Chapter 10 is finally finished. Thank you all for being so patient.
John's exasperated voice rang from his position half way under the detective's bed, "Sherlock come out here. We're going to be late."
"No!"
Sighing, the doctor attempted to army crawl closer to where the boy had barricaded himself against where his nightstand and bedroom wall met at the edge of his rather large bed, an easy squeeze for a four year old, but as John was finding quite the scrape for an adult.
"Sherlock," he grunted, "you're being ridiculous!"
"No you're being ridic'lous, an' I'm not goin'!" The rebuff came from the darkened crook John's slight build prevented him from reaching.
If the situation had been different the blonde may have viewed the sudden return of his friend's stubbornness optimistically, but as they were expected at an appointment five minutes ago he was more annoyed by the reemergence of this particular trait than anything else. He was considering pulling the bed towards the center of the room to retrieve the child when his pocket began to vibrate. With some rather imaginative maneuvering and wiggling John freed the large rectangle from his trousers, placed it on speaker phone, and let it tumble to the floor with an aggravated huff.
"Hello?!"
"Doctor Watson," the tone funneling through the speaker could only belong to Mycroft Holmes, "if memory serves and I'm quite sure it does we have a meeting with Doctor Stapleton. If you and my brother are done playing I think it would be best to not waste her time and for you to join me in the car immediately."
"I'm," attempting to lift it to better speak into the phone the doctor's head thumped against the bed frame electing a curse from his lips, "we're ready, but apparently Sherlock does not want to go to the H-O-S-P-I-T…"
"I can spell," Sherlock's grumble interrupted from the corner, "don't pat…pat… patro'gize me."
Despite his current annoyance the solider had to bite his lip to stop himself from giggling at the indigent nature of his young flat mate's tone.
A long moment passed before anyone spoke. "John," the elder Holmes voiced from the other end of the call, "I would like to continue this conversation in person. I shall be up momentarily." With that the phone clicked and the screen lit up indicating the end of a call. John sighed and let his head fall to rest on the cool floor. The room lapsed into silence as the two friends' accepted their current impasse.
It was not long before the distinct duet of expensive shoes and umbrella tip were heard climbing the stairs, entering the flat, and making its way into Sherlock's room. John could feel the smirk on the British government's face as he took in the visage of the doctor half crammed under the bed. The imbuing sensation of his eyes on the doctor's bottom half seemed to scoff 'amateur' in his general direction. "Brother mine," Mycroft eventually sighed, crossing the floor and sitting on the plush mattress just to the right of the blonde's head, if the new depression was anything to go by, "we are running late. We mustn't keep people waiting; it is very rude."
Hearing the familiar voice the small lump in the corner trudged forward until appearing to remember why it had taken to the shadows in the first place and determinedly scooted back to its original position. "I'm not going Mycoff."
"Oh," the slightly balding man actually sounded surprised, "but Lockie I promised you that I would fix this, remember?"
"A'course," the small voice answered, sounding slightly intrigued by his brother's line of thought.
"Well this appointment is going to help me understand what happened. If I understand what happened then I can alleviate the situation more easily."
There was a slight pause and John wondered if Mycroft had won a war he had fought for the last twenty minutes with five simple sentences, then he heard a slight sniffle, "I… I don't wanna go Myc."
John could hear the head tilt from the man above him, "And why is that?"
"'Cause I don't."
"Sherlock, that is not a valid reason and you know it."
"I…," another pause, "I don't like hospitals," the admission was nothing more than a mumble.
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere, and why do you have this aversion to them?"
"They're too bright," the small voice began, "an' the nurses smile funny like they don't mean it, it smell like bleach, an' people die there."
"People die every and anywhere."
More silence.
"Their goin' to stab me, with needles Mycoff."
"Sherlock, you've never had a dislike for needles before."
"That's what he did. He was a doctor."
"You mean the man who did this to you," it was more of a statement than a question.
"An' this woman worked with him." The younger sibling matched the elder's tone.
"That is correct."
"So she might hurt me too."
A dry chuckle reverberated above the bed, "not if she values her life."
Sensing the beginning of an uncomfortable gap in communication John decided to speak up. "Sherlock how about this? We meet with Doctor Stapleton and if she needs to draw blood or administer anything I'll look it over first, make sure it's okay."
