A/N Hey guys I'm really sorry for the super short chapter, but I'm going on vacation in *checks watch* a few hours, and I still have quite a few things to get done before I go... So yeah... I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who's reading it, I'm glad that you're taking time to do so! As always, a special thanks to JohnLockSher for making these past days livable xox

~Jules

Warnings: Mycroft is a horrible human bean

To no one's surprise, the elder Holmes came over to Baker Street. He came and sat down at the table as if he lived there, setting his umbrella down above the discarded experiment and began reading the paper that John had set down a few hours earlier.

When Mrs Hudson came down to give her boys 'leftover' biscuits she gave the British Government a stern glare before turning sharply and going back to her flat. That is, until Mycroft called upon her.

"Martha Hudson, if I may speak to you."

"Oh, are you terrorizing my boys again?" She asks, probably the one person who is not afraid of the politician.

"I have never 'terrorized' my brother and flatmate, but this is regarding them." Mrs Hudson gives a look, but doesn't say anything. "John and my brother will not be living here for a few weeks-"

"Oh! You can't take them away!" She says with a gasp. "What have they done this time?"

"Nothing really, but they do both need to heal at the moment, and due to the break in yesterday, Baker Street is not the most secure place to be."

With a sad smile Mrs Hudson notes, "They haven't even told me yet," But then she sees the little shift that Mycroft makes, and Mrs Hudson has enough children and grandchildren to know what that means. "Oh you! You can't just take them away without them knowing! Poor John, he's just a fright right now. He keeps too much weight on his shoulders, you know?" She shakes her head and clicks her tongue before leaving the flat, setting the biscuits down on the counter.

Thirty minutes later, when John and Sherlock both arrive back at the flat, they stop short at seeing Mycroft sitting at their table, drinking tea from a mug that John swears he's never owned.

"Brother dear," Mycroft notes, but otherwise keeping his attention to his tea.

"Imbecile," Sherlock says back, without missing a beat.

With a sigh Mycroft turns to his brother and says, "By now you should know that being rude to a government official is not a good idea."

Sherlock opens his mouth to disagree, but John talks first, in an effort to dissipate a fight that could cause the nation to collapse. "Why are you here, Mycroft?"

"Good to see you to, Doctor Watson. I am here to invite you to my personal residence."

"And by 'invite' you mean…?"

"I have many ways to get you to leave Baker Street. Many of them involving drugs and unconsciousness. I would've thought that inviting you is better than the alternative."

Sherlock ignores the threat, picks up his violin and says, "We both decline. Leave now, or I'll shoot you with John's browning."

"Oi!" John says, glaring at Sherlock, who, in turn begins to play the violin, effectively tuning out the rest of the room and the people in it.

With a sigh Mycroft turns to the doctor, and says, "John, I know that you declined Melanie when she recommended this, but I'm afraid that I'm going to insist. You mental stability is… How shall I phrase this… Not the most outstanding at the moment. You pointed a gun at my brother earlier," He nods to Sherlock who's back is turned, and who is also playing violin, "Which simply can not go on."

"Does everyone know about that?"

Mycroft holds up a hand to silence the good doctor.

"You will have your belongings packed up by the evening, and I will send a car to pick you up. You will be away from Baker Street one way or another, I do hope you chose this option."

"What the bloody hell, Mycroft!" You can't just uproot my life like this!"

"Yes in fact, I can. And I am." Then with a nod he says, "Good day" And heads straight out the door without another glance.

Growling John says, "Sherlock," but his flatmate either doesn't hear him or doesn't care, because he keeps playing his bloody violin. "Sherlock!" John says louder, and this time he knows that Sherlock just doesn't care.

The ex soldier really doesn't have anytime for this, so he stomps up the stairs (not really though, he's on crutches, but he stomps as much as he can) and grabs his few belongings.

John pulls out his old army duffle and throws a few jumpers, a few trousers, a few pants, and most importantly, his grey box in. He curses a bit when he remembers that he only has one plaster left, and throws his duffel using his left arm, back on his bed.

He goes downstairs and says, "Going out, Sherlock!", even though he knows that his flatmate isn't listening.

He then heads out and grabs a cab to Tesco's, wondering how much more of this he can take.

Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock listens to everything that his flatmate says, very intently as well. So as soon as his dear Watson leaves, he sets down his violin and texts his brother.

I am not going -SH

Don't be smart, Sherlock. -MH

You are not taking John either -SH

John is not mentally suitable for civilian life. -MH

We are not leaving Baker Street -SH

You do not have a choice in the matter. If you refuse to go, I'll put a series of killings on you, and you will go to prison instead. -MH

Sherlock stops texting his brother at this, and instead texts Lestrade:

Be prepared for evidence leading to me -SH

Sherlock, we talked about vague texts

My brother is going to frame many murders on me -SH

What did you to provoke him?

He's taking John away -SH

What!

Why?

Mental state. He's also taking me. If I "refuse" then he'll send me to prison, do keep up. I will reiterate: be prepared for evidence leading toward me -SH

Sitting behind his desk, Lestrade groans and runs a hand through his silvery hair.

"Sir?" When he looks up he sees Donovan looking at him, with a face of worry and pity mixed in.

With a long suffering sigh, Lestrade says, "Sherlock's being pinned as a mass murderer, and John's being forced to leave Baker Street."

