So, I was quite surprised by the positive response, and that inspired me, so here you go!
It's a bit longer than chap. 1 but I hope you don't mind ^^;

I slept dreamlessly, and awoke to bright sunlight filtering through the window above me, the light hitting my face and giving me no other real choice but to awaken. I felt very hot, but could also feel myself in a cold sweat. The fever had gotten worse overnight. Watson was not present. Neither was the bucket of cold water. The room felt empty without them. The cloth was still on my head, but it was neither cold nor wet anymore, and had clearly done no good. My throat felt scratchy and hoarse, and my whole body ached dully. It was not as bad as the previous day, but it was still uncomfortable. I was also starting to itch all over.

I lay awake for a long time, and it was most likely almost midday before Watson made an appearance. He walked in tentatively, as if he believed I was still sleeping. "Good morning Holmes." He sounded as if yesterday had not happened. I ignored him as best I could as he helped me to sit up and brought the bucket back in. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore." He rolled his eyes. "Besides that,"
"Cold. I believe my fever has gotten considerably worse." He frowned and checked my temperature, clearly unhappy with the results. "Yes,"
"Are you going to let Mycroft return?"

He stopped moving for a second and then continued working methodically. "Only if that is what you wish,"
"No, that is not what I wish. Definitely not." He nodded to himself. "Then I will not permit him entrance to this room." I wanted to thank him, but the words became silent on my tongue. He smiled, and I knew he understood what I was trying to say. "I am afraid I couldn't deter Lestrade, though,"
"I do not understand,"
"He believes I am lying as to the state of your condition." He pursed his lips and his brow furrowed for a few seconds, deep in thought.

"What did you tell him?" I finally asked, the silence making me feel strangely uncomfortable. "I told him that you had severe acid burns to the majority of your body and that you had developed a fever overnight. Perhaps he believes I am exaggerating the truth." I just nodded mutely. "You seem very talkative all of a sudden." I swallowed and averted his gaze again. "Yes, well,"
"You do not have to explain anything Holmes." I thanked him silently once again and a truce passed between us, the atmosphere calming considerably.

Nanny brought me a lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches, and Watson thankfully helped me eat them, although that was a bit degrading. We had fallen into an easy conversation when there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson opened it and I saw Lestrade hovering behind her. Watson hissed, irritated, and his hands shook momentarily. I gasped and jumped, wincing as the bandage tore mercilessly at the raw, charred skin of my cheek. Watson had been in the process of removing the bandages on my face, giving in to the request after the fifth time I had asked for their elimination. I glared at Nanny, who had caused the minor break in Watson's concentration. When she had delivered lunch, Watson had not let her see me, but she now had a rather clear view of my face, torso and arms. She seemed quite dazed. I looked away, frowning slightly. She had seen me injured before; surely this was no shock to her?

Lestrade was staring open-mouthed at me. What were they thinking of me? That I was weak? I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and hoarse again. "W-Watson, it is awfully cold in here,"
"No, Holmes, that's just the fever." I had wanted him to close the door actually. That idea had not gone quite as well as planned. Watson dabbed the burns with the wet cloth and then returned it to my forehead as he turned to face Lestrade and Nanny. "I'm sorry Lestrade, and I've told you already, but Holmes is in no condition to help you." I blinked rapidly as his words began to slur together and my vision blurred. "Um, Watson, I-I don't quite feel too well." I felt my stomach convulse, and my whole body heaved forward. Pain ripped through my torso and abdomen as my stomach, again, tried to empty itself of its contents.

Watson said a word I had never heard him say before and darted out of the room, forcing Lestrade and Nanny out with him. He returned within seconds with an empty bucket and placed it on my lap. I then promptly threw up into it. My throat and stomach ached as I had a few seconds rest before vomiting again. I was quite glad that Lestrade and Nanny couldn't see this. The third time, I was just dry heaving, my body trying to expel something that was clearly no longer there. After the nausea past, I slumped against the pillows, my eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "Drink this." A glass of water was thrust into my vision. "Must I?"
"Yes, drink it." I obliged, swallowing the foul liquid that was most definitely not water. "What was that horrific concoction?"
"Water and painkillers. It'll help you sleep." I tried not to gag at the aftertaste, only to have the nausea return twofold. This was going to be a long night.

