Sorry for not updating Monday or yesterday. My days were pretty busy and I didn't have time to edit or post this. But it's here now, so I hope you can forgive me.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Sherlock's mum, Mycroft

Me: John

Warnings for this chapter: meeting the parents (scary!), voice kink, lewd acts in hospital, and Moriarty makes another threat to our boys. Prepare your feels. This one's a doozy.

Chapter 21 - Faith

Violet Holmes was a kindly woman but quite shy when it came to people she didn't know. She was pale like Sherlock but her curly locks were a reddish colour, and unlike both her boys she was always smiling. She did not share the same beliefs as her sons on sentimentality and emotions but she understands perfectly why feelings and emotions scare them witless.

Their father had beaten them witless as children, and it had been as though he had knocked every emotion and feeling out of them, leaving them bare and numb. He had beaten her too but at least she had known better. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had grown up with it and it was perfectly well known that what happens to the boy creates the man. She hadn't been able to help her boys then but as soon as she had heard of all the goings on back home she knew that she could try and help them now.

It would seem that a lot had happened since she'd been away. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had fallen in love with nice, charming men. They were finally starting to move on in their lives and she couldn't be happier. Which meant that as she looked on at the sight of her younger son hunched over perhaps one of the few lucky people he allowed into his life, and with her older son shot in the chest and hospitalised only a few doors away, her heart was breaking.

...::-::...

It was bright. Why was it so damn bright? His head hurt, his mouth was dry, his shoulder throbbed. Wait... That wasn't his shoulder that had been shot. What had happened... Oh. Now he remembered. The biting, the fucking, the blood loss. Shit.

He cracked his eyes open and blinked against the brightness of the lights. He searched for Sherlock, knowing he wouldn't want to leave his side. He found him, leaning over his bedside, a worried and extremely scared look in his eyes.

'Sherlock,' John croaked.

'Hey.' Sherlock found a big, insane grin splitting his features. 'How are you feeling now? They got some more blood into your system so you should feel a bit better at least.' He glanced back at his mother who was waiting in the doorway. 'And if you're up to it there's someone who wants to meet you.'

'My body feels better yeah,' John grinned sheepishly. 'Personally I feel like an idiot. Well, sort of. My shoulder hurts, my mouth is dry, and my head is better but I still have a small headache.' He glanced to the door and saw the smiling, ginger haired woman outside.

'Is that your mother?' he asked, smiling back at her politely.

'Yes,' Sherlock replied with a small nod. 'Are you ready to meet her? I don't want to push you.' He smirked softly. 'And you really are an idiot, John.'

John huffed a laugh and rolled his shoulders. He winced at the pressure in them both, but both for different reasons.

'I would be honoured to meet your mother,' he grinned. 'Just let me make myself presentable.' He sat up in bed and organised his covers, smiling gently down at Sherlock. Sherlock gestured for his mother to enter the room.

'Mother, it's my pleasure to introduce you to John Watson.' He moved aside, allowing her to enter.

Violet Holmes smiled at John. 'It's a pleasure indeed. How's the shoulder?' she asked sweetly. 'Sherlock's explained to me what happened. These criminal sorts are a strange sort. Biting you and leaving you to slowly bleed to death. It must have been terrifying.'

John frowned but Sherlock just gave him a look as if to say 'just go with it.'

'Yes. It was... terrifying, to say the least,' John said, eyeing Sherlock but smirking. 'I'm just glad that Sherlock found me in time.'

He turned back to Sherlock's mother and smiled politely. 'And it's wonderful to meet you ma'am. I only wish it had been under better circumstances.'

'Please, call me Violet. Ma'am sounds too formal.'

Violet Holmes' eyes narrowed and she hummed. 'I see that my son has taught you well to lie and deceive, John.' Her eyes twinkled in amusement. 'Not well enough I'm afraid.'

She turned to her son who was looking more and more nervous and edgy by the second. 'I'm certain I don't want to deduce the full details of how John got his injury but I'm not stupid, and I most certainly wasn't born yesterday. I can tell that it wasn't a criminal who bit him. Just as I can tell that you drank half a bottle of whisky last night and are still suffering from a hangover.' She lightly batted her youngest son on the head in a half-hearted scolding.

'Mother,' Sherlock winced and shuddered. John blushed and burst out laughing. He had to hold an arm around himself as he was laughing so hard his stomach started to hurt.

'I always wondered where the Holmes boys got their powers of deduction,' he said as soon as he could breathe. 'Violet, you are now one of my favourite people in the world. I think we will get along very well.'

'And you will be mine, John,' Violet laughed. She indeed liked the man. He was kind and friendly, and obviously was just what Sherlock needed.

'Of course,' she continued, 'that is if you continue to love him as I know he loves you.'

Sherlock looked a little startled at that but he remained mute, hovering awkwardly in the background.

'Until the end of my days, Violet,' John said. He looked over to Sherlock. 'I promise.'

'Good to hear,' Violet beamed. 'Now I'm sorry to leave so soon but I promised Mycroft some cake.'

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. 'Feeding him up mother? Stuffing him for next Christmas? He'd be much plumper than the usual turkey we have.'

For that he earned another thwack across the back of his head, slightly harder this time. 'Don't talk about your brother like that Sherlock Holmes.'

