John sat quietly, stitching up Sherlock's hand, he would occasionally wince and john would stop. After about an hour of stop and go, he finally finished the stitches and wrapped up Sherlock's hand.

"please don't punch any more mirrors"

"then what shall I hit?"

"how about nothing. Sherlock, if you become a problem here" he stopped and looked up at Sherlock

"problem?"

"yes, a problem, you will be put away as a ward of the state."

"what are you suggesting " he said upset.

"I'm saying you need to not injure yourself, or others. That includes breaking things." John sighed and cleaned up the table, wiping it down and stretching. There is a bed in the back, I'll write down you needed overnight supervision by a doctor. I'll wake you at the end of my shift.

"if…I need to call you?"

"I'll be here"

"no I meant during the day, not that I will but I'm just curious" Sherlock said not wanting to show that he might need somebody who he could talk to.

"there are plenty capable doctors that will be here when I'm not. But for right now, go lie down…and just sleep" he smiled and rolled over to his computer, to finish up his work. John didn't tell Sherlock that he was pulling the night shift for this case only, he was a day time doctor and the occasional extra shift made him feel better about himself…better about the lives he lost in war.

After a few moments john turned his chair around and watch Sherlock lay on his side, away from the door. He appeared to be asleep but he wasn't going to bother him. john noticed something strange about Sherlock, he was oddly aware of who he was and what he was doing, compared to most of the addicts that were at the facility. Going back to his computer, he noticed a strange email from a Mycroft Holmes.

From: Mycroft Holmes

To: John Watson

Sent: Saturday, October 12, 2012 11:30 PM

Subject: Sherlock Holmes

I know who you are and what you do. You're the best Doctor at the center and I advise you, that my brother is very hard to work with. Although based off your skills and thanks to Hannah, your Resume; I consider myself grateful that you are the one to be helping my troubled brother.

-MH

John sat baffled at the letter, and felt a warm feeling come over him. although he knew nearly nothing about the man in the room next to him, it felt wonderful to know somebody trusted him the way the man's brother seemed to.

From: John Watson

To: Mycroft Holmes

Sent: Saturday, October 12, 2012 11:45 PM

Subject: Re: Sherlock Holmes

Thank you for trusting me in this service Mr. Holmes. your brother is in good hands here and we well continue to monitor him and update you if you'd like. Although he seems a bit unruly at first, he does seem to be aware of himself and what his condition is. It may be hard to keep him occupied since he is aware of everything, unlike the rest of our patients.

Watson

He sent off the reply and got up to get some coffee. Walking over to the door, he put the closed sign on and walked out towards the lounge. A few other people were in there already, and had heard that he was watching the famous sherlock. They had already been aware of who he was and who he was related to before he did, so they just stared as he walked in.

"how is he?"

"what's he like?" asked a female nurse.

"I heard his brothers connected to the queen" said another. John sighed, and poured himself a drink.

"the moment he walked in, I bet you couldn't wait to get him under your watch" said a man who was leaning against a counter; John's acquaintance of several years, Miles. They didn't get along very much, and Miles was always making fun of him.

"oh what do you know." John replied angrily.

"whose dick did you have to suck to get a patient that's family could buy out the building?"

"whose did you have to suck to get a degree?" the ladies in the room laughed at the strange argument and watched John walk out of the room, and miles stood beaten from the argument. Walking out into the main hall of the rehab center, a tall man stood at the desk, chatting with a receptionist.

"hello, Doctor Watson, I presume?" he put his hand out to shake. John took his hand and shook it awkwardly and smiled.

"Y-yes" he said looking over at the receptionist who seemed dazed by the man in front of her him "am I expecting somebody?"

"oh, sorry, I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock and I have worked together; in fact I brought him to the hospital last month"

"brilliant, is there something you need?"

"give him this, it's the details on the recent killings, he's our best man for the job"

"he's got classes to attend"

"oh I'm sure you can find a way to get him some free time." John took the thick envelope and smiled.

"sure, actually he had an incident earlier this evening and is in the infirmary." John said sadly. "but he's ok, just sleeping. They were…"

"solitary?"

"yeah." Lestrade looked down sadden, and placed a false smile upon his face. "well, I'll let you get back to your work; I'm just on my way home for the night."

"alright, night Inspector" John shook his hand once more before grabbing his coffee and heading towards his office again. Looking into the back room, Sherlock was wrapped up in the blanket, on his back. John couldn't be sure, but he thought Sherlock had been crying and frowned a little. He put the envelope in his drawer and would give it to Sherlock in the morning. But for now, he had to stay up and make sure everything was ok.

The night seemed endless for John as he sat willfully at his computer, going to sites and writing a little. He received no more messages from Mycroft, and hoped that he wouldn't have to send any bad reports to him in the future. He did however; get a message from an old friend he was in the army with. They chatted for a little while about where they had been and what they had done. John had been shot, walked around with a sort of limp. Nobody believed him but then again, it didn't matter what anybody thought. He had convinced himself that he was alright, that he never would need anybody again. The pain of losing people was horrendous and often plagued him at night.

But watching Sherlock sleep, it was a different kind of feeling, the feeling of being needed instead of needing. Putting that feeling in the back of his mind he went back to writing his friend. As the conversation got longer, the hours to sunrise became shorter and soon the sun was up and glistening in his window. Of course, the room Sherlock was in, was dark and separate from the rest of the infirmary, so he would sleep.

John was used to not sleeping, he suffered from many nightmares and was on medication for them, but sometimes he would rather stay awake than take them. Sherlock usually didn't dream, but this night he did. John had been sitting back in his chair, with his legs up and dozing a little, but not enough to dream. He was thinking about stuff, people and his job. Hearing some rustling noises in the room, he figured Sherlock had woken up and was about to walk in and say good morning, but instead he sat for a moment, and realized Sherlock was having nightmares. Of what he didn't know, but he had to wake him up. Slowly john walked into the room, seeing Sherlock tense, wrapped up and tears streaming from his eyes, he patted his shoulder.

"Sherlock, wake up. It's just a dream" John said. Sherlock fumbled with his blanket trying to move his arms. "Sherlock-"john stepped back as Sherlock opened his red, watery eyes. His face was full of rage and pain. Before John could do anything, he was pinned against the wall. Sherlock was using all his strength.

"where am I?" he demanded.

"Sherlock, you're in a rehab center"

"The Fuck I am…now tell me the truth"

"I-I'm Jo-John Watson." He stuttered, unable to move. He was scared in a different way. Not the "I'm going to die" scared, but "what the hell is he doing" scared. John didn't like being in the receiving end of anything violent, and was always on that end. He sighed, trying to push Sherlock away.

"you were having a nightmare, you're awake. Let go and we can forget this happened."

"Doctor Watson, you have a letter" said a female from outside.

"J-Just a minute Hannah" he called the best he could. "let me go, we can talk about this later" Sherlock released john and backed up, rubbing his eyes and realizing where he was. John had already left the room and was at his desk, opening the letter. Sherlock sat back down on the bed, and rubbed at his matted hair, quickly noticing one hand was wrapped and the other was sore.

Just as before, the letter was in a plain envelope and sealed in wax. John didn't know Lestrade had received one, in fact, Lestrades' envelope got lost in the car that night as he left the hospital. The envelope had a strange musty smell to it and so did the letter. John became confused quickly as he pulled out the crumpled up paper from within its confines. The paper was dirty, torn and bent in all ways possible.

Born as one, he exists as three. The number doubled, and tripled is he. Beware.

John read the note over and over and turned to Sherlock, wondering if he would understand it. But Sherlock wasn't where he last saw him. he was on the floor, shaking like a leaf.