It was probably around midnight to early morning when I could finally rest, but it was only for a short while before the sun rose. Watson forced me to drink more of his awful mixture and kept the bucket beside me in case of 'emergencies'. I could feel no improvement, but according to Watson, the fever had wavered overnight, and seemed to be getting no worse. I certainly felt no better. I was resting lightly, still conscious of my surroundings, but half asleep, when I distinctly heard Mycroft's voice. He was arguing with Watson. "I cannot let you see him Mycroft, whether you threaten me or not." He was threatening Watson. My Watson? Damn him. I would not allow it. "Sherlock is my younger brother. You have no right to tell me whether I can or cannot see him." I gritted my teeth and grabbed handfuls of the blanket.

If he tried to get in here I was going to give him a mouthful. I took a deep breath and threw the sheets aside. I swung my legs over the edge and gingerly placed my feet on the ground. Pain slowly crawled up my legs, but I took another deep breath and put some weight on them. The pain worsened, and I gasped, grabbing the sheets again before regaining my composure. I pushed myself onto my feet, standing completely. The pain was incredible, and I could feel my legs shaking violently. The door was only a few steps away. It took an extremely long time to get to it. The edge of my vision was going grey. Come on. I took another deep breath and wrenched the door open, leaning heavily against the door-frame.

Both Watson and Mycroft turned to stare at me, panting and shaking. "Holmes!" Watson darted over and put his arms around my waist, helping to hold me up. Mycroft did not look happy, and made no move to help. "You shouldn't be out of bed." I ignored Watson and turned on my brother. "I do not wish to see you Mycroft. At all." I coughed a few times, and it eliminated the effect of the acid that had been in my voice. Everything turned a strange greyscale and I could feel my body slumping, Watson having to hold me up almost completely. "Please leave." I started to feel slightly numb, and my eyes turned to the ceiling and I felt the strange sensation that accompanied falling. Thankfully Watson stopped me from hitting the floor, but that was the last thing I knew as everything went dark and the pain finally ceased.

I was back in bed, which was both a good and a bad thing. I was no longer standing, but I had already catalogued everything I could in the room and my interest in it was rapidly decreasing. I wanted to be dozing in my armchair by the fire, but of course Watson would not permit that. "Mean Watson." He looked at me over the horrid novel he was reading, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "Am I?" I had not meant to say that aloud. "Yes. Very." Why was I still talking? "And why is that?" I choked on the words. He'd get angry if I said them. I shouldn't have opened my mouth in the first place. "I, I didn't-"
"What is it?" I couldn't tell him.

He would leave me, or worse. "You can tell me Holmes, I am quite sure you did not mean it in an insolent way,"
"Well, no, but..."
"But what? What is bothering you so much that you will not even talk to me?" I swallowed and went back to glaring at the wall. Watson sighed and put the book down. What was he going to do? My body tensed in anticipation for whatever followed, but as I did so, he stopped and just stared at me. I glanced at him, trying to judge his expression. He did not look unhappy.

I returned my attention to the wall, but instead of speaking to me or interacting with me in any way, he left the room. I myself sighed and lay back, draping an arm over my face and hoping I could get some sleep, even if I was bathed in sunlight. I managed to do so, and when I awoke I heard voices again. Watson was talking a lot when I was asleep, yet this time I did not recognize the other voice. It was to my left, so it was coming from Watson's office. "He hasn't experienced anything traumatic has he?" Male, early forties or there abouts, clipped, professional. "No, or nothing that I know of, and I have been with him whenever he has exited the flat,"
"Alright, describe what is actually happening. Has he acted like this multiple times, or towards other people?"
"He did it to my wife, and I know Holmes doesn't approve of her, but he is usually civil at least."

They were talking about me. Talking about the way I was acting. What had I done wrong now? I could not recall. "Tell me what happened in detail,"
"Well, she walked in, he didn't say anything or do anything at all, he just stared at her with this blank expression. She asked him what he had done to himself – Mary is quite fond of Holmes, although she tries to hide it and I knew she was genuinely concerned – but instead of answering the question he pointed out the fact that he trashed the kitchen, we tried to get him to explain but he turned away and didn't answer. Mary tried to take his hand to be comforting but he pulled his arm back as if her mere touch burnt him further." There was a few seconds of silence. "And how does he act in your presence?"
"Not too much differently really. When he woke up just after I had found him, the first question he asked was if I hated him. Just hearing him ask such a thing..." He sounded upset. Had I upset Watson?