He groaned and clutched his head in his hands. 'Yes mother,' he mumbled.

'We'll talk soon, John.' Violet waved her goodbye leaving Sherlock pouting to himself.

'I look forward to it Violet!' John called after her. He turned to Sherlock with a wide grin. 'I like her.'

Sherlock huffed. 'Of course you would.' He crossed his arms across his chest and pouted harder.

John tutted. 'Don't pout love. Come here.' He patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Sherlock cautiously placed himself besides John. 'Are you certain you're ok? You... worried me for a while.'

John snuggled close, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. 'I'm a lot better than I was, that's for sure,' he sighed. 'Thanks for taking me here. I don't want to think about what might have happened if you hadn't.'

'It was my fault that you had major blood loss in the first place,' Sherlock sighed unhappily. 'It was the least I could have done.'

'But I also allowed you to bite me as well. I even asked for more,' John pointed out. 'So it's both our faults. And you were the one to patch me up first as well. So, thank you.'

'Yes, you,' Sherlock poked John's chest, 'asking for me to hurt you. In conclusion this is all your fault,' he grinned.

John mock pouted before smiling. 'I think we can both agree that I am the utter nutter in this situation?'

'Yes we can. I apologised for biting you and you wanted more. Who was I to say no? A soldier must always follow his captain's orders.' Sherlock ran a finger along John's lips. 'Your pout is quite a sight, John.'

John jutted out his lower lip further, giving Sherlock puppy dog eyes. Sherlock coiled his fingers around John's wrist and began to rub methodical circles on his hands. He leant his head against John's and closed his eyes.

'It would seem no matter what we do we both end up in the hospital one way or another.'

'So it seems,' John mused. 'We don't exactly have the safest job, nor the safest relationship either. Platonic or not, we're a dangerous combination. One of the first texts you sent me said "Could be dangerous," but I showed up anyway. Because I need a little danger in my life. The mundane life bores me, sets me on edge. But this,' he punctuated by placing a hand over Sherlock's heart, 'this is what I truly love. You and everything that comes with you. Even the danger.'

'That's what I'm worried about,' Sherlock mused tiredly. 'I love us, love being with you, love how you make me feel and how I effect you, but am I in love with you?' He opened his eyes, instantly falling into the deep hazel orbs belonging to John.

'How can I possibly even know that?' he questioned. 'Because without my memories all I have to go on is the now, and maybe that scares me more than I am willing to admit. Because it's the memories that make us who we are, but even without them I still feel this insane link between us. It's indescribable, inexplicable, and the oddest thing I have ever experienced.' His brow furrowed.

'So how can I tell if I'm in love with you? What does it feel like, John? How can I tell? I care for you, that I know. I'm scared of losing you to the constant battle we face each day, that I am certain of too.'

John swallowed. How could he describe what love feels like? The typical definition wouldn't do, neither would the dictionary definition. Sherlock had probably looked it up at some point and it wouldn't have cleared anything up. If anything the detective would have just been more confused. John sighed.

'I don't know if this will help as you do this anyway, memories or not,' he began. 'To me, when you're in love, the other person is constantly on your mind. You think about them constantly, when you're around them not only do you feel on top of the world but you feel like nothing bad could ever happen so long as you two are together. Every little thing that person says or does is magical, they are the most interesting person in the world.

'When you're around them you can feel your heart beating faster and hear your pulse in your ears. Your hands get clammy, your breathing escalates, your pupils dilate when you look at them. You feel euphoric, you feel nervous, you're happy and excited and all smiles. And when something happens to that person, good or bad, you'll always be there for support. You two are so close that you feel like you can read each other's thoughts, that sometimes they know you better than you do, and you're the best of friends. And when it's just the two of you, even if there are other people around, you feel like you and them are the only two people in the room and no one else matters.'

John looked up at Sherlock, his heart pounding in his chest. 'I don't know if that helped, seeing as you and I have almost always acted like that around each other. But that's what it feels like when I'm around you.'

Sherlock allowed John's words to process in his mind palace. Each word down to the very last letter was placed in the room labelled 'love.' He hummed to himself happily as the ominous door in his mind with a large question mark in it was stuffed to the brim with the new information.

'You're constantly on my mind,' he started. 'You make me feel completely indestructible when we are together. You are most certainly interesting in your actions and words. And,' he pulled John's hand back onto his speeding heart. 'You make my heart beat so fast I'm scared it's going to give out on me.' He took a deep, sweeping breath. 'My breathing has escalated. I presume by the looks you sometimes give me my eyes are dilating. I have never felt more nervous to disappoint someone in my life, and neither have I experienced such happiness and joy and excitement as to what is going to happen next in our relationship and lives together.

'You are certainly a good friend,' Sherlock continued. 'My only friend. The only person to truly accept me as I am it would seem.' He leaned in closer and nuzzled John's nose. 'I do believe that somehow, despite my memory loss, and doubts, and lies, and experimenting, I have fallen in love with you.'

Tears pricked in John's eyes as he listened to Sherlock's words. He hung on every word, every syllable, and realised he felt the same way. Granted, he had already known he loved Sherlock, but his lover's words just confirmed how much he loved him.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' he smiled through his tears. 'I have never been so afraid to lose someone, never been so eager to see someone next to me in bed in the morning, never been so nervous about getting a heart attack because every time I see you my heart starts pounding erratically and I have difficulty breathing. I think it's safe to say that I love you so goddamn much it hurts.'

