Author's Note:

I know I just uploaded the last chapter a little over an hour ago, but I just had to put this up. I need it out of the way, so I don't have to look at it anymore.

Sherlock grabbed Jackson's shirt to pull him closer into the kiss, and he returned it. This man was a fantastic kisser. Although he supposed he had nothing to compare it to. He pulled the doctor closer still, so the other man would hopefully come to settle on top of him. God. This was so wrong but it felt so good. Maybe this was some sort of sign that shouldn't be getting married after all. Or maybe he was just trying to justify his actions. Oh fuck it. His one hand still clung to Jackson's shirt and he loosened his grip so his fingers could trail along the exposed skin where the top few buttons were undone. The other came up to the doctor's face, caressing it gently.

Jackson followed the pull of the other man's hands without a question, moaning into the kiss as he climbed on to the bed to straddle Sherlock's hips. When he finally pulled away from the kiss and he felt Sherlock's hand on his face he took a deep breath. "Just tell me if you want to stop," he stated breathlessly, his hips grinding into the body below him with a grunt. This shouldn't be happening but it felt way too good to stop.

Any second thoughts Sherlock may have had were immediately discarded as Jackson grinded into his lower torso. "N-no…don't stop, please. Need this…" His voice was raspy and bit thready as his breathing became slightly irregular. He ignored the pain that came from the pressure of the doctor being on top of him. His hips bucked back, gently but steady. He didn't want to rush this. He wanted to savor it. Remember it. He needed something to remember desperately. Being locked out of his mind was damn near maddening. He needed something he could call his own. Not just something told to him that didn't register or mean nothing at all.

"Oh, God." Jackson choked slightly on the air in his lungs, his hands moving deftly to undo the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. This was just a quick shag, Jackson reminded himself. A caution to the wind type of thing that he really only saw in movies. He bent at his waist to suck gently at the exposed skin in Sherlock's chest and easily met the rhythm the man below him had set. The friction of Sherlock's body and his trousers caused him to moan softly against Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock let out a whimper as he felt Jackson's lips on his chest. His finger tips slid down the doctor's face slowly, down the length of his chin and then his neck. The hand that gripped the shirt released and he dropped it to move up Jackson's shirt, so this hand could glide along the chest lightly. He bent his head slightly and kissed the first available spot to his lips, the doctor's ear. He nibbled gently, almost tenderly. The bucking became a bit rougher in his excitement and he groaned into Jackson's ear in pleasure. "God, you are fantastic." He murmured between little bites.

Jackson moaned at the feeling of Sherlock's fingers, one hand clinging tightly into the sheets beside the other man's head. "Y-You too," he stumbled over his words at the feel of the lips on his ear. Shagging a complete stranger, one who was engaged and had no idea who he actually was, should have been wrong but Jackson couldn't help himself. It had been a while since he had been shagged. Despite the fact that it looked like they would get off with their clothes mostly on, Jackson responded eagerly to Sherlock's thrusts. "Shit, you're wonderful."

Sherlock smirked, pleased with himself. He continued to nibble lightly on the ear. His lower torso began an eager pace against Jackson, in mad anticipation. The hand under the shirt trailed down slowly to the doctor's pants. Despite the fact he wasn't looking, it didn't take long to undo the pants. Without a trace of hesitation his hand went down the other man's pants. This time his fingers trailed along the soft boxers, outlining the bulge there. "Christ. This is fantastic. This. You. Everything. Not sure how much longer I will last…" he admitted, as he took a brief reprieve from the light love bites to whisper into Jackson's ear breathily.

