Doctor Rosalind had no explanation for them the next week. "Honestly, I've made them run the lab results three and four times. We can't explain it," she said helplessly. "I've consulted a number of other doctors around the London, but none of them could come up with a reasonable explanation, besides what I already suggested." She sighed. "The virus has become immune to the drugs, and somehow it managed to develop into stage three HIV in less than six months."

John clenched his fists, but managed to keep a blank expression.

He heard Sherlock ask her how long. How long until it would become AIDS.

She paused before answering. "As with anyone, it's hard to say. Usually, one to three years, but I can't say that with any amount of certainty."

John saw Sherlock nod out of the corner of his eye as he continued to focus on his flexing hands.

"So, likely closer to one."

She nodded.

Sherlock exhaled. "One year," he whispered.

John thought that Doctor Rosalind would object, explain how it could be so much longer than that, so very different, but she didn't.

He knew he liked her for a reason. No false hope. No fooling them. No lying to Sherlock, not when it was his life on the line. Because he'd know.

"Thank you," he breathed, standing up.

He even held his hand out for her to shake, which she did, graciously.

Numb, John nodded at her and followed Sherlock as he turned on his heel and left. John knew they would be back there soon enough.


They were back the next week to mess around with Sherlock's meds.

Sherlock was reluctant to change anything, since he'd only experienced horrible side effects previously when he'd tried other drugs, but the doctor assured him they'd changed drastically in just those few years.

John didn't know what to think. He mostly floated through the appointments, picking up information to neatly tuck away in his file for later.

He supposed it was shock. He wondered how Sherlock was taking it, since it was his life, his body, his illness.

Would be his death.

John shook the idea out of his head, and tried to listen to Sherlock argue about the virtues of different protease inhibitors.


In the cab on the way home, John had a sudden thought.

"What does Mycroft think about all this?"

John didn't even have to say what 'this' was, it was known.

Sherlock shrugged and didn't look up from his phone.

"I do believe he put quite a bit of pressure on medical research, but he's only the British government. There's not much he can do."

John nodded. It was a sad state of affairs when even the British government couldn't save his little brother's life.