"Ten weeks? Isn't that a bit much?"
"I'm afraid it is the standard." Mycroft said pushing his food around with his fork. They were trying out dating. It wasn't going to well. Every other turn the conversation turned back to Sherlock. The restaurant was completely vacant per Mycroft's request.
John was surprised he didn't already have a dinner date. He had only suggested dinner because he was starving after looking at endless stacks of police records, transcripts, and surveillance footage. He could tell Mycroft was uncharacteristically not hungry, yet he agreed to some time away from the office, to get their minds off things.
Their attention was being diverted from Moran's next move to Sherlock.
"He shot up, maybe twice. I don't see why he has to go through an entire rehab program."
"It was most definitely more than twice. He will have a relapse the moment he returns if he doesn't complete the program." Mycroft put down his fork and went for his wine glass. John put his face in his hands and groaned.
"Why did he have to put himself in the middle of things?"
"He must always be the centre of attention."
"This… isn't the time for sibling rivalry." John rubbed his forehead. "He's in rehab and it is all my fault."
"John, how could it possibly be your fault?"
"I! I never say no! I let him run around the streets of London doing whatever he pleases."
"Know that my brother, no matter the amount of surveillance measures and authority you use on him, will always do as he pleases."
"Then why try?" John said with defeat.
"Because of… sentiment." Mycroft's upper lip twitched. "John, your ties to Sherlock have put this operation in grave peril."
"My ties? He's your brother! Moran would love nothing more than to sell Sherlock into the sexual underworld to prove that you're powerless. Powerless to save your own brother."
"John, this fighting, it isn't proper etiquette for a dinner date." Mycroft said coldly.
"I'm just worried! He's all alone with a bunch of crazed drug addicts. He's just a kid."
"Sherlock is in good hands. They won't let any harm befall him." Mycroft finished off his wine. "John, I've spoken to the directors of the rehabilitation program, they've referred me to a therapist."
"Oh… yes I can understand, this must be hard on you."
"A therapist for you John."
"For me?" John asked indignantly. "Why would-"
"John. This is purely for your health. She can only help matters."
"She?" John asked.
"I thought you would be more comfortable speaking with a female about the tender subject of your sexual orientation."
"Tender subject?"
"You still repress a great deal of your feelings John. It is holding you back from enjoying many of the finer things in life."
"I'm… not repressing my feelings."
"John, having sex with a man isn't the way to come to terms with your homosexuality."
"Uhh." John's brain flat lined.
"At this point in time, you are incapable of having a serious relationship." Mycroft let out a sigh. "And I'm sorry, but we should put a hold on things until you have everything sorted out."
John gave Mycroft a blank look.
"We can't persist if you have sexual interest and feelings for a minor." Mycroft said reaching out for John's hand. Mycroft clutched John's hand firmly. "Especially when it is my brother. It isn't healthy."
"You don't mean because he's your brother, you mean because he's Sherlock." John said angrily. Mycroft let go of John's hand.
"I've set up a meeting. Tomorrow at ten. It is entirely up to you." Mycroft stood up abruptly and went for his umbrella and coat. John felt empty inside as Mycroft promptly left the dining establishment.
He's only trying to help. How could I let this happen? All of it. Sherlock, Mycroft… Greg.
John's stomach churned. He felt used and where he didn't feel used he felt like a user. He was equally guilty for having such terrible relationships. He needed someone to talk to, to decipher his feels for him.
John checked his watch.
It isn't even seven.
John knew he wouldn't sleep well that night. His night terrors had come back full force since Sherlock left. He was back to nightly episodes.
The frequency and intensity of them made him anxious around bed time. He wouldn't get to sleep until around four and would wake up running down the staircase in a cold terror. Mrs. Hudson was sympathetic to a point but she was losing sleep as well.
She begged John to try go to bed earlier. She was tired of being up for the day at five in the morning. Mrs. Hudson was on edge as well. She was off her stories and focused on scouring the flat now that she didn't have Sherlock to occupy her time and attention.
Sherlock kept her on her toes, kept her young. Her hip seemed to cause her less pain when Sherlock was about, running a muck. She loved chatting away at him, only if he'd listen to a quarter of what she said. He was incredibly fond of Mrs. Hudson, in his own Sherlock-ian way.
He would become offensive and scare off any potential suitors that would be a poor fit for their landlady. John's thoughts were brought back to a particularly nasty date where the man had tried to get a little too friendly in the stairwell. Sherlock had scared the man off with the old 'Mummy! Who is this man?' bit. It was incredibly effective but usually led to Sherlock getting socked in the arm by Mrs. Hudson.
"Mummy!" She shouted. "If I were your mummy I'dve taught you some manners, young man."
"I don't concern myself with social niceties Mrs. Hudson. Especially not when a strange man is trying to make his way up your blouse. Don't tell me he was only trying to take your measurements." Sherlock let out an aggravated sigh. "Tailors are always the worst. They're entirely too comfortable groping unfamiliar women with their dexterous fingers. He'd have your shirt undone, pressed, and folded before you could bat an eyelash. He could even mend any buttons he had snapped off with his teeth."