"Just knowing he would ever think that,"
"Did you ask him why he thinks it?"
"Yes! But he did not give me a clear answer. He tried to avoid the question quite thoroughly,"
"I see." A few more seconds of silence and then I heard chairs moving and footsteps. "I have seen and interacted with him multiple times, and sometimes he acts completely normal, but then he suddenly just stops talking or even looking at me and if I go near him he tenses up as if he fears I am to hit him." The door opened and I closed my eyes. I could easily identify Watson's steps, but those accompanying him were much heavier. Like Mycroft's. I frowned as soon as his name entered my mind.

Either Watson or the other man sat in the chair, the other remained standing beside them. "Have you tried really getting the information out of him?" The new voice asked. "No, I do not wish to pressure him too much,"
"Yes, but you clearly want to know what is distressing your friend." A short silence. "But what do I ask? He clams up as soon as I try to talk to him,"
"Here, try this tactic." I heard pen on paper and then the man ripped what he had written out of a book before leaving, after he and Watson exchanged another short conversation.

I remained feigning sleep when Watson returned and sat in the chair. He remained still and silent. What was he going to do. Was he going to leave? To live with his wife? "N-no... Watson, don't leave... Leave me..." I thought as the fear began to grow and eat at me. The ache returned to my chest and throat and I gripped the sheets as a cold dread formed in the pit of my stomach. Such dread I had not felt for many years. "Holmes, Holmes wake up." Watson gently shook my shook my shoulder. He must have thought I was dreaming, and I realized that I must have spoken something aloud. How much had he heard?

I opened my eyes and relaxed my death grip on the blanket, blinking to clear the traitor tears clouding my vision. Watson looked concerned. "Holmes, we need to talk, really talk. You are not escaping it this time." Oh no. I pushed myself into a sitting position wordlessly and braced myself for whatever it was he was going to say and ask. "You think I am going to leave." Words failed me, so I just nodded, the pain in my throat and chest refusing to fade. "And you think that I- that I hate you." I couldn't respond to that, so I didn't. "Why? Please answer me." Hadn't I already told him? "Because, because I cannot do anything right." My voice sounded strangled, hitching as I fought the tears.

He went silent for a few seconds, trying to process what I had said. "Why do you think that?" I swallowed and went to turn away, to shut him out again, but I gripped fistfuls of the blanket and forced my body to remain still. I could do this. "I am not good enough for you." I wasn't supposed to say that. "What?" He was angry. I should not have said anything. "I-I cannot say the right things and I do not know how to-how to act towards your, towards your-" I could not say the word. Your friends. Friends so much better than I. Were we friends? Was that what he saw of me? "A-and then you yell at me and you get angry and I do not want you to be angry Watson, I want to you to be happy, and I try, I do, I try to make you happy but I just get you hurt or I mess up and you walk out and I am afraid Watson, always afraid because I never know if you are to return or if you are leaving me for her." I took a few deep breaths.

Watson himself remained silent. I did not know what that indicated. "And I try to impress you, because I am selfish and I wish for praise, but only you give me such a thing, and then you smile and you laugh and I feel warm and fuzzy and I think you are a- that you are my- my only f- my only fr-..." I growled in frustration and mashed my knuckles against my closed lids. Watson sighed and, just as before, pulled my hands away. I had pushed against scarred, burnt tissue. The pain was incredible. I no longer cared about the fact that I was crying again. I could see the tears falling upon the blanket.

I gazed up at Watson, feeling very much like a frightened deer, only to have his face freeze all thoughts. He looked utterly crushed, as if I had just told him he was about to die. "Oh Holmes." And then he was sitting on the bed and he put his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder, burying his face in my hair. I did not quite know what he was doing, but I did not particularly dislike it. Was this what friends did? I let my body relax, and leaned into the embrace, unsure of whether I would succeed if I tried to push Watson away. He sighed, but it was a different sigh. It was as if he had been released from some great burden.

It seemed like a long time before Watson sat back, releasing me from his grip. I did not know how to respond. I swallowed nervously and squirmed under his unwavering gaze. The pain was not nearly as bad as the last time I had done so. "Now why did you not tell me this earlier?"
"I was afraid,"
"Of me?" I nodded mutely and turned away again, but Watson took my face in his hands and made me look at him again. "Stop hiding your face." I obliged when he took his hands away, unsure of how he would react if I disobeyed.

There was another knock on the door, startling me and causing Watson to frown intently. The interruption was not a welcome one. He rose and answered the door, silently fuming. "Yes, do you want something?" He asked to whoever had knocked, sounding curt and very much a military man. I started counting notches in the wall again, but still noticed when Watson glanced back at me. The person sounded male, and was another voice I did not recognise. I could not quite hear what he said. Watson sighed before replying. Another not happy sigh. "I have already told him multiple times that Holmes is currently in a very mentally unstable condition, is still barely recovering, and that he told him specifically – and me – that he does not want to see him. At all." Was he talking about Mycroft?