Jackson had been about to respond when the touch from Sherlock's hand through the boxers caused him to tense and come with a low moan. He pulled away from the lips at his ear, wiggling back slightly on Sherlock's legs so he could shakily undo the other man's pants. "Fuck, that was..." He shook his head with a smirk. The moment he could, he shoved his hand down Sherlock's pants, lacking the finesse that he seemed to have while doing the same act. "Wish we could do this more than once," he added as he started to calm his breathing. His hand moved deftly into Sherlock's underwear, wrapping confidently around his erection and starting with strong strokes as he bent and met Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock was about to reply but any words that had thought about forming were gone the instant Jackson began stroking and kissing him. He returned the kiss eagerly, his body rocking in time with the doctor's hand. His body tensed and then relaxed when he came. "Oh God yes." Those three words. They seemed so familiar. Where had he heard that before? Apparently it was the key to his locked mind because everything came crashing back to him a jumbled rush. Oh no…Oh God…what had done…John…how could…have ever… Was he still kissing Jackson? Fuck, yes he was. He pulled away. "I…I'm sorry…I can't…we need to stop…" His breathing became frantic now, and it wreaked havoc on his bruised chest but he just couldn't seem to control the breaths coming and going no matter how hard he tried.

The kiss was lazy and slow and Jackson had been enjoying it until Sherlock had pulled away. His eyebrows knitted together and he glanced around the room. "Why? We're fine. Nobody's here." He smiled slightly as he sat up, grimacing as he re-did the zipper and button on his trousers. "I... I think I might have changed my mind. What're you doing tomorrow night?" The doctor glanced up at Sherlock as he yanked at the blanket at the bottom of the bed, cleaning Sherlock's stomach and shirt the best he can before tucking Sherlock back into his underwear and buttoning his pants back together with a sense of care that had lacked before their encounter. "I want to take you to dinner."

Sherlock stared up in Jackson in horror. What had he done? He tried to explain why he couldn't, to say something at all, but his breathing still hadn't calmed down. If anything it had become worse, on the verge of hyperventilating. Christ, his chest really hurt. How could he ever explain to this John? Should he tell John? So hard. He had tried so hard to be accommodating, even though it bothered him and hurt him. He had screwed everything up and now this man on top of him wanted to take him to dinner? In the midst of his flurry of thoughts, his chest tightened. It wasn't getting the oxygen it needed. Panic attack? Probably… His eyes closed in effort to try and concentrate but instead he passed out.

Jackson jumped out of the bed immediately, rushing out of the room and shouting for a nurse. It wasn't long before he had on oxygen mask around Sherlock's nose and mouth, measuring his breathing with a relaxed sigh. So... shagging patients with amnesia and chest pains probably wasn't the best idea but at least he could say he had been with the extremely attractive man.

Mycroft entered the room with a bored sigh before tensing, looking at his brother and then to the doctor. "You..." His eyes narrowed and he grabbed the doctor by the collar of his shirt, shoving him out of the room with a soft growl. Great. He had just managed to, hopefully, fix the issues between John and Sherlock after John had cheated and now Sherlock had run off and done the same thing. At least there wouldn't be an accidental pregnancy involved this round. "Wonderful. Way to go, you bloody genius," he stated to himself as he fell into the chair beside the hospital bed. It looked like Mycroft had more cleaning up to do in his younger brother's relationship.

Usually nightmares didn't plague Sherlock, but he had fallen into the slumber deeply troubled. He whimpered in his sleep, fingers digging into the sheets desperately. The oxygen mask muffled most of his slumbering murmurs but some words were still audible. "Don't leave…I'm sorry…" With a start he woke up, sweat covering his body. He was certain his breathing would have been heavy if not for the oxygen mask on his face to help control it. He swallowed several times, trying to calm his racing heart. His light eyes spotted Mycroft. Great. Of course his brother would be here. He slumped back down into the bed, feeling rather defeated.

"We've got a few options," Mycroft stated with a bored drawl. His gaze landed on Sherlock disapprovingly. "We can elect to not tell your fiancé that any of this happened. He will never know." He cleared his throat as he tossed a new cell phone on to Sherlock's bed. "Or we can tell him and hope he understands. After all, did he not do the same thing to you a few days into your relationship." He had nearly called John while Sherlock was asleep, while Sherlock was dreaming and muttering and clearly scared about what John would do, but he kept to himself and forced himself to listen to his younger brother's nightmare. It touched him that the worst he could dream of was John leaving him but it scared him, also, because he realized it might be reality. "I'm taking you back to Mum's, you will need to be observed because apparently I can't leave you alone at all without you mucking things up."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft and took off the oxygen mask, so he could talk clearly. "I didn't remember until afterward…" The words were mumbled and even sounded lame to his own ears. He shook his head, and he wasn't sure if it was at himself or his older brother. "I would rather go back to my flat. If I called him now, would I have time to talk to him? To…try and explain… Could I have a few moments to talk to him alone?"

