.

The morning sun was partially veiled by the curtain, creating a sheltered protected environment in the upscale private hospital room, courtesy of Mycroft Holmes. A guard by the door recognised them at once and stood aside to let them in. John halted by the door, picking up the patient's file and running through the pages with a clinical expression in his face, that grew heavier by the page. Finally he assented to Sherlock, and they went inside the room.

Sherrinford Holmes, a tall, lanky, intellectual looking man sat by the window, dressed in a hospital attire covered by a loosely shaped cardigan. His face was thin and tired, but his eyes shone with a remarkably clear light.

He smiled as he recognised John, a close smile that only two men sharing a nightmare could develop. Sherlock eyed John attentively, John ignored him. Sherrinford then looked over at Sherlock and his expression clouded somewhat. 'The great Sherlock Holmes', he said, breaking the silence. 'The man I'm proud to call my brother. It's been a long time. You go by Sherlock now, right?'

John glanced at Sherlock and gathered, friendly: 'Mind if we take a seat with you, Sherrinford?'

'I don't own the window, go ahead.'

They all sat together, before John commented, with fake cheerfulness: 'You look better.'

'So do you, John. Last time I saw you they were dragging you out of our holding cell.'

'Well, I managed to get my wrist free. Still dragged a couple of them down and unbolted the door for the incoming rescue team before they got to me in the end.'

Sherlock understood at once: 'You knew they were moving in, John.' He had helped on his own rescue operation. The inside man. Guessing the experts moves. Sacrificing himself to ease their success.

'I saw them', John answered calmly. 'They were getting into position around the compound, furtively, but I knew what to expect. I knew it was a matter of time. If I managed to ease their way in, it cost less lives in the end. I had to do something.'

Sherrinford explained in detail for Sherlock: 'There was a small window high up on the wall of the small room they kept us in. Too far away from anything to call for help through it. John was transfixed by that window all the time. Kept assuring me he was keeping an eye out for the people that would rescue us. He knew you'd come, Sherlock. I've got to say I wasn't so convinced. I had been there for so long already.'

'Much longer than me', John agreed in a sympathetic voice. 'And you held your own better than it could be asked of you.'

Sherlock asked Sherrinford directly: 'What did they want from you?'

He shook his head. 'The same thing they wanted from John, I suppose. Most times I was left alone. Sometimes they would come by and question me intensely, then, when I couldn't give them the information I didn't have, they'd leave me alone.'

John was looking at him, but his gaze was frozen. For a moment, Sherlock believed he saw a shadow of suspicion in John's expression. What had happened that triggered John's hidden reaction? Had it really been there?