'The feeling is quite mutual,' Sherlock agreed. 'It pains me to love you this much, because I fear that something is going to happen to take it away from me.'

'Me too. God, I'm so scared that I'm going to lose you somehow,' John admitted. He cupped Sherlock's cheek in his hand and stared into his bright blue eyes. 'But I'm also not because you're here with me now, and just the fact that you let me into your heart tells me that neither of us will be going anywhere soon.'

'I wish I could hold your faith in that,' Sherlock nibbled at his lower lip. 'I just hate not having any control on what our fate holds.'

'You just need to have a little faith, love,' John said. 'Not necessarily a religious faith mind you since I know you don't believe in any of that. But faith in me, faith in yourself, faith in us. I firmly believe that we will endure through anything, and while it may be hard I believe in us.'

His thumb stroked Sherlock's cheek soothingly. 'I love you with such a burning passion and I have faith in us.'

'You're so strong, emotionally and physically.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap and leaned in to usher, 'That's one of the things that I think makes me love you so.'

'You're mad and brilliant and infuriating,' John said, leaning up slightly. 'You keep me on my toes and I'm never bored and you make my life exciting. Those are but a few on the list of why I love you. And new things get added to that list every single day.'

'I've noted that the mere sound of my voice makes your heart beat frantically.' Sherlock kissed John on the lips briefly. 'Am I correct in my analysis?'

'It does a lot more than that,' John breathed, his lips following Sherlock's until his shoulder protested and he was forced to lean back.

'Oh?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement. 'I believe I can feel that.' He wriggled on John's lap. 'My voice effects you immensely so, doesn't it?'

'Mmm. Yes, it does,' John moaned. 'When you were instructing me how to wank yesterday it took all my self control not to cum on the spot. Your voice is like sex, Sherlock. So very, very erotic. You probably don't remember, but sometimes before we became us I would ask you mundane questions just to listen to you talk. And then I would take a shower or go to my room and wank right after.'

John rocked gently underneath Sherlock and moaned. 'One time I asked you to say filthy things to me during sex too. And while the things you said weren't particularly filthy, your deep baritone was and I came very quickly.'

'Hmm. I can believe that.' Sherlock rocked harder. 'I wonder if my voice alone could make you cum?' He thought about that for a long moment before rolling off of John.

'Shall we put it to the test? No hands, no touching, just my voice. This way we won't get caught in the act by the nurses or my mother. So? What do you think? Is it possible?'

'I would love to but seeing as you've already rutted against me the results would be inconclusive,' John pointed out. 'However, I am too lost in the prospect and my lust to actually care.' He settled down in the sheets and closed his eyes.

'Go ahead,' he breathed softly.

'Oh, where should I start? Should I start by how I love the feel of you inside of me?' He tilted his head back and licked his lips. 'God do I love that feeling. I didn't think I would. How wrong could I have been?'

John moaned and wriggled in his seat. 'Tell me how I feel inside you,' he whispered.

'Hot, large, and throbbing,' Sherlock moaned back in response. 'It's a perfect feeling.'

'And you're tight and hot around me,' John moaned, his head leaning back against his pillow. 'Now please, more. Tell me more.'

'How about the fact that I have found another great use for my mouth other than making deductions?' Sherlock purred.

'Tell me,' John smiled.

'I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Your prick in my mouth, tongue gently swirling around it, cheeks clinging against it.' Sherlock chuckled. 'And you said I don't speak dirty.'

'Oh god,' John gasped, writhing, desperate to touch himself. 'More. Sherlock, more. As the song says, talk dirty to me.'

'Shall I discuss my fantasies? The ones of us together?' Sherlock questioned, his voice silky smooth.

'Yes. Go right ahead,' John grinned. 'You've only ever told me one. Where I fuck you so hard you can't walk for a week. Which we've sort of done, but I'd be more than welcome to do it again if you don't remember.'

'Ooh, yes please. In which you could cater to me afterwards as I would not be able to stand.' Sherlock grinned widely. 'Maybe you could help me live out the one where you are gagged and bound, thrashing about on the floor in front of a fire, wanting to scream my name but not being able to. You'll be covered in sweat for two reasons: One, I'll be making hard and passionate love to you, and two, the flame of the fire is so close the heat is almost uncomfortable.' Sherlock breathed out deeply. 'That is my main one currently.'

John imagined the scene. He had experimented with gags and some mild bondage before, once with Sherlock, but before then he had never been the one bound. And it had exhilarated him. He wanted more. And being bound so near to the fire was just the right amount of danger for him. He moaned and threw his head back, his hands fisting in the sheets, his hips rutting helplessly against air.

'God, yes,' he groaned. 'Yes, yes. I... I want to. God, I want to. More. Please. Don't stop.'

'Well, as you may know, I am a major fan of Doctor who. I have a fantasy of you role playing as The Doctor and as me role playing as your faithful companion.' He groaned. 'Imagine the possibilities.'

John did. Oh boy, did John imagine the possibilities. He whimpered as he felt his prick become unbearably hot. He hands clenched the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white.

'God, Sherlock,' he gasped, his hips pumping wildly. 'Keep talking. Fantasy or not, I need to hear you. Don't stop talking. Please. I think... I think this might work. Hot. Close. Fuck!'