"He is on patrol and cannot be reached right now," Mycroft snapped impatiently as he stood. "And I tried to stop you but you insisted on staying here because Jackson might be worried. Can you not let anything in your life be happy? You are engaged, Sherlock. You have a man who loves you more than he has loved anything. You've brought meaning back to his life and he has done the same for you and you just can't let anything go right!" He was standing now, practically shouting as he paced the room. "And no," he replied as an afterthought. "You will not be going back to your flat. Mum is worried, naturally, and wants to talk to you in private. You're staying there at least for the night."

The words stung more than Sherlock would have liked as his brother rebuked him. It was all true though, every single word. He almost hung his head in submission but Mycroft's last bit sparked anger. "You may be my older brother, but you aren't my keeper and you don't get to tell me what to do! I can do whatever the hell I want without your say so!" He was yelling, breathing heavily and those damn chest pains returned. He ignored them and kept on with his shouting. "Oh God, you didn't tell Mum did you? I'll kill you if you did!" He struggled out of the bed, staggering toward Mycroft but didn't get far and Sherlock had to slump against the wall for support.

"I am your keeper when you can't properly make decisions for yourself!" Mycroft's voice bounced off the walls of the room and even he slightly flinched at how loud he had been. His chest was heaving as he closed his eyes in an attempt to gather himself. It would do no good to just yell at Sherlock. The consulting detective already knew that he had done something wrong. His eyes opened slowly and he moved toward Sherlock gently, placing a hand softly on his chest. "No, I didn't tell Mum," he whispered, evenly meeting his brother's gaze. "I haven't told anybody. If you want Mum to know then you can tell her, it isn't my place to do that." It took him a moment but Mycroft moved to bring Sherlock's arm over his shoulders for support. "Come on, lay back down. You need to rest."

Sherlock shoved at Mycroft weakly. "Get away! Just leave me alone! I'm sick of you and dad always trying to tell me what to do! Just get the hell out of my life! I hate you! I hate you both!" The anger he was feeling at himself had been displaced onto his older brother. He didn't care. He needed this stupid childish fit, to release all he was feeling. In truth, he was feeling worse than when he had caught John and Sarah together.

Mycroft didn't relinquish his light hold on his younger brother. A frown etched into his features and he shook his head. "No, you need somebody. John isn't here and that's my job. I'm your older brother, I'm supposed to protect you," he admitted feebly. He met his brother's gaze for a moment before jerking his head toward the hospital bed. "Go lay down, please. You need to rest and we need to figure out how we are going to tell John. I'm here to help you," his voice was weak because this wasn't supposed to happen. None of this. John shouldn't be preparing to become and father and Sherlock shouldn't have lost his memory for a short while and slept with the damn doctor. They were supposed to be married and back at 221B, not in a hospital and fighting a war.

Somewhere, something cracked in Sherlock. Everything he had been holding in since finding out John had wanted to go back into the military. Sure, he had a few childish fits here and there but other than that he hadn't really done anything to release everything he had been feeling. Instead he had bottled it all up and now they came pouring out all at once. He slumped into Mycroft heavily, tears streaming down his face. He managed to weep silently, his hands clinging tightly to his older brother's clothes. He hadn't cried like this since he was a young boy and he hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop the watery flow. There was a part of him that wanted to go back in time where he didn't have or care about emotions.

