John's POV: Chapter Four

Sometimes I really looth Mycroft Holmes. His timing is impeccable yet annoying. To my surprise, Sherlock didn't wear his usual look of annoyance when Mycroft interrupted our conversation, but wore a more furious expression. The normal stare down of intelligence was happening before me, as my mind raced to catch up with them. What had almost told Sherlock. That could have ruined everything. Plus, he must already know. As I said, he knows everything. He must have been ignoring it to save me from embarrassment. Because it is completely embarrassing to be totally in love with someone who doesn't reciprocate the same feelings. Embarrassing and heartbreaking.

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft broke off the staring match to address me directly, "You seem to be recovering well."

Quickly, Sherlock answered, "He is." The tone sent through those word resembled ice. Mycroft walked into the room, closing the door behind him. I couldn't help but think how much he resembled sherlock in this moment. Mycroft never took his eyes off of Sherlock, attempting to hide the care he feels for his brother. The two of them pretend they aren't close, but it is quite the opposite.

"Sherlock," Mycroft address his brother, "I need your help." With that, the room grew still. Not once in my years with the Holmes brother have I heard Mycroft admit to needing Sherlock's help. Mycroft was too prideful. Sherlock met his brother's gaze again with a worried look. I could tell that he knew that what Mycroft needed help with must be of the utmost importance. Otherwise, Mycroft wouldn't ask.

"That's surprising coming from you, Mycroft. What is it this time? Another bomb in London? A cereal killer? Or maybe it is our sister?" Sherlock questioned. His last question seemed more like an attack than anything else.

"Sister?" Mycroft asked with genuine confusion. At that, my brow sank in thought. If Mycroft didn't know about Euros, then who did? Sherlock looked at me and seemed to be thinking the same.

"Don't try that with me Mycroft. I know about Euros." I could tell that Sherlock was fishing for answers.

"Euros? My god, you're that naive. He's got you believing in a white lie, Sherlock. I thought you better than this. Even if Euros was your sister, how would you not remember her, brother. Really that is quite stupid really," Mycroft practically laughed at the two of us. Sherlock's confusion was gone, having been replaced with anger. If there is one thing Sherlock hate, it's being called stupid. Especially if the one to call him so is Mycroft. After a few silent moments, Mycroft took his chance to speak again. "The woman who shot John was not our sister Sherlock. But she is Jim Moriarty's sister."

"Moriarty," my voice croaked out. He's dead. Sherlock had confirmed that over and over again. Sherlock's face twisted when Mycroft mentioned Moriarty's name, as did my own face. It has been years since Sherlock's faked death, but everytime I hear the name Jim Moriarty, I am brought back to that moment. That horrible, heart wrenching moment. The moment that ruined me. The moment I knew that I was totally in love with Sherlock Holmes. I had to stand at the bottom of the building, like an idiot, and watch the man I love fall, at least 10 floors, to his death. I was the one to check his pulse and declare him dead. I was the one who cried over his bloodied body on the pavement. I was the one who had to live a miserable life for two years. Even though I have forgiven Sherlock for letting me feel that pain, I will never, never forgive Moriarty. Thank god that bastard is dead and gone.

"Yes, John, Jim Moriarty sent his sister to do his dirty work. We believe he was trying to kill you to get to Sherlock. When you leave the hospital, we can show you the video he sent to my address. We have been trying to narrow down Jim's location, but we haven't been successful as of late," Mycroft spoke in a way that made everything he was saying seem normal.

Sherlock stood up and approached his older brother. "You are telling us that, Jim Moriarty is alive. And you and the damned government have known. And not told us," The stone expression Sherlock bared seemed to cause Mycroft uncomfortment. Mycroft explained to Sherlock and myself that they have been aware of Moriarty's return for about a year now. They have no idea how he survived, or what he plans to do now. Half way through Mycroft's explanation Sherlock broke.

"Get out," Sherlock simple spoke. No emotion in his voice. Mycroft shuddered at the tone his brother spoke with. He tried to reason with his younger brother, but Sherlock walked past him and opened the door. "Leave, now." Mycroft took his defeat quietly. I could have swore the look on Mycroft's face was almost sympathy.

Sherlock stayed at the door for five minutes, saying and doing nothing. He must been in his mind palace, trying to figure out how Moriarty did it. I left him to his work as usual. The sky outside turned gloomy as the rain began to fall. My own mind was racing with thoughts of moriarty, but most of Sherlock. If this comes to the same outcome as before, I don't know if I could survive another two years without my detective.

"John?" I looked back to see Sherlock standing at my side. His face looked aged with worry. I noticed his hand resting on the railing, and I took all of my willpower to not lay my own on top of his.

"What are we going to do Sherlock," I asked Sherlock. Our eyes locked as our minds raced with thought. I couldn't help, but wonder how it would feel to be held by him. To feel comforted in his arms.

"Right now, you are going to rest. Then tomorrow when we get to leave this horrid hospital, we will figure something out." He replied, relaxing his worried expression. I hadn't noticed how tired I was until I let my head fall back against the bed. I was asleep almost instantly.

Sherlock must have thought I was sleeping as well because before he sat down in the chair next to mine, he placed a ghost of a kiss against my forehead.