The small mass John had been focusing on crawled towards him until Sherlock's pale face was visible before the doctor's, "Promise?" Serious ice blue eyes locked onto dark blue.
"I promise," the army man nodded earnestly.
A small hand came forward until it rested before John's nose and a tentative pinky extended. Knowing the gesture from his own childhood, John jostled and joggled until he could free his own arm and connect his callused pinky to that of his best friend, solidifying the oath with the most unbreakable vow a child can make without swapping bodily fluids.
"Friends protect each other Lock and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. You know that, right?"
Slowly a lopsided grin grew on Sherlock's face, "I know John."
"Well then," the mattress groaned as Mycroft reintroduced himself to the conversation and stood from his position on the bed, "I think it's time we get going as we are already appallingly late." The man who had been typing on his own phone throughout the conversation looked down at the device now as it pinged to announce a new message, "Doctor Stapleton it seems," he grimaced "has been called away on another engagement."
"No hospital?" John giggled at the amount Sherlock perked up at the prospect.
"No. It seems we will be meeting her at her abode," Holmes senior sighed, but even John could tell it was put on. Looking at the ecstatic expression on the child's face the doctor had an inkling that Mycroft had everything to do with the sudden change of meeting place. "Come on, the both of you," he called as he left the room. The older Sherlock in John's thoughts huffed at the very idea of such causing John's giggle to deepen further.
The real Sherlock who was still very much a child looked at John quizzically but then scrambled out from under the bed. "Come on John! We're late!" In a flash Sherlock was out from under the bed and jumping up and down in excitement but waiting for his friend nonetheless.
John, relieved that the standoff had finally ended, began to push himself backwards only to find that he would not budge. Doctor John Hamish Watson was stuck under his flat mate's bed.
XXX
After squirming enough to send his flat mates into sniggered tears, John eventually freed himself from the pinning prison and the trio were spirited away in the stern of a luxury sedan the color of onyx, finally on their way to their appointment. As per his request Sherlock was positioned between the two men, his small body the filling of a jumper and suit encased sandwich; each of his cool hands had wormed themselves into warmer adult ones as he happily chattered away to his captured audience, his being visibly contented as he soaked in the attention of his two favorite people.
The wheels ate up the distance quickly, but there was a great expanse between the passengers and their final destination. Taking this into account it was not great surprise that as the buildings slowly become sparser and time continued to slip by that the England sky had opened up, releasing a mixture of hydrogen and oxygen upon the shadowy coach. Hearing the chorus of drops drumming upon the metal roof John Watson felt his lips curl up into a smirk. He turned his eyes to his friend who had slowly become less animated as the rain continued its dance from on high. The brunet had begun to recline into the doctor's side still attempting to converse with his older brother about tornados of all things. Despite an admirable attempt to stay conscious the boy's words began to slur lazily as his head sunk deeper into John. Soon the drone of the shower and rocking of the car proved to be too much for Sherlock, and the rise and fall of his chest slowed to the tempo of sleep.
Witnessing this, the solider could not stop a soft fond chuckle from escaping, "If only it was this easy to get him to sleep as an adult," John ran his fingers through the disordered dark locks, "I'd just barricade him into a cab when he gets in a mood, or decides to test how long he can go without sleep."
Mycroft nodded to show his approval before shouldering off his suit coat to cover the young boy as he had done before. Feeling the doctor's eyes on him a slight blush crossed the British government's cheeks, "I assume it would be unwise to allow my brother to catch a cold atop of his current condition," he explained before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the handle of his umbrella.
"You don't have to do that you know, make excuses. It's okay to care about your brother. Honestly, I find that version," John indicated the jacket with his eyes, "of attention refreshing considering how you typically kidnap those close to him and bug his flat. It's… well… it's rather sweet."