It was a shock, at first, to have his younger brother clinging to him so desperately, but he realized what was really going on. This wasn't just the current situation. It was everything. The drastic changes in Sherlock's life had finally hit him. "It's alright," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "I'm here." He slid his feet a bit further apart to support Sherlock's weight. "It'll work out." Emotionally charged situations were difficult for both of them but Mycroft did the best he could to console the man in his arms.

With a sniffle and an undignified clearing of his throat Sherlock finally found control. "I'm fine," he mumbled the obvious lie. He released his grip on Mycroft and righted himself. "It's your fault you know. You wouldn't fight with me or let anyone else do so either." More mumbled words. He was still feeling a bit bitter. He moved away from his older brother and back over to the bed. Sherlock rolled on his side, so his back was to Mycroft.

"Yes, I'm sure," Mycroft stated with a soft smile. It didn't really matter that nobody had fought with him, Sherlock had needed to try and fight that habit. "When you get married you will go through the same thing. John isn't just going to fight with you because you want a fight." He settled into the chair with a weak smile. "We just fought. Don't you feel a bit happier?"

"Sort of. I guess." Sherlock was still mumbling his words and continued to keep his back to his older brother. He didn't want Mycroft to see him like this, even though he had lost it twice now in his presence. John had let him feel and experience things he never knew were possible and he was thankful for that but it was times like these he wished that emotions just had a switch he could turn off and on. It felt like his was in permanently in the 'on' position no matter how hard he tried to flick it to 'off.' He finally turned over to look at his older brother. "Do you think John would have told me about Sarah, if I hadn't accidentally walked in on them?"

Mycroft locked his gaze on Sherlock for a long moment. The texts between John and Sherlock during the time that Sarah had been in the flat were monitored and Mycroft had seen every single one. Telling his brother the truth was going to hurt and he so badly wanted to shake his head and say 'no.' There was a long pause, his eyes dropping as he sighed. "Based on the texts John wanted to get Sarah out of the flat before you returned. My guess is that he wouldn't have told you but I can't be certain. That's a question for him," his voice was low and he shifted in his seat. "We've made it so John won't have to know, Sherlock. Your phone has been replaced, the same one with the same number. These hospital records will be shred. If you don't want to tell him you don't have to and he will be none the wiser about what just happened."

Really, Sherlock figured that was the answer. He knew it without needing to ask. He had just hoped his brother would tell him he was wrong. He sighed. Not telling John would be the easiest thing to do, but the thought of not telling the army doctor gnawed at him. Deception had been so easy at one time but now keeping anything from John was almost impossible. He grabbed the phone Mycroft had thrown on the bed and he sent a text to his fiancé.

John, I know you are busy right now but when you have time to talk call me. It's important. I love you. –SH

The last bit was more for Sherlock's benefit, to remind himself that he did because never again did he want to forget. How he had forgotten at all to begin with was beyond him. It bothered him really. He stared at the phone for awhile, as if sheer will power would make it come to life. Finally, he glanced up to his older brother once more. "Did Mum say what she wanted to talk to me about?"

"The wedding, of course," Mycroft muttered with a small smirk. "She needs your measurements and clothing that John looks best in to get his for the tuxedos." He studied the phone in Sherlock's hand for a long moment and lifted his gaze to study his younger brother. For a moment he did nothing but admire the man in the hospital bed. He had made a mistake, although at the time he didn't really know what he was doing, and he was going to tell John when he had all the tools to hide the entire thing. It was admirable. "We have both also decided it would be best for you to stay there for the night, just in case."

John shifted slightly on the ground. It was the evening and they had stopped to rest. He was leaning casually against a rock, his assault rifle resting in his lap, as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He read the text for a moment before hitting reply.

Is everything alright? You aren't hurt, are you? -JW

"Right of course she does." Assuming there would still be one, Sherlock thought to himself bitterly. He must be some kind of idiot to have decided to tell John everything. 'Doing the right thing' wasn't really something he usually concerned himself with. He hadn't been able to keep Mycroft spying a secret so he didn't trust himself with this. Better to get it out of the way. His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone going off. He opened the text, read it and then promptly replied.