'Shhh, John. We don't want to get caught, do we?' Sherlock said with a twinkle in his eyes.

'I have another fantasy. One where I sing to you whilst making love to you. My favourite song being from The Hobbit. It was one of my favourite books to read as a child, and it was perhaps the first fictional book I ever delved into. Shall I sing it to you now, John?'

Sherlock singing? That would probably be the most erotic thing John would ever listen to. It sent more blood down south just imagining it.

'Yes, Sherlock. God yes. Let me hear you sing.'

Sherlock began to sing. His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, coiled around his Adam's apple, and slid out of his perfect and plump lips.

'Far over the misty mountains cold. To dungeons deep, and caverns old. We must away, at break of day. To find our long forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the height. The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light.'

John had never felt more aroused in his life. Sherlock's voice was absolutely perfect as he sang, every word seeming to have been caressed with his hot tongue as they spilled from his mouth. John's mouth fell open, jealous that the words had touched Sherlock's tongue so he was attempting to drink them down. He could feel them caressing him, travelling all along his body until they settled around his prick. His back arched and his breath came in gasps.

'Close,' he managed to say. 'More. Sing.'

'The bells were ringing in the dale. And men looked up with faces pale. The dragon's ire more fierce than fire. Laid low their towers and houses frail.' Sherlock tapped his fingers along his thigh to the steady rhythm of the song as he began to sing more beautiful words. 'The mountain smoked beneath the moon. The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying – fall beneath his feet, beneath the moon.'

John moaned and groaned and thrashed in the sheets. He was rock hard, achingly so, but he feared Sherlock's voice wouldn't be enough to bring him over the edge. He needed friction badly. He squeezed his legs together and whimpered. It wasn't much, but it would do. He listened to Sherlock continue his song, squeezing his legs in a steady rhythm until he keened, cumming with a choked whimper. It wasn't very satisfying, but at least the ache in his prick was gone. Sherlock broke off from his song into a loud bout of laughter.

'Oh John.' He held a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back his outrageously loud giggles. 'If you could have seen your face. It was very amusing indeed.'

John still had his eyes closed, panting as he gathered his wits about him. God, he needed to fuck or be fucked so bad. He needed a satisfying orgasm because the one he'd had had left him frustrated.

'You need to be more vocal when we have sex,' he said, finally opening his eyes, blinking against the bright light. 'What was so funny about my face?'

'You were frustrated with yourself. That much is clear,' Sherlock grinned. 'You wanted more than my voice, didn't you?'

'I don't know what I wanted more. You mouth, your arse, or your prick,' John groaned. 'And that orgasm wasn't very satisfying. So be warned that as soon as we're somewhere private I'm going to shag you into next week.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Sherlock quipped. 'I believe I'd be walking within the hour.'

'I didn't literally mean... It's an expression, Sherlock,' John giggled. 'It means that I'm going to shag you long and hard until we both cum screaming.'

Sherlock blushed and swallowed. 'Of course there's that too.'

John smirked at Sherlock's blush. 'As soon as I'm discharged, Sherlock. As soon as I'm discharged.' He settled against his sheets before a thought popped into his mind.

'Hey, how much blood had I lost anyway?'

Sherlock's blush was quickly drained as his face paled and his features contorted.

'Enough for it to be dangerous to your life.'

'Ah.' John grimaced and nodded. 'Sorry I asked. How long until they'll let me leave? I assume they wanted to keep me here for observation.'

'I think you can go home after tonight. You seem far better. It's good to see a little bit of colour in those cheeks of yours.' He gently swept a finger over John's right cheek.

'You know it was quite interesting. Whilst you were in the cab on my lap you were mumbling some quite intriguing things.'

'Oh?' John blushed, feeling the warmth pool in his cheeks. 'And what did I say?'

'You – er,' Sherlock frowned and scratched his cheek awkwardly. 'You were going on about how you want to bring up children, with me.'

John blushed and swallowed. 'I was, huh?' He huffed out an awkward laugh. 'Sorry you had to hear that. It was... something that popped into my head one day and I couldn't let it go. But don't worry about it. A child is too much responsibility for us right now, and too dangerous with Moriarty's threat looming over our heads. I say we stick with the cat for now, alright?'

Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'I wouldn't object. I just thought you ought to know that. I'm not terribly good with children, but then I have very little experience with them. And,' he mused, 'our lives are dangerous now, but I am hoping they won't always be so. Don't push away the idea completely. Once we've sorted out our lives, our relationship, and what we both want, I'm sure we could work children into the mix.' He kissed the very tip of John's ear.

'I hope our lives won't be filled with danger forever,' John sighed. He reached out and held Sherlock's hand. 'I would love to be able to settle down with you, have an exciting but not dangerous life, raise a couple of kids, have some pets, the typical boring married life. And I can't wait to share that life with you.'

'Don't say that,' Sherlock scolded. 'Our lives will never be boring. Not whilst we have each other.'

'I didn't say boring would be a bad thing,' John smiled. 'Boring could be good. It would be different and a whole new experience. But yes, as long as I have you I'll never be bored.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'I love you.'

'I love you more,' Sherlock said stubbornly with a cheesy grin.