Mycroft sighed faintly but saved his gaze for the umbrella handle he twisted nervously in his hand. "He worshiped me at this age," he finally admitted, "followed me about, found his way into my possessions, questioned me about my whereabouts and just about everything you could imagine." The man paused again, "When father sent me away I was partly relived, at eleven years of age I was persistently irked by the invasion of privacy and constant quizzing brought about by an inquisitive four year old. Yet there are times when I think back to then, how we used to be and I realize just what has been lost with the passage of time and innocence. Having Sherlock's love and admiration once more and knowing it will be ripped away," Mycroft drew a steadying breath, "is a difficult fate to be condemned to."
John let the words reverberate in the care, joining the patter of the shower before fading out entirely. "He's still in there you know," the doctor finally voiced deciding upon his words carefully, "that wild, arrogant, brilliant, arse of a man is hidden somewhere inside of this delightful child. He has to be, or he wouldn't have recognized me."
Mycroft Holmes huffed, "What are you getting at doctor?"
"What I mean is if little Sherlock remembers me, then doesn't it make sense that he is at least partly his adult self, and yet he still seems to admire you. Maybe even as an adult he still had pride for his big brother Mycoff?" John grinned as he let the endearing mispronunciation pass his lips.
Hearing the doctor's theory Mycroft noticeably stilled, even the tip of his umbrella stopped its slow drill into the carpet. After many minutes of contemplation a small murmur of 'perhaps,' left the elder Holmes' lips.
It seemed the remainder of the ride was passed in compatible silence before the more formally dressed of the two cleared his throat, "You texted this morning about a notable incident in regards to Sherlock's health."
"Hmm?" The doctor had turned his attention back to the boy in question who had shuffled closer to John's thigh, sleepily snuffling as he unconsciously repositioned himself closer to his friend. "Oh, right. This morning Sherlock remembered that I have a gun."
"So I recall from your text."
"Yes well, at first I thought it was a sign he was beginning to recall something, but when I asked him he seemed confused as to why he would know, and then he just kind of …stopped." The solider paused, and his hand unconsciously found its way back into the ebony curls an action which did not go unnoticed by the older brother. "At first he just sat there, his eyes glazed over and it was almost like he had gone into his mind palace…"
"But," Mycroft supplied as the doctor had lapsed into silence.
"…But then his heart started beating rapidly, his pupils constricted, and he broke into a clammy sweat. I called his name, tried to pull him out but he didn't react. I thought we lost him Mycroft, that he was gone for good." The hand which had been passing through the dark tresses came to rest on the small lump of a body huddled inside an expensive suit coat as though this action could protect the child from his earlier experience, "when he finally came out of it he said he didn't remember what happened, but his head hurt. It seemed to clear up pretty quickly…"
The government official took in the doctor's appearance and actions. He seemed to be unconsciously trying to shield Sherlock with his body. "It frightened you."
This drew a huff from the shorter man. "You're bloody right it frightened me!" His voice rose with indignation at the other's deduction, causing the mass under his hand to move.
"J'hn?" a sleep groggy voice caused the doctor to freeze and his eye to fall on the source of the inquiry, "Don' be mad Jawn," Sherlock yawned as he brought a hand up to pet the doctor's leg in an attempt to calm him.
The doctor felt his lips turn up at the gesture and brought his own hand back to rest on his friend's head.
"I'm not mad Lock, Mycroft and I were just having a talk," he explained, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," Sherlock protested as he climbed further on to his flat mate's lap in an attempt to keep the fingers in his hair, "I've been awake the whole time, I've just been restin' my eyes." Despite these words John could feel the head nestle back into his leg.
"Oh, well that sounds like a good idea. Don't want to tire those eyes out, you might need them later."
"Mmmhhmm"
"How about you go back to resting them and your brother and I will try to keep it below a dull roar?"
"mm'kay," almost instantaneously the child seemed to drop back into a dead sleep. John lifted his eyes to find Mycroft watching the two of them from his side of the vehicle, a smirk on his lips. Heat swept across the doctor's face, but he held the gaze firmly, "What?"
"It seems as though my brother has you wrapped around his finger."
John felt his lips pull into a mirroring grin, "yeah well, he is a cute bugger," his eyes fell back to the child, "and he seems to have that effect on everyone."
Mycroft chuckled, "Indeed."
The rest of the ride was filled with only the sounds of rain pattering on the car's roof.
I hope you still enjoyed it. Have a great day, and leave a comment if it strikes your fancy.
-Nikola