Long story. Rather talk about it on the phone or even on Skype. Only when you have an hour or so to spare. –SH

John read the message several times before swallowing hard and replying.

Okay. Should be a few hours. I hope everything is alright. I love you. –JW

Mycroft only chuckled and shook his head marginally. "Oh it'll be fine, Sherlock. Entertain her, this is the only wedding she will ever get to plan. Let her enjoy it." The phone in Sherlock's hand caught his attention. "What is he saying?"

Sherlock read the new message and sent a text back quickly.

All right. Talk to you soon. Love you too. -SH

He glanced up to Mycroft and shrugged. "I haven't told him yet. I am waiting to tell him over the phone or maybe even Skype when he has some time to spare. He said it would be a few hours." He shifted, so he was sitting up slightly and he rested his head on the wall. His eyes closed in thought. Without opening them, he spoke again, "Do you think John and I will ever be able to live in peace? Just when things seems like they have stabilized, something new comes along and disrupts everything. If I believed in God, fate, karma and what have you I would swear they were all against us..."

The question that was posed to him only made him chuckle slightly. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would never be able to live normal lives. "Honestly? I don't know. I don't think I can properly answer that. At this rate it would look like you both have a bit going on and it seems like it will never look up." He paused and moved closer to the bed and placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Everything will be alright, Sherlock. I know John will forgive you and once you two are married and have a bit of a family I think you will fall into a routine." A hand moved into Sherlock's hair with a bit of a playful ruffle. "Stay positive."

Sherlock listened to his brother quietly for a moment. He opened one eye, his eyebrows tilted cockeyed as he looked up at Mycroft a small smirk on his face. "Did you just ruffle my hair like you used to when I was a child? You haven't done that since I was what, six? I got mad at you and said I wasn't a kid anymore and then punched you in the face and gave you a bloody nose. Dad was unhappy with me that day… Not that he ever really happy with me anyway…" It was nice to be able to remember everything clearly. Something he would never take for granted ever again. For as much as he relied on his mind, memory loss was a scary thing.

"Quite," Mycroft replied with a soft smile. It was little moments like this that had made their childhood slightly normal. Little things that he would use now to help make sure Sherlock knew he was going to be alright. "You should know that I will always be proud of you. It doesn't matter what Dad thinks. You've done just fine for yourself." He paused and pulled Sherlock's head to rest against his stomach. "Do you want me to be there when you tell John?"

It really was like they were kids all over again. Sherlock left his head there, eyes still closed. Once more he couldn't help but reminisce, because remembering was suddenly important to him now. The last time Mycroft had held him like this, he was four. A nightmare had woken him and he had gone to his older brother's room crying about it. He couldn't remember what the nightmare had been now, but he supposed it was something silly like a monster trying to get him or some such childish thing. After a moment, he finally answered the question. "No, I would rather do it on my own."

Mycroft nodded with a small smile and glanced at the clock on the wall. "I can take you back now, if you would like. You can rest for a few hours and by then it will be time to talk to John." His hand slowed on Sherlock's hair and he closed his eyes. It was little things like this that he would never forget. "I will even have Mummy make you some tea."

Sherlock finally pulled away from his older brother, only able to take the sentiment so long. It was weird to be comforted by Mycroft after all this time, like they were small children again and nothing had happened to change that. He sat up fully and slid off the bed and at least this time he didn't stumble. "Yes, let's get the hell out of here. I hate hospitals. I swear, one day I'm going to snap and become an arsonist and burn them all down." Truthfully, he wanted out of here as quick as possible. This room was a constant reminder of just how stupid he really was sometimes.

"Please don't tell me that. The less I know the better." Mycroft grabbed the pictures from the floor and placed them in the pockets of Sherlock's coat before tossing it toward him. "Mum is excited to have you for a night." He paused with a knowing smile. "She has even offered to let you and John stay at the house on your wedding night." A soft snicker escaped his lips as he opened the door to the hospital room and slid out.