'Oh you do, do you?' John grinned cheekily. 'Why don't you prove that my dear?'

Sherlock gripped John's face in his hands and smothered his lips all over his lover's before pulling back. 'There's more of that waiting for you when we get home.'

When Sherlock broke their kiss John's eyes were hazy. He smiled goofily and giggled.

'I can't wait to see what else I'll be getting once we're home.'

'Anything you request and I'll do it,' he promised. 'Though no biting, ok?'

'Agreed. No biting,' John nodded. 'So, how about we fulfil one of your fantasies? It's the least I could do after you so graciously fulfilled one of mine, especially with your hangover. So, do you want to try the fireplace one? Or something a little simpler?'

'A simpler one? And miss the chance of seeing you tied up and gagged whilst being reduced to a puddle of sweat? I think not. I shall pin you down in front of a fire before this week is out.' Sherlock pushed his hand through John's hair. 'And we both need our hair cut at some point too. Not that I particularly dislike your long mop.'

'I kinda like my longer hair too. And yours is great to get a grip on now.' He threaded his fingers in Sherlock's hair and tugged. 'But maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a trim. That way my hair will still be longer and you can still run your fingers through it. I've noticed you like to do that.'

Sherlock hummed in agreement. He loved the feel of the coarse hair passing through the spaces between his fingers.

'I do,' he admitted. 'A lot in fact. It relaxes me, and helps me sort out my thoughts when they are muddled.'

'Petting your hair does the same for me,' John smiled, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls. 'It calms me like nothing else.'

'You're probably the only person I've ever allowed to touch my hair. Even as a child when my mother tried to brush my locks I would scream and throw a fit,' Sherlock told John honestly

'Did it hurt when she tried to brush it? Or did you just not like people touching your hair?' John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I hated human touch from a very early age. Even before my father began to dish out his cruel beatings.'

'Oh,' John nodded. 'And all that with your father probably just made it worse, huh?'

'Yes. Left me terrified of my own shadow,' Sherlock whispered in a barely audible voice, but he knew John had heard him.

'Oh, love,' John whispered, pulling him in for a soft embrace. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you went through that. I wish I could have been there to stop it. But I'm here now, and I'm going to take care of you and love you like you always should have been.'

'You know John, I do recollect something about the day we met.' Sherlock looked a little perplexed. He wasn't sure if he should tell John about the detail he had recalled.

'You do?' John asked, intrigued. 'What is it?'

Sherlock shook his head, his expression somber, eyes dark, blackened by his past. 'Doesn't matter. I'd really rather not delve into it. I believe it was before you and I met that day anyway. It was silly, ridiculous, and completely illogical of me.'

'I'd still like to hear it sometime,' John said. 'If it's something, anything that you remember about me then I would like to know what it is. Especially if it's about the day we met. It's a pretty important day. But only when you're ready. I don't want to push you.'

'I would not want to burden you.' Sherlock glanced away from John. 'It isn't a particularly nice memory.'

'Good or bad, I think anything you have to say is important,' John said, cupping Sherlock's cheek in his palm. 'But, once again, if you don't want to talk about it I won't push you. So, let's change the subject. Would you be up for visiting your mum and Mycroft?'

At the sound of his brother's name Sherlock froze. 'I was so hard on him. I never really apologised. I really should. Not because of the reasons you are probably thinking of though.'

He turned his head into John's chest. 'I should apologise because we are the same. I have been where Mycroft's been. I can remember with such clarity now, John.' He closed his eyes and listened to the deep, soothing breaths John was taking.

'I wanted out. I wanted out so badly. I was a coward though. I wasn't going to end it myself. I was going to wait for an escape to be handed to me on a platter, and if it was I was going to take it.' His own chest shuddered.

'I've only just remembered but that's no excuse. I should still apologise.'

'Oh, Sherlock,' John sighed, holding him close against his chest. He began petting Sherlock's hair, knowing it was soothing for the both of them. 'I'm so sorry. It truly is a miracle we found each other when we did. I don't want to think... No, I already know what would have happened if we had never met. And I don't want to think about it.' He placed a small kiss on the top of Sherlock's head.

'But we found each other, we saved each other, and we grew to love each other. And that is a miracle in itself.'

Sherlock nuzzled closer into John's chest. 'I don't believe in miracles,' he stated tiredly.

'Then what do you believe in?' John asked softly.

'I'm not sure I believe in much these days,' Sherlock replied sadly.

'Oh, baby,' John sighed sadly. 'I'm so sorry you feel that way. If it makes you feel any better, I believe in you.'

Sherlock looked perplexed. 'Baby?' he repeated.

'Um... Yeah,' John stammered, his cheeks burning red. 'Term of endearment. Since you're younger than me... I'm just gonna shut up now.'

'No, I kind of like it.' Sherlock clambered back on top of John, stretching out so he was lying fully across him. 'Tell me more about me being your baby.'

'I, um, well,' John stammered. 'You... You're my baby because... Heh. Despite what you may think, you are far more innocent than me. You curl into my chest in bed like a child would, almost like you are now.' He pet Sherlock's hair and smiled.

'You constantly seek my approval or guidance,' he continued. 'Much like a child, you use me as your moral compass. And, whenever I compliment you or tell you that you're amazing or fantastic or brilliant you puff out your chest and strut around like a male peacock. It's quite a sight.

