CHAPTER 37. Prospective
Mycroft had left and Sherlock remained seated, his head in his hands. This was his fault and when John found out there would be no forgiving. Not now, not ever. Any chance he had with John would be lost, he couldn't keep this from the younger man. It was just a matter of time before he found out, although Mycroft would have taken steps to keep John from knowing the truth.
More waves of guilt and self-hatred, the younger Holmes leaned back in the comfortable chair, it still smelled of John, his clean generic soap and deodorant. Closing his eyes he remembered more things he had tried to delete.
Sherlock thought back to that night, those days were a bit of a blur but he did remember that morning after. Remembered how he feared the disappointment John would have. Recalled his own anger and self loathing, feelings he would never have directed inward. It was John's fault the addict felt like this, and about a habit he'd had long before ever meeting that blond in the dingy bathroom.
~0~
Four Years AGO
Sherlock awoke from his drugged state, the sun pushing through the black curtains covering the stained windows. Where was he, looking around several other partygoers were passed out on the floor of the small flat in various stages of undress. Sherlock observed he'd at least managed to avoid the orgy. He checked the time on his mobile, noticing several missed calls and unread texts.
The first text was from John asking where he was. Were they supposed to meet? The ones from John showed his increasing concern. It was annoying to have to check in. John wasn't his boyfriend, John wasn't anything the weren't dating. So why did he feel a pang of guilt over passing out on Spider's floor, instead of sleeping at his own flat? If the addict had decided to stay home, the blonde would have come over after work and he would have wanted to sit and watch crap telly. Dull.
The text said he was going to look for him at the club. Oh god that was at midnight? It was well past noon now. He meant to delete the messages from Mycroft only his head was pounding and his vision blurred. So instead he opened the message.
Where are you brother? John has been spotted at FIASCO.-MH
This got Sherlock's blood flowing. Oh, god. That was Jim's club-well he didn't know who John was, or what he looked like. Right? He read on, his stomach turning.
Since you are too busy with destroying yourself, I have decided to intervene.-MH
John, he had to call John. He tried and no answer, just voicemail. John pick up you idiot.
Mycroft, he would call Mycroft.
"Hello brother mine." Mycroft answered coolly. "I see you survived the night. Tell me was the high worth it?"
"Where's John?" Sherlock was already through the door and half way down the stairs of the run down flat, onto the street he tried to get his bearings.
"I'll send a car. We will talk." With that Mycroft ended the call.
~0~
PRESENT
Mycroft shook his head, sitting in the back seat of his government car he glared out the window. Damn his brother, damn him and his ability to get under his defenses. The little brat had known how to get a rise out Mycroft ever since he could talk.
Why couldn't he just accept that John was back in his life and he had a chance to mend the bridges he thought he burned? Sherlock could fix this, John obviously still had feelings for the younger Holmes. Bringing up the past would only cause problems and unearth things long since forgotten. The older Holmes decided he would call it a night and try and get some sleep. His mind kept bringing him back to that night and the day after.
~0~
FOUR YEARS AGO
Mycroft had come into the guest room to check on the younger man, when John started to stir Mycroft took a seat near the bed.
John's blonde lashes fluttered open, his forehead instantly creased, he obviously had a horrible headache. The young man was pushing his face further into the soft pillow. Mycroft could tell almost immediately when John realized he wasn't sleeping on his sister's couch.
"Good morning Doctor." This caused the young medical resident to flinch.
"Too loud." The blonde croaked, his voice dry and raspy.
He thought himself to have a hangover, Mycroft frowned the boy was easy to read. John was reassuring himself that he wasn't a drinker, he tried to work through last night, his memory escaping him.
"John. Drink this it will help." Mycroft offered the confused young man some paracetamol and a cool glass of water. With shaky hands John accepted sitting up he drank the liquid down, his eyes clasped shut.
"Thanks. God. Worst hangover ever. Please tell me I wasn't dancing on tables." He groaned handing the glass back to Mycroft, laying back into the soft pillows.
"No, John there was no table dancing." Mycroft replied dryly.
"Crap where's my shoes? How did I? Oh, do I even want to know?" The younger man squinted, and rolled onto his stomach and hugged the soft blanket and fluffy pillows.
"Mycroft?" he groaned.