"I hadn't meant it seriously. Okay, maybe a little…" Sherlock admitted with a mutter. He caught the coat and slipped it on. "Yeah, well I hate to disappoint Mum but that probably won't happen. John would be too nervous to perform and I can't have that on the first night of being married now can I?" His lips twisted into a smirk, and followed his brother out of the room.

It took a moment for everything to register but when it did Mycroft laughed loudly. "John is quite gun shy, isn't he?" He asked as he glanced over his shoulder. After walking past the welcome desk with a tight smile he left the hospital and into the ever-waiting black car, studying his brother intently as he slid into the seat. "I'm staying at Mum's tonight, as well," he stated in a bored tone as he glanced out the window. "Just for support." The smile he flashed Sherlock was warm and genuine.

Sherlock smirked at his brother and when he passed the welcome desk, he briefly looked to Jackson. For a moment he thought of stopping and saying something but decided against it and followed Mycroft out to the car and got in. He rolled his eyes at his older brother. "Right, I'm sure keeping an eye on me and making sure I don't get into trouble isn't the reason at all." He gave another smirk.

"That works, too," Mycroft replied with a simple nod of his head. He wasn't always willing to openly admit that he was worried about his younger brother. Mostly it was because Sherlock would object to any of the attention in the first place. Right now, though, he figured he should be there for his younger brother in a time of complete doubt and while he was dealing with a completely new experience and emotions. It was what older brothers did, according to their Mum. As the car stopped in front of their Mum's house, he shifted in the seat and stared at Sherlock. "I'm here for you." He could have gone on, could have told Sherlock that he always would be, but he figured that was all he needed to say. With glance out Sherlock's window toward the house he exited the car and strode proudly into the front door.

Sherlock merely nodded and for a moment he sat in the car and looked up at the house. He finally got out and wished he was feeling half the confidence that Mycroft was exuding. His demeanor lacked the usual air of arrogance and surety that he usually carried with him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mother began fussing over him.

"I swear, you get into more trouble than anyone I know." She inspected her youngest son with the critical eye that only a mother could have. "I'll get some ice for your head, dear."

He gave a slight smile and shook his head. "It's fine Mum. I'm fine. What was it dad always said? 'A knock in my head would always do me some good.' Maybe he was actually right about something," he muttered the last part.

Nancy frowned disapprovingly. "Don' talk about your father like that Sherlock."

Of course. Mum always defended his dad and for the life of him couldn't understand why. Instead of arguing he kept his thoughts to himself and made his way to the sitting room.

Mycroft smiled tightly at their Mum as he moved down a hallway, disappearing for a moment before freezing as his cell phone went off. He froze and pulled it from his pocket.

Is Sherlock alright? -JW

It would come to this. John was worried, naturally, and if Sherlock wouldn't tell him then maybe Mycroft would.

Fine, I assure you. Are you back on base? -MH

Mycroft grabbed a pillow and blanket from a closet before moving into the sitting room and laying them out on the largest couch for his younger brother. His phone chimed again and he glanced at Sherlock.

Yes. Had an injury on patrol today. Keeping watch to see if he makes it through the night. Can I Skype him now? -JW

"Sherlock, he is ready to talk," Mycroft stated softly, his voice cracking under the pressure of the situation. "If you are, that is."

Ready? Sherlock doubted if he would ever be truly ready to have this conversation. He just wanted to get out of the way. "I'll talk to him in dad's study. It'll offer the most privacy." Their father had the room sound proofed a long time ago when they were kids. He was never really sure if it was to prevent people from listening in or to block out any outside noise. Probably both. Dad was at least pragmatic in that way. He finally got up off the couch and strode to a room that had been off limits as a child. He passed his mother on the way, "I need to talk to John and then I promise we will discuss the wedding without me running off like git."

"Oh Sherlock, honey. You are fine." She patted his cheek softly and then went off to another part of the house.

He entered the room, standing there a few moments trying to collect his thoughts. What would be the best way to start this conversation?

Mycroft followed him and logged into the computer with ease, calling John up before promptly leaving the room.