'When you get all pouty and sulk on the sofa all I want to do is pull you into my lap and hold you until you calm down. I never could before, never sure what was ok or not around you, but I feel like I can now.

'I realise that was more so a list of how you're a child than my baby, but those are my reasons. I love how childlike and innocent you are, how you still have such a childlike fascination for specific subjects, and how, now that there's an us, you seek out my touch and approval and compliments a lot more now. And that is very good.'

'And what does that make you?' Sherlock manoeuvred himself so his head was leaning on John's shoulder. 'My old man. Yes that's what you are. The sensible old man in our relationship.'

John groaned. 'I'm only thirty six. That hardly makes me old,' he pouted. 'Still, at least you didn't call me your daddy.' He shuddered.

'Why would I call you after someone I hate?' Sherlock questioned, frowning. 'I was merely stating that you are the eldest and the most sensible in our relationship. And you are turning grey,' he teased gently.

John rolled his eyes up to glance at the tips of his hair, more visible now since he hadn't gotten it cut.

'Thirty six and I'm turning grey,' he pouted.

'Stop pouting. It's a very sexy thing that you've got going on.' Sherlock grabbed John's hand and brought it to his crotch. 'See. I like it,' he grinned.

John blushed and smiled. 'I could feel that growing against my thigh,' he grinned, squeezing slightly. 'I'm glad you like it. Any particular reason why?'

'You're an older man. Something about that exhilarates me.' Sherlock bucked upwards. 'And oh god that grey hair ... hmmm.'

'Mmm,' John hummed, palming Sherlock through his trousers. 'Tell me. Tell me how much you like being with an older man with greying hair.'

'Like it? I bloody love it! Your age has really made you quite beautiful.' He bucked again. 'It's fantastic!'

John grinned and pulled down Sherlock's zipper, slowly sticking his hand inside and grabbing his lover's throbbing erection.

'What do you love most about my age, baby?' he asked, stroking lazily. 'Is it my experience? My greying hair? The wrinkles on my forehead?'

'All of those,' Sherlock grunted, shivering under John's touch. John stroked Sherlock in earnest, not wanting to get caught but also wanting Sherlock to feel satisfied.

'Do you like how my mouth feels around you? Wet and warm and teasing? How you can look down into my face and see new wrinkles forming from a far less innocent act than scowling? You'll be the reason those wrinkles are around my mouth baby. From me sucking this beautiful cock of yours.' He squeezed tightly before continuing.

'I bet you want my mouth right now. Want my tongue on you. Teasing you. Making you all slick and wet and warm. Or would you prefer my arse? Tight and hot, surrounding your cock in my warmth. Which would you prefer, baby? Or are you too close to cumming to really care?'

'Close.' Sherlock froze, trying to hold himself back from cumming so soon. 'Don't care. So close.'

'It's ok,' John said softly. He leaned close to Sherlock's ear and whispered, 'Cum for me baby.'

Sherlock's body relaxed and with a barely stifled cry he started to spill out into John's hand.

'That's it baby, yes,' John whispered, biting Sherlock's earlobe. Sherlock grunted as he came to a standstill and he picked John's hand up, lapping any evidence of his cum away. John groaned at the sight of Sherlock licking away his own cum. He wasn't going to waste such a perfect opportunity though. He leant forward and stuck his own tongue out, joining Sherlock in cleaning up the evidence. Sherlock flicked his tongue against John's three times before pulling away.

'Doesn't take much to push me over the edge.'

'So I've noticed,' John smirked, licking his hand again just to be sure. He yawned and smiled apologetically. 'I hope you don't mind but I think I'm gonna kip out for a little while. You can go visit your mum and brother if you want, or you can stay here. I won't mind either.' He shifted against the pillow, making himself comfortable, closing his eyes and sighing.

'I'm not going to leave you, John,' Sherlock said, enveloping John in more of his body.

'Alright love,' John smiled, nice and warm from Sherlock's body. 'I love you.'

Sherlock closed his eyes. 'Love you too.'

However, behind his eyelids all he could see was John slowly bleeding to death whilst he chowed down on John's good shoulder. God, the blood was awful, thick and pumping, and never ending .

Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

'Oh, John,' he sighed heavily.

'Mmm?' John grunted, half awake.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock whispered.

'Iz... It's ok,' John mumbled, burrowing closer. 'Now we know the limit. Bites are good, but no blood.'

'I can't sleep, John,' Sherlock whimpered in a very childlike manner.

'Because you see me bleeding in the flat?' John asked, waking up slightly.

'Yes,' Sherlock stated bluntly.

'Oh, baby,' John sighed, holding him close. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair again, hoping it might help calm him down.

'I'm sorry that that's all you can see, but you can also see that I'm alright now. I know what it feels like, to constantly see something so horrible and terrifying behind your eyes. Something that you did, haunting you until you haven't slept for days. But I worked through it by thinking of the good things. Please, love, try not to focus on the bad. Remember how good it felt, not how terrible it looked. And I know you're going to beat yourself up over this no matter what I say, but please try not to dwell on it. I'm better now because you reacted quickly enough to save me.'

