Happy Friday everyone! The weekend is finally upon us! I might take a nap later simply because I can ;)

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft

Me: John

Warnings for this chapter: light angst and some smut.

Chapter 35 - Feeding Sherlock

When Sherlock awoke it wasn't in the small room he had been forced to stay in at rehab. There were no loud sounds, no nurses trying to force feed him. There was just a peaceful silence. As he opened up his eyes there wasn't the usual harsh lighting blaring down on him. It was dark and warm, and his bed was soft. He was home.

As his eyes came across John he smiled. 'Hello,' he greeted his lover, his voice sounding as feeble as ever.

'Hey,' John smiled softly. 'Welcome back. You slept all through the journey and all night. So, I'm assuming you slept well. Want to sip at some water?'

'Mmm,' Sherlock hummed. 'Haven't been sleeping properly.' He coughed, clearing his throat. 'And some water would be very much appreciated.'

John handed Sherlock the mug of water from the side table. He'd had it ready since two. Sherlock sipped at the water gingerly and sighed as his throat was given relief.

'Thanks, dear.'

'You're welcome, love.' John sighed and smiled slightly. 'I suppose that's the beginning of my feeding you up. Water's better than nothing.'

'I suppose so,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I can't live off water forever though.'

'I know. I'll add some protein supplements into it later. Probably today. But it's a start at least.'

Sherlock moved his head slightly in agreement. 'I really am sorry. I seem to have picked up more problems than I had in the first place, whilst you have gotten better. It's like my pounds went straight onto you. It's a good thing you came today. They said that I didn't have much time left.'

John smoothed Sherlock's hair away from his face. 'I am sorry. I know this isn't my fault, but I'm sorry. I wish they would have let me talk to you more often and longer. Are you really so dependent on me that you can't take care of yourself while I'm not there? Or was it a combination of things that made you do this?'

'It's not that I can't take care of myself. I just suppose after a while I didn't want to.'

'Why?'

'I couldn't see me ever getting out of that place. You were getting better whilst I was being diagnosed with problem after problem. I began to hate my existence.'

'You're not supposed to give up like that. And while you never do what you're supposed to, this is one of those instances where you should. So you got diagnosed with anger issues? The depression linked to suppressed emotions linked to childhood trauma I can understand. But honey, you should have taken care of yourself. You would have gotten better. That's what I believe anyway.'

'I don't think I would have. I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I physically attacked the nurses, not just verbally. And – my unburied childhood memories really fucked me over.'

'Oh honey. Well, at the very least, I'm here now. And I'm not going to make you relive your childhood memories. All I'm going to do, for now, is feed you up so you don't look like a walking skeleton.'

'It doesn't matter. Because of my therapist I relive them every day. I can't get rid of them,' Sherlock frowned. 'I may need physio on my legs again. It's been a while since I have walked.'

'I think you might need it too. Food first though. I want to get some meat on your bones.'

'Blah,' Sherlock said, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue in repulsion.

'Stop it,' John scolded. 'You'll eat, slowly but surely. I'm not going to let you waste away.'

Sherlock glared at John. 'Fine. I'll eat if you're the one to wipe up my vomit.'

'That's what I'm here for,' John said softly. 'I'm going to take care of you now. Here. Drink some more water.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, fine, whatever.' He took the water and sipped it.

'Don't be so cynical. I'm not one of those nurses. I know how to put up with you and deal with your moods. I'm not going anywhere.' He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. 'Except maybe to give you a bath. You reek.'

'It's not as if I've been able to wash myself,' Sherlock scowled.

'The nurses should have been able to. Or did you chase them all away?'

'I believe I managed to get through thirty nurses.'

'Challenge completed,' John smiled. 'Come on. Let's clean you up.' He pulled Sherlock into his arms and walked to the bathroom. He set Sherlock on the toilet and started the bath water, making sure it was warm before plugging the drain and allowing the tub to fill. Sherlock grinned as he watched John, his tongue poking out of his lips. He leant forwards and pinched John's bum, which was currently swaying to a non-existent beat.

'Eep!' John squealed, spinning around to grin widely at Sherlock. 'I see you're still frisky as ever. Glad to see that hasn't changed.'

'Frisky and ready for a rough fucking, sir,' Sherlock purred.

'While I like the "sir" bit, there is no way I am fucking you. Not when you look like a skeleton. I'd be too afraid of breaking you.'

'I'm not bloody made out of glass!'

'I know that, but your bones are fragile and brittle from not getting the proper nutrients. I am not having sex with you until you've got your strength back. Understand?'

Sherlock hung his head low and blew air out of his nostrils in frustration like a horse.

'Understood.'

'Good.' John turned off the water and began stripping Sherlock out of his clothes. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably under John's watchful gaze. His body had changed completely now and he could tell John was taking it all in. His bones jutted out, his skin was drawn tight against him, and his once flat belly had caved in on itself. John frowned and sighed. Sherlock looked awful. More than awful. He looked like death. How had he managed to survive this long?

'It's not a pretty sight but I wish you'd stop staring.'

'How the hell are you not dead yet?' John couldn't stop the question from bursting forth. 'I'm sorry. I just... I really did come get you in the nick of time, huh?'

'Yes you did. One week later and–' Sherlock shuddered. 'I dread to think what might have happened.'

'Let's not then,' John said, pulling Sherlock's pants and trousers off. He then pulled off his own shirt and stood to work on his belt and trousers.

'My brother came to see me the other day. He was crying and he looked more exhausted than he has in a while. Is he alright?'