Donovan opens and closes her mouth like fish, trying to figure out how to respond to that. She eventually just turns around and leaves, searching for another not-so-well deserved cup of tea.

After getting a pack of twenty-four plasters, John heads back to Baker Street, cursing at the current situation. On the cab ride over he stashes the plasters in the pockets of his trousers and coat, hoping that Sherlock won't notice.

When he gets back, Sherlock is huddled in a ball on the sofa, phone in hand.

"From a medical standpoint, I can tell you right now that holding a phone that close to your eyes can ruin your retinas." John says, sitting down at the kitchen table, stretching his good leg out and setting his crutches to the side.

Sherlock turns over so he's facing John and says, "I don't need a medical degree to tell you that you should be wearing your sling."

"I can't get around on my crutches with it on," John states plainly, in no mood to talk about his numerous injuries. "Have you packed?" John asks, leaning his head on his good hand which is resting on the table, wanting sleep more than he'd like to admit.

"No," Sherlock starts, carelessly throwing his phone on the floor, and pulling the duvet over his shoulders. "Mycroft will get my things when he realizes that I haven't brought anything. He's not going to let me roam around his house wearing trousers weeks old without a wash."

"Right then, is that your way of winning an argument with him? Because I've got to say, he's already won. He's making us move, because of me. Sorry about that, by the way."

Sherlock waves his flatmate off and says, "John, I've never been so good with emotions, but I detest you when you indecently blame yourself for something that isn't your fault."

John just rolls his eyes and mutters a "why do I try" before completely resting his head on the table.

"You're tired." Sherlock points out, cocking his head to the side probably deducing his flatmate.

"Absolutely brilliant deduction, Sherlock," John says sarcastically, with a tired sigh that morphs into a yawn. "I don't know what I'd do without your brilliant mind."

"As I've learned over the years," Sherlock pauses to sit up from the sofa, the duvet sliding off him, "Sleep usually cures being tired."

John makes a short snort and says, "Thanks for that Sherlock. Brilliant as ever."

"John, go sleep." Sherlock says outright, awkwardly standing up and making hand movements toward the sofa.

The good doctor opens his mouth to disagree, but really, sleep sounds wonderful right about now. He begrudgingly nods and pulls himself over the sofa, letting his crutches rest against the coffee table.

His injured leg falls off to the side, but the rest of his short frame fits on the sofa. Sherlock lightly sets the duvet on his flatmate then stands there, not sure of what to do. To his surprise (and slight concern) John starts chuckling a bit.

"What?" He immediately asks, panic rising, "What did I do wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Just I've never seen you so helpful." Sherlock narrows his eyes, searching through his mind palace, trying to find a time where he was helpful in order to disprove his flatmate. He really does have to win any argument or doubt against him. Including the incident when he was six and his mummy swore that Sherlock had never eaten an entire plate of food.

"I've been solving cases for Lestrade since I was twenty. That's helpful the the group of imbeciles that call themselves Scotland Yard." Sherlock shoots back, a smug look on his face.

John smiles and is about to comment about how the Yard was able to deal with the detective for all of this time, when he remembers the hospital. "What did happen when you were twenty at the hospital?"

"What?" Sherlock asks, even though he knows exactly what his flatmate is asking.

"Nuh uh uh, don't say that. You know exactly what I'm talking about," Damn "You have an eidetic memory, no cheating your way out of this one." Turning his head on the sofa so he can totally see his flatmate he adds, "Just tell me Sherlock, we've got a few hours to kill before Mycroft comes and formally kidnaps us."

"Is this your way of avoiding sleep?" Sherlock asks with a smirk.

"See, we both have things that he'd like to ignore. Now, story." The soldier demands, refusing to let himself fall asleep until he hears about this.

Taking a big breath Sherlock says, "WhenIwastwnetyIOD'dagainandIrefusedtotalkwiththestaffsotheyfoundMycroft'snumberonmyphoneandcalledhimsoasagovernmentofficalhegotmeoutofthehospitalwithoutmehavingtosayasinglewordtoanyonewhoworkedthere."

"Okay, again, but much, much slower." John says, only able to place a few words, those being "when" "OD'd" "Mycroft" "hospital" and "there".

"When I was twenty I OD'd again, but when I woke up I refused to talk with any of the staff. So they went through my phone and contacted my idiot brother. So he then came and convinced the doctors to let me discharge, probably from blackmail. But the point is is that I didn't have to say a single thing to anyone who worked there."

Without a second passing John asks, "OD'd again?"

"Well yes, I really did need my brain to stop yelling at me back then." Was the plain response. "There, that's my end of the bargain. Now you have to sleep."

Trying to stifle his yawn (which was definitely not helping his case) John says, "I still have more questions."

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"I didn't realize we made a deal."

With a scoff Sherlock says, "Please, it was obvious. We were both avoiding to do something, you: sleeping, me: reliving a part of my life via storytelling. I have 'told my story', so now it's your time to sleep."

There really is no point of arguing with him is there? "With a scowl on his face the older man finally agrees and says, "Fine."

John falls asleep quickly, the last thing he sees being his flatmate's smug face, screaming that he's won this round.

A/N Reviews make me smile like an idiot, even when I look at them in public, so if you'd like to start a line of contagious smiles, please do review! No seriously, they make my day 2000 times better