'I know, I know,' Sherlock said with a heavy sigh. 'I enjoyed it, a lot. It was incredible. I loved the taste of your blood on my tongue. That scares me because I'm quite certain if I hadn't noticed how pale you'd gotten I would've simply continued biting into your wound. I hate myself for liking it. I hate myself,' he growled. 'I hate myself,' he reiterated.

'Shh baby, shh,' John shushed. 'So, you discovered you had a blood kink. I apparently have a pain kink, but only when you're the one hurting me. It's alright. We'll work through this. We can figure something out. Because I really enjoyed you biting into my shoulder, and, if I'm being truly honest, I wouldn't mind if you did it again. But my rational side is telling me I need to heal properly before anything of that sort happens again.'

He snuggled closer to Sherlock. 'Please don't hate yourself,' he said softly. 'I don't hate you for what happened, nor do I regret it happening. I truly enjoyed it, I did. But now we know how far to go. Please baby, don't hate yourself.'

'Okay, I'll try not to,' Sherlock murmured. 'I'm sure I'll get over it. Now get some sleep. Everyone knows that old men get grumpy when they don't get enough hours of sleep.'

John laughed and nodded.

'You don't have to stay if you don't want to,' he said, settling back against the sheets. 'Go visit your mum. I know you haven't seen her in a while. Go. Talk. Visit. I'll be fine. Even if you only go for five minutes, I'll be fine.'

'We'll go see her together when you're awake,' Sherlock said in a no-argument-about-it tone. 'I really don't want to leave you.'

'Understood, and deal,' John nodded. His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something incoherently before he drifted off to sleep. Sherlock let himself fall into a restless but slightly less haunted sleep than he'd been heading for before.

John slept dreamlessly, but he was restless. He didn't like sleeping in hospitals, they unnerved him. And he and Sherlock had spent a lot of time in hospitals lately. Twice because of Moriarty, once due to their own actions. John didn't want his subconscious dwelling on it. He forced the thoughts away and managed to sleep for a couple hours before he woke with a sharp pain in his shoulder. He looked over and saw Sherlock's head had somehow migrated to his bitten shoulder and he was nuzzling it in his sleep.

'Sherlock,' John grunted, trying to shift his shoulder. 'Sherlock, love, wake up. Sher, you're on my bad shoulder. Sher?' When Sherlock didn't respond John reached over with his other hand and shook Sherlock's shoulder roughly. Sherlock had been pulled into a deep slumber despite the fight he had had with sleep. He could hear a voice, feel a pulling at his shoulder, but none of that was quite breaking through his fatigued mind.

It would seem our favorite detective is quite a sleeping beauty. I wonder what could possibly be wrong? Oh wait! Did you think Seb gave you the full cure to Sherlock's illness? Whoops. Seb was never one for having good communication skills. His body is cured, yes. His mind on the other hand ... He may be feeling quite tired. That's memory loss for you. It's quite a draining process. Good luck with waking him. –JM

'Oh for fuck's sake,' John groaned. His shoulder was still trapped under Sherlock's head and now Sherlock's phone was going off. John rummaged in Sherlock's pockets until he found his Blackberry. He opened up the new BBM and felt his blood drain from his face.

'Sherlock,' John panicked, shaking him harder. 'Sherlock, wake up. Wake up goddammit!' He cried out and nearly threw the phone across the room in frustration.

The shaking got more persistent, the voice louder. The curious side of Sherlock wanted to wake up to see what all the commotion was about but the stronger side of him just pulled him further under the fog.

'Son of a bitch!' John screamed. He wrenched his shoulder from under Sherlock's head and cried out as searing pain shot through his body. He climbed out of the bed and ran from the room in search of Mycroft. After losing so much blood it was probably a bad idea to be running but John didn't care. He found Mycroft's room and burst in without knocking.

'Mycroft!' he gasped, catching his breath. The man in question looked up incredulously at John, taking in his hospital gown and his haggard appearance.

'Thank god your mother isn't here,' John continued before Mycroft could get a word in. 'There's something desperately wrong with Sherlock. He won't wake up. And he got this almost as soon as I tried to rouse him.' He handed Mycroft Sherlock's Blackberry, already open to the message.

'How does he know everything?' John asked, knowing full well Mycroft wouldn't have an answer. 'How does he know every single little detail about our lives? And what are we going to do about the other half of the antidote to Sherlock's illness?'

Mycroft's heart skipped a beat as he read the text. Not again. This was all his fault. He knew that it was, and yet he couldn't bring himself to tell John. He cursed Moriarty silently under his breath before struggling out from his hospital bed. He was no longer attached to a drip but the hospital had kept him under surveillance as he was still very weak, and although he'd never admit it, shaken up by the whole trauma he'd been through.

'I don't know,' he stated, taking a deep breath. 'Get a nurse or a doctor. We have to focus on Sherlock firstly.' He began to hobble out of his room.

If it had been under better circumstances he would have joked about Sherlock's hangover and John's bitten shoulder. As it happened there was nothing to laugh about in this situation at all. John followed Mycroft, trotting behind him.

'Are you sure you should be up and around?' he asked in concern. 'I mean, you did get shot in the chest barely two days ago. And the last I saw, you looked like shit.' They made it back to John's room, Sherlock sprawled across the bed just as John left him. He whimpered and moved to Sherlock's side, moving him away from the edge so he wouldn't fall.

'Get a doctor, John,' Mycroft ordered. 'I'm fine. It's my brother you should be worried about,' he sighed. 'Now, John!'

