Sherlock curled up in the back seat of the car, complaining—among not knowing where they were headed—that he'd left his coat at Baker Street despite the unusual heat of the day. John hushed him, put the car in drive, and headed to Mycroft's. It took four minutes for Sherlock to realize where they were headed.
"He doesn't need to know. He shouldn't know." The detective's voice was shaky, not carrying the usual demanding tone John had grown accustomed to.
"When I said you needed to let us help you, that included your brother. Be glad I'm not getting your parents involved. Besides," John said, attempting to make eye contact through the rearview mirror, "Mycroft, knowing him, already knows something's up."
Sherlock huffed and looked out the window. His hair was still wet from the forced shower of the morning; he wore a pair of jeans (John hadn't known he'd owned any, but decided not to question it) and an old t-shirt. He hadn't bothered to shave. Laziness or rebellion, John wasn't sure.
The rest of the drive was passed with silence and solitude, interrupted only occasionally by Mary grasping John's hand and offering a small squeeze. They arrived to the mansion soon enough, though John had to drag Sherlock by his arm to get him inside.
Mycroft met them in his library several minutes after their arrival; his right eyebrow raised immediately after seeing his little brother. "No suit today? My, you really don't want to be here, do you?" He turned his attention to John. "What is it this time?"
John took a seat on a very expensive looking couch and cleared his throat. Mary joined him; Mycroft sat in a chair diagonally and Sherlock remained standing, looking through titles of books as though he were alone.
"Sherlock is living with Mary and me at the moment," John began slowly. "As you know I've been visiting his flat frequently due to our…shared concerns. Yesterday those fears were confirmed."
Mycroft's gaze turned to Sherlock. It wasn't met.
"Of course we thought you should know," John continued. "We've come up with what we think is a pretty good solution; we wanted you to be present while we presented it to Sherlock so that…"
"So he can force me to comply," Sherlock broke in. The others looked over at him; he'd said it so low and was still facing the books with such interest that John questioned whether or not he'd even spoke.
"Let's hear it, then," Mycroft said. "Sherlock, sit."
No acknowledgement.
"I'm already disappointed beyond belief, little brother. Unless you'd rather have our parents join in on this conversation…"
Sherlock growled, spun lazily around, and plopped onto the floor. Mycroft sighed, annoyed though appeased, and motioned for John to continue.
"Sherlock will live with us for a minimum of two months," he said, addressing Mycroft but facing the detective. "That is, of course, if he remains clean."
"Make it three," Mycroft said. Sherlock shot him a glance and began to protest but apparently thought better of it; resistance, he knew from experience, would only be met with harsher terms.
"Three, then." John cleared his throat again and ignored the increasing intensity of Sherlock's glare. "Molly will test him several times a week. Mrs. Hudson won't let him into 221B without me; likewise, he won't go on a case unless I specifically approve it and accompany him. Scotland Yard has agreed."
"House arrest?" Mycroft asked.
"Without one of us, yes." John turned to Sherlock, waiting for eye contact. "I know it's harsh, but it's this or a facility. I'm taking off work as long as you stay with us. Mary and I are only here to help, as is your brother."
"I'm not addicted," Sherlock said, his voice having returned to the low and demeaning tone John was familiar with. "I've shot up only twice this month; before that I was clean since the day you broke William's arm."
"Sprained," John corrected; Mary shot him a glance.
"The fact is, dear, you're back on it," she said. "If you want us to believe the great Sherlock Holmes can quit whenever he feels like it, fine. You have the next three months to prove it to me."
"If the press gets wind—"
"Your brother will make sure it doesn't." John sighed and turned to Mycroft. "Know he's in good hands with us. If he misbehaves you'll be the first one we call."
"Yes." Mycroft put his weight on the umbrella and stood. "Join me in the hall for a moment, will you, John?"
The two left Mary and Sherlock behind, closing the door and stepping several yards away. John already felt odd having Sherlock out of his sight. "John, you do realize your wife is due to give you a child within the next month."
"Yes?"
"You've only two bedrooms. Not to mention that managing two children could be a bit hefty."
John shuffled his weight. "It's what he needs. I told Sherlock nothing would change when I started a family, and I meant it. He is family. Mary and I have discussed it."
Mycroft offered a smile and pulled an envelope out of his coat jacket. "I hope it's the right decision, John. I do. Perhaps this will help with some of the expenses."
John opened the envelope and pulled out a check, nearly losing his balance at the figure. "Mycroft, I can't accept this."
"It will alleviate some of the burden."
"He barely eats. He wears the same three outfits, except for today. No." He attempted to hand it back but was denied.
"Consider it a baby shower gift, then. Now, John…" Mycroft hesitated as though unsure of what he was about to say. "All feuds aside, I want what's best for my brother. Hopefully this is it. However, in the event that he does relapse, I will insist that he come live with me. Permanently." He lifted his umbrella and tilted it towards the doctor. "With that in mind, I'm sure you'll do everything in your power to make sure that does not happen."
John tried to think of an excuse but came up short. Mycroft was right; if he wasn't enough to help Sherlock recover, Mycroft was the only logical next step.
He returned to his family. "Let's go."
Sherlock happily obliged; Mary walked beside John as they watched the detective practically race to the car. "You okay?" she asked. "What did he have to say?"
John looked at his best friend and knew, in that moment, he would do anything he could to keep him from going back to who he used to be. "We've found ourselves in a custody battle, Mary, and I'm not losing him."