"It would seem so." The British Government cocked an eyebrow.
"Is Sherlock alright? I can't really remember yesterday too well." John looked around.
"It's the side affects of the drug you were slipped. You know you're a little old for me to have to ask you if your parents ever told you not to take candy from strangers."
"Candy?" He rubbed his temples. "Oh, shit. I was drinking. Didn't seem-" he paled sitting up looking around. "How did I get here then?" Mycroft could see the stream of thoughts running through the young mans head; it took everything in him not to laugh at the comedy of it.
"Don't worry Doctor your integrity is still in tact." John looked ready to be sick, most likely he was feeling sore all over. Mycroft continued to watch John closely. "I advise you to be a bit more careful, next time. If there is one, that is. The situation could have been worse." John was examining his forearm, he was bruised and scraped up his neck hurt.
"Bathroom-" he managed Mycroft pointed to a door to the left, on steadier legs then he thought he would have John pushed into the bathroom to lose whatever contents he had in his stomach. When he shakily reemerged Mycroft had some warm tea ready for him. The young medical resident sank back down onto the soft bed. "I'll spare you the details John. You are at the most unharmed. The man who tried to mug you unfortunately got away. Can you tell me anything about him? His name? Perhaps any facial abnormalities?"
" Sorry. I really don't remember much." He rubbed his temples placing a pillow over his face. "Ugh. I swear it's starting to become a bit ridiculous. The trouble I manage to attract!" John was mumbling into the pillow he held over his face. Mycroft sighed at such theatrics, pulling the pillow out of John's hands.
"Doctor really. Such dramatics. I think my brother is rubbing off on you." John threw an arm over his eyes, exhaling heavily. "Sorry, my head is killing me and I feel like an ass." John groaned.
"Perhaps some tea then? Toast if you could manage?" The British Government was sitting in an antique wing backed chair. John squinted at the older Holmes, trying a smile.
"Thank you Mycroft. I don't know what happened but I'm guessing you rode in like a night in shining Armani." He laughed to himself. "I was looking for Sherlock-"
"John what is it with you and my brother. You have the markings of successful man; you will excel at whatever you decide to do. My brother is a spoiled child with a twisted sense of entitlement. You think you can save him from this-"
"I have to try. He is a good man Mycroft and-"
"You love him?" Mycroft sighed sadly, John flinched his cheeks blushing.
"He is incapable of Love, John. We Holmes all are incapable. He will never reciprocate." The older Holmes kept his voice eerily steady.
"It's not like I can shut it off like a switch. I'm not built that way." John replied softly, laying his forearm over his eyes.
"Unfortunately John we are. I'm not trying to be unkind or cruel. I'm only trying to save you hardship in the end." John could read the sincerity in the the older Holmes' voice, Mycroft hoped John believe him. The younger man didn't look over at him.
"Thanks Mycroft I'll try to convince myself of that. I better get going. If you see him will you tell him I was looking for him." John's stomach clinched, he laid back down. Getting up was going to be difficult.
"John he was passed out at the flat of his dealer." John recoiled. "You can't save him John. Something's are broken beyond repair."
"Not always." John smiled easily, he rolled onto his side, studying the British Governments cool expression.
"You are sickly optimistic." Mycroft rolled his eyes, standing to straighten his expensive gray suit.
"And you are depressingly pessimistic." John countered with a smile.
"I am a realist." Mycroft was glad John's eyes were clasped shut once more, because he couldn't remove his eyes from the younger man's half parted lips.
"And I am an idealist. So I say we agree to disagree. I better get going while I still have some dignity left." John winced trying to sit up again, his equilibrium still affected. Mycroft wondered if John had seen the bruises on his hips and neck when he'd run into the bathroom.
The boy's cheeks burned red, was he embarrassed? "Uh Mycroft. Thank you. You're a good friend." John surprised the older man by turning onto his side once more and offering his hand. Blue eyes squinting against the pain in his aching head.
"Just for the sake of staying out of trouble John Watson I suggest you rest some more. As a medical man, you know quite well your system will need a bit longer to expel the drug." Mycroft lightly accepted the offered hand. However trying to ignore the heat that ran up his arm causing the British Government to hold his breath, proved to be a bit more difficult to disregard.