John sprinted from the room, running down the hall until he ran into a nurse. She was completely baffled but John's urgency to find a doctor spurred her on. John followed her to the doctor and explained the situation, the doctor and nurse running after him as he lead them to his room.

The two swarmed over Sherlock's unconscious body, gently moving Mycroft away as they took Sherlock's vitals only to tell John what he already knew.

Sherlock was in a coma and there was no guarantee he'd be waking up soon.

Sherlock was slipping further and further into the darkness, but for some reason he didn't care. He was tired, really tired, impossibly so. It wouldn't matter if he slept for a while longer, would it? John wouldn't mind. They were both in desperate need to regain both of their strengths.

…::-::…

John stood in the corner of his former room, looking on at Sherlock sleeping peacefully in his bed. Mycroft was back in his room recuperating, but John had the terrible honour of looking on as Sherlock slept on. It had almost been a day now. John had only left to get clothes the other day, having been cleared from his blood loss. But now he was back in the same room, Sherlock having moved into it as it seemed the logical solution. And while it seemed like Sherlock wouldn't wake up John held on to the belief that he would. Sherlock's mind was strong, he would work his way out of whatever had a hold on him. John knew he would.

'Please wake up soon,' John pleaded. 'Please, Sherlock. I don't want to lose you. Not like this.'

Violet Holmes silently entered the room and sighed sadly as she watched her younger son taking his turn in the hospital bed whilst his bespoken partner was taking his turn to stare intensely into space. She gently placed her hand on John's shoulder.

'It'll be ok dear. He's pulled through far worse.' John didn't seem so sure. John turned to Violet, tears in his eyes.

'I have seen your son perform some astounding feats, Violet,' he said solemnly. 'But it was always his body that was under attack, never his mind. I know he's brilliant but his mind has never been under such a massive attack before. I'm scared he won't be the same when he wakes up. If he wakes up. I only wish I knew what was going on inside his head.' Violet squeezed John's shoulder and nodded.

'I think we have to stay strong and believe that he will pull through this as whole as he can. My son is strong willed. He's not going to lose grip on reality so easily.'

'I'd like to think that he's coping in there,' John sighed. 'I know he's strong. I see his strength every day. But this one is different. It's so incredibly, incredibly different.'

'What do you mean dear?' Violet asked softly. John blanched. She didn't know, did she? Should she know?

'He... He hasn't been himself lately,' he said evasively. 'Apparently I've been talking in my sleep. About marriage and kids, and I think I might have scared him. Even just a little bit. But I don't think that's why his mind is under attack. Well, I know what's going on, but I don't want to endanger you.'

Violet tusked. 'Don't you dance around me, John. I may be old but I'm not as fragile as I look. Now you tell me what's going on with my two boys right now or so help me.' John sighed and hung his head.

'There's a man, an awful man, who has an unhealthy obsession with Sherlock,' he began. 'We've met him three times so far, and twice our lives were in danger. This thing that's wrong with Sherlock, it's some sort of drug induced amnesia. He woke up one morning and literally threw me out of bed because he couldn't remember who I was. He remembered his entire childhood, his life at the manor house, but everything after that was gone. He never did tell me where the memories stopped, but they were all mostly about life at home.' His eyes flicked over to Violet and he sighed.

'I know about your husband,' he admitted. 'I know what he did to you and your boys, and I just want to say I'm sorry you all had to go through that. But Sherlock, he always thought he was the only one. He made that pretty clear to me but Mycroft told me otherwise. And Mycroft went after the man responsible for putting Sherlock in the hospital and got himself shot... by your husband.'

Violet paled. 'My husband's alive?' She shook her head. 'You must be mistaken.'

'I'm not. I'm so sorry, but I'm not,' John apologised. 'Mycroft told me he had your husband incarcerated, but he broke out and now he's working with the man who poisoned Sherlock. If it even is poison. Mycroft was shot by him, your husband.'

Violet gripped onto the chair John was sitting on and closed her eyes. 'Oh. my poor boys. My poor darlings,' she said sadly in a small voice, her usual smile quickly vanishing.

'I'm sorry Violet,' John said, dropping his head. 'I hate to be the one to tell you. I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay. I would have found out one way or another,' Violet replied. 'Mycroft, I should go and check on him. The poor boy's distraught beyond belief. Even his nice gentleman friend can't seem to calm him. At least I know why now.'

'Yes. Go be with Mycroft. He could use his mother right about now,' John nodded. 'I'll stay here with Sherlock. And Violet?' The woman turned to look at him from the door. 'I am truly sorry. About everything.'

Violet nodded sadly before taking her leave.

…::-::…

Silence.

Sherlock's ears were filled with a deadly void.

Then suddenly they weren't.

I am apologising in advance for the next chapter. It's very emotional and quite long (over 50 typed pages, single spaced). It'll hopefully be posted on an actual Monday. So until then, I hope you all have a pleasant week. Prepare your feels for the next chapter. Our Sherlock creates his own world to cope with his coma. And it's everything he's ever dreamed of. Literally.

I'm gonna go now before I dig myself into a ditch and am drowned in your tears. Sorry. Just prepare yourselves for the next chapter. It's very high on the emotional scale.

See you Monday.

TSA + IB