoilers: season one.
Disclaimer:don't own, just burrow.

"Don't ask that of me." John pleaded and Mycroft tried to avoy his eyes because he knew his request was unfair. Yet, he didn't take it back.

"I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't absolutely necessary." Mycroft said, softly, knowing making a direct demand would get him nowhere.

"He is not my responsibility."

"I'm aware of that."

"Clearly, you are not-"

"I am." Mycroft said, finding John's eyes for a moment to let him see he meant it. "He's mine. And if I thought I could help him, I would, but I can't. I've tried too many times already and this just doesn't go away."

John looked at him, trying to find another excuse because he really couldn't get back into that room one more time. Couldn't assume his role as caretaker just because Mycroft Holmes was too much of a coward to go to his brother, just like John himself wouldn't go to Harry.

"I've done this, John." Mycroft proceeded. "Been doing this for the past fifteen years. I can't do it again."

"There are places-"

"There's no place he won't get out of. And even if he didn't, he'd never forgive me." Before John could come up with another idea, he said, "I know I ask too much. But please. He loves you. He'll listen to you. You can save him."

John wasn't sure if that was true - in his experience, you can't save people from themselves. Your job is to watch and despair as they destroy their lives and everybody else's around them as they try to cling to whoever it was that had reached out a hand.

And he didn't know if he had the strength to go through that ordeal one more time. It would hurt too much. Ruin too much. Mycroft knew that, and John wondered if he'd have done the same thing for him if the whole situation would've been the other way around.

No. Probably no. Most likely no.

Sherlock, however, would.

Sherlock had crawled on his side and lied on the covers, barely breathing, like a rag doll that had been played with too much. His arm was bleeding from where John had ripped off the needle, tinting his sheets with little drops of red Sherlock didn't care for. He was staring at the broken violin. That had been a bad trip and once he came down from it he'd just never forgive himself.

John reached out for his hand and thumbed if softly. "It's okay." The lie slipped through his lips easily and he knew Sherlock was way to smart to believe it. "It's fine. I'll be here. You'll get better."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but he squeezed John's hand back and pulled it closer to rest his cold cheek on.

**FIM**