"Oh Sherlock, will any man be good enough for me? In your eyes?"
"If one exists, I haven't met him. When I do, I'll make sure to dispose of him properly." Sherlock said brushing off the front of his shirt. "Now, let's discuss your failed relationships over some tea and scones."
"How'd you know I had scones?"
"Blueberry…" Sherlock said off into the air.
It hurt John to think about Sherlock, knowing he was going to suffer for nine more weeks in a facility for low-life drug addicts. Mycroft refused to send him to a comfortable establishment in the countryside for celebrities and the social elite to send their over-privileged black sheep. He said that Sherlock was in need of a harsh reality check not a holiday.
John wasn't allowed to visit Sherlock during his recovery. He was still in de-tox. Mycroft tried to limit the information he shared with John about Sherlock's progress. It was heart breaking to hear of Sherlock's immense pain. They refused to give him any pain relievers or provide any comfort. It was supposed to be better this way, make it a learning experience for him. Torture him thoroughly so he never picked up a needle again.
John picked up his phone and looked through the contacts. He came to the first person he thought would answer and pressed call.
"Hello?"
"Mike, you gotta help, my life is in shambles." John begged.
"Ha, join the club mate." Mike laughed on the other end. John smiled.
After a short discussion, the two decided to meet at the tube station on Baker Street.
"John! Long time no see!" Mike beamed.
"God I'm so sorry I've been ignoring you."
"No, no. We've both been far too busy. Life's got us down." Mike said smacking John on the shoulder. "I'm real sorry bout your cousin. On the needle? I would have never thought. He's such a smart kid!"
"I know. He really got caught up in some heavy shit."
"You think this rehab's going to turn him round?"
"Not a fat chance in hell. You know it'll make it worse! I keep telling his brother… my cousin" John said awkwardly. "I tell him it isn't the place for Sherlock, he just won't listen."
"And sending him to a special education school? How's he gonna fare with that?" Mike asked with concern in his voice.
"Better than where he's at now." John groaned. "His stupid freak boyfriend went and told the whole school they were doing… whatever. He was in tears over it. That stuff never gets to him. I just didn't understand. Til he admitted he was using." John shook his head. "It's all too much."
"Yeah, I can understand." Mike gave John a sympathetic smile. "You blow my troubles out of the water. I look like a big ol' sopping wet pussy in comparison."
"No. No. You have every right to be depressed." John said, though he thought otherwise.
Buck up! She's just a girl man.
"So you're going to go to the therapist?" Mike more suggested than asked.
"It is probably for the best. Can't hurt."
"Oh it's going to hurt. Hurt like hell." Mike laughed. "You've got nineteen years of oppression that needs release."
"I just don't think there's anything really wrong with me in particular, it's just my living situation. Life sucks right now. Maybe if I moved away from London."
"You can't go running away from your problems John."
Like you do with Molly?
"They're going to haunt you forever if you don't face em." Mike said giving John another pat on the back. "Go to that psychiatrist; get your emotions out on the table. She can help you patch em up, make a quilt, you'll sleep better, even though you're wrapped up in troubles."
"A trouble quilt?" John laughed.
"Sorry, without Molly I've become quite a deep and rather cheesy person. Had plenty of time to think about myself."
"God… Greg was the same way when he broke it off with his bird."
"Greg?" Mike asked.
"Ex… one of many…" John sighed.
"Which one you on now?"
"Number three." John grumbled.
"Oh that's not bad at all."
"You know Dimmock's gay?" John blurted out suddenly.
"Really? God! My gaydar is so off… I should stop trying. Really? I thought he fancied Molly! I was going to kill him on several occasions!"
"I know!" John felt like the gossip queen of the century. "What's more is his date for the night had ditched him at some crazy party."
"That's terrible." Mike shook his head. "I haven't seen him in ages."
"What… what do you mean?" John asked.
"We was supposed to meet up for his birthday. We were gonna sneak him into the clubs, have a good time."
"Sneak him in?" John asked.
"Yeah, his parents found his ID. They were livid! Partly the reason I haven't seen him in ages. Been in real deep trouble."
"He lives with his parents?" John asked.
"John… Dimmock's Sherlock's age. Didn't you know?"
"Oh fuck… Mike…" John grasped Mike's shoulder and felt bile in the back of his throat. "The party Mike… That was months ago. Oh my God… he's gone Mike… really gone."
"What are you going on about?"
"His parents? How well do you know them?" John asked pulling out a pen.
"Erm… all right? I mean we've met a few times." John grabbed Mike's hand and started scribbling down a number.
"You go tell them to call this number."
"John, what's the matter?" Mike asked highly concerned.
"They'll tell you Michael is missing, possibly for months. They need to go in for questioning. I'm so sorry Mike." John shook his head.
"John." Mike looked at him with fear. "How do you know this?"
"The less you ask the better." John sighed. "Go to them Mike, tell them. Perhaps he can still be tracked down. That number will help them." Mike looked at the back of his hand.
"John… I don't know what to say."
"Just go."
Time is running out.