This story isn't going to be as detailed as Zapped because I can't get into Sherlock's head the way I was able to once upon a time. I don't know the cause of this, though I'll try rewatching the series to see if that helps. Eh. But here you go, chapter three. more like chapter two though if you ask me.

Enjoy!


For just one instant, it felt like home when he finally blinked himself awake. The warmth of the body next to him was welcome and relaxing, something he was used to—and then he'd realized that there was no reason for him to be cuddled so nicely, and that there wasn't anyone in particular he even wanted to cuddle with. Once his eyes were open—hospital room, private, Mycroft's doing—he decided to get the person off him in the most efficient way. Being accusatory and defensive weren't the nicest, perhaps, but Sherlock didn't knock things that worked.

Her shock at his behavior was palpable.

Well that did it. He was never, ever, going to try cocaine again. Ending up in hospital with a clingy nurse sleeping at his side, a nurse who claimed she wasn't one despite it being obvious from the careworn look of her sleepy eyes and the gentle firmness of her hands as she handled things. It just wasn't worth it.

Mycroft hadn't helped—telling him not to go running in buildings without backup. Backup for what? He'd asked about the nurse and was rewarded with a roll of the eyes and a scoff.

"That's your fiancée, Sherlock. You're getting married in April you lout. Though she has cared for you through your addictions and your recent injury, she is hardly your nurse." Mycroft looked older as he spoke—as though he'd aged ten years at least since Sherlock had last seen him. It was bizarre—more effects of the cocaine? He didn't recall taking enough to hallucinate, though he kept his face stony in the face of his double-shock. The idea of a fiancée, and how wrong he'd been about the drugs.

His elder brother's expression faded from holier-than-thou to horror over just a few short seconds. No more than two, if Sherlock had been counting.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Obviously not—you mean that pathetic woman from earlier thinks she's getting married to me?"

Mycroft turned thunderous in his mood then.

"Only because she is the sweetest woman you will ever meet, Sherlock, did she agree to marry you when you proposed just outside of your rehab clinic on the day of your releas—"

"You can't tell me I would ever ask a mouse like that to marry me. Mycroft, she can barely stand up under the weight of her own being, you aren't being serious with me!"

They had such a row after that, and Sherlock's head ached with the effort of shouting—and listening to shouting. He had stubbornly shut his eyes eventually and ignored Mycroft until he left. Behind closed eyelids he reviewed everything he knew about the woman Mycroft insisted he was engaged to. Maybe Mycroft had somehow meant that the woman was engaged to himself rather than Sherlock? Unable to reason properly through his now pounding headache, Sherlock drifted off to sleep.


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