My fists clenched as his name entered my mind, and Watson glanced back at me again, the irritation mingling with concern. "Holmes, are you in pain?"
"No." I mustn't have sounded very convincing as I leaned against the wall, because Watson's gaze lingered longer than necessary. Mycroft was going to press charges against Watson apparently. "Just let him see me Watson, I do not wish to cause you any grief." He looked as if he were about to argue with me, but I gave him a stern look and he metaphorically deflated. "Alright, tell Mycroft he may see his brother." More muffled voices and then Watson closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed again. "You do not have to do this Holmes,"
"I know, but if I do not, you will have to pay for my impudence."

Mycroft arrived within the hour, and I braced myself for whatever was to come. Watson refused to leave the room, and remained sitting on the edge of the bed as Mycroft sat in the chair. "Now, Sherlock, are we going to be reasonable?" My eyes flicked to Watson's carefully composed face. "Yes." He smiled slightly and leaned back in the chair. "Good, first of all, I want to know why you ended up like this in the first place." A flash of some expression I couldn't recognise past over Watson's face. It did not help my resolve. "Because I- I destroyed my experiments." I hoped he wouldn't ask- "Why?" I could feel my breathing starting to accelerate. Watson's eyes flicked to me and back to Mycroft. Slow, deep breaths Sherlock, I told myself. It was not helping. "I do not wish to tell you,"
"You told me you would be reasonable,"
"I did not tell you I would cooperate,"
"Holmes." Watson whispered in a warning tone.

He wished for not trouble between us, and obviously wanted me to answer just as much as Mycroft did. "I was... Upset." Mycroft groaned in an irritated manner and rubbed his face with his hands. "We are getting nowhere." He stated, glaring at me. "I am answering your questions, was that not what you wanted?" He rolled his eyes. "I want answers that actually come to some kind of conclusion. Now tell me why you were upset." I did not wish to. He could not make me. "No,"
"And why not?"
"Watson." That was clearly not good enough, for both men were staring at me in confusion.

I steeled myself for whatever would follow my explanation. "Watson was angry with me, and I could not remember what I had done to upset him." I hesitated, risking a glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. He looked rather expressionless, but his face was carefully composed, hiding some other emotion he wished to show. "He left and I, I did not know what to do and I saw them and I felt... I destroyed them in a hopes that maybe Watson might, perhaps forgive me for what I had I done wrong and I just could not- I do not know what happened after that. I woke up in this bed." They were both staring at me again.

What were they thinking? What was Watson thinking? I looked at him again, but he still had that composed face. "I-I think I. I want you leave Mycroft." I stated, turning away from him and pulling my legs up to my chest, ignoring the pain it caused. "Sherlock-"
"I am not talking to you anymore, I gave you the answers you wanted Mycroft, now leave." He made no indication that he was going to do so. "Please make him leave Watson." The man in question rose to his feet with determination. "You heard him Mycroft, please leave, and I am only going to ask you once." I was quite surprised when Mycroft – quite unwillingly – left without further argument.

Watson closed the door behind him and took up residence on the seat that he had previously occupied. "I am mentally unstable?" He was clearly shocked by my question. "I, Holmes-"
"You have said it more than once Watson, that I am 'mentally unstable',"
"I am saying it from a medical point of view,"
"I... Don't understand." He leaned his elbows on his knees, twining his fingers. "You are being very erratic, your mood changing unexpectedly without any prompts. I may have exaggerated it a bit, but I was doing all I could to keep Mycroft away,"
"Oh."

Watson walked out and left me by myself for the rest of the day, saying something about paperwork. I was starting to feel Claustrophobic, trapped in my bedroom, so I determinedly placed me feet onto the floor and pushed myself up. The pain was still quite excruciating, but nowhere near as bad as last time I had stood. Walking was a gruelling task, but I managed to get all the way to my armchair and I sunk into it gratefully, the fire crackling and the flat silent. It was strange without Watson. Everything was both very loud but also very uninteresting. I yawned and my eyes drooped sleepily. I very barely registered someone entering the flat as I fell into oblivion.

Ta-da! I really hope you guys like it so far, because I am very much enjoying writing it. Don't know how much longer I will make this though.