'I haven't seen Mycroft since he picked me up from my own facility. He looked fine then. Maybe he's worried about you? The crying would be understandable, but the exhaustion? Maybe he's hunting for Moriarty? I'm surprised we haven't heard from him in so long. What's it been? Nearly nine or ten months? This doesn't seem like him. Makes me think he's up to something sinister.'

He chucked his pants and trousers off and sighed. 'Let's get in the water, ok? I'll wash your hair and clean you up good.'

'Moriarty's always up to something sinister.' Sherlock allowed John to guide his body into the welcoming warm bath.

'I'm worried for Mycroft. If something is going on it isn't right that it is resting on his shoulders alone.'

'He did mention he was on medication now,' John mused, sliding in front if Sherlock in the bath. 'What for?'

'Not sure it's my place to say really.'

'I'm a responsible doctor, Sherlock. I won't mention it to him if you don't want me to. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.'

'Ok,' Sherlock exhaled softly. 'He's bipolar.'

'Ah. Yes, I can see that. So, the exhaustion is probably because his body is adjusting to the new medication.' John grabbed the soap and lathered his hands, shifting closer to Sherlock so he could wash him.

'It's just... I suggested he was bipolar. It was in my dream. Maybe I'm psychic. That, I am afraid, does not bode well.'

'I don't think you're psychic,' John said, washing down Sherlock's chest and arms. 'I think it was something you observed about him and it was made prominent in your dream.'

'Maybe. I think my whole dream consisted of my anxieties,' Sherlock admitted.

'Seems like it was a combination of those as well as everything you'd ever wanted. A family, married to me, but then it all went wrong with Mycroft and his illness and you... your commiting suicide.'

'I was a suicidal teenager, which is likely why that subject came up. Benny, our son, was a drug addict. I think he was the one to unleash my cravings. Mycroft actually hit me. And my father haunted me.' Sherlock wrapped an arm around John and dragged himself onto his lap.

'And who was the princess you mentioned? You were muttering about her in your sleep last night.'

'Our daughter, Felicity.' Sherlock smiled fondly. 'She was so like you.'

'Smart and stubborn?' John asked with a smile. He began to wash Sherlock's concave abdomen and his legs.

'And beautiful,' Sherlock added, closing his eyes as the dirt from his body washed away.

John rinsed the soap from Sherlock's body, revealing the creamy skin underneath the dirt.

'She sounds lovely,' he smiled gently. 'I'm going to wash your hair now. Lean back so I can wet it down.'

'She was wonderful.' Sherlock tilted his head back so John could gain better access.

John hummed and began wetting Sherlock's hair, massaging his scalp slightly as he did. He leaned Sherlock back up and grabbed his shampoo, working it through Sherlock's hair until it was in a lather.

'I forgot how good this felt.' Sherlock relaxed into John's gentle touch.

'Bet the nurses did a shit job compared to me,' John laughed softly, massaging the shampoo into Sherlock's hair. 'I should cut your hair too. It's too long.'

'Oh yes. It is rather long now, isn't it? Idiots wouldn't allow me to cut it.'

'Probably didn't want you near scissors. It's ok. I'll cut it for you.'

'I'm perfectly capable of cutting my hair myself,' Sherlock pouted.

'I know you are love. But I want to do it. May I?' John scratched Sherlock's scalp gently before massaging the back of his head.

'As long as it's nothing too short.' Sherlock inclined his head to show John that meant a yes.

'I promise it will be a reasonable length.' John ran his fingers through Sherlock's sudsy hair, bubbles coming off on his fingers as well as loose strands of Sherlock's hair. Right. Weight loss meant hair loss.

'I'm gonna rinse this out now, ok? Then I'm gonna make myself something to eat.'

'K,' Sherlock responded, feeling a jolt of apprehension. 'Does "making myself something to eat" include making me something to eat too?'

'Not necessarily.' John leaned Sherlock's head back and began rinsing the shampoo from it. 'I know how much food repulses you. I was at that stage when I entered my facility. I'm not going to force you to eat anything. Maybe I'll have you drink a protein shake, but I won't make you eat any solid food just yet.'

Sherlock smiled thankfully at John. 'What made you like food again? Picked up any tips?'

'Honestly? I don't know. But once I started eating again my taste for food came back.'

'I hope I receive my taste back for it too. Or what taste I had for it anyway.'

'Me too, love. Come on. We can get in our dressing gowns and then I'm making myself some lunch.'

Sherlock grunted as John eased them both out of the water.

'Don't expect to have a peaceful lunch. I imagine Mycroft will be here soon wanting answers.'

'Oh. Right. Forgot about that.' John laughed slightly. 'Well, I'll deal with it. Don't worry.' He towelled Sherlock off, leaving his hair damp so he could cut it, and then dried himself. He gently picked Sherlock up and carried him to their room. He put Sherlock's blue dressing gown on him and then put his tartan one on himself.

'Think you might be able to sit still so I can cut your hair?' he asked as he deposited Sherlock on a kitchen chair. Sherlock straightened his body, tensing his muscles. This gave the impression of a marble statue.

'Good,' John smiled. He left to get a comb and a pair of scissors. When he returned he began combing Sherlock's hair so it was straight and falling in his eyes. He carefully snipped at his bangs, the dark hair falling to the floor and curling slightly. He worked his way along Sherlock's head, clipping the hair so it rested just below his ears. When he was done he ruffled the hair slightly so the natural curl would show instead of falling flat.

'All done, love. Not too bad if I say so myself.'

'I'll believe it when I see it,' Sherlock huffed, finally relaxing.

'I can get you a mirror if you want to judge my barber skills.'

'Please do. I'm slightly terrified.'

'Hey! I'm not that terrible!' John pouted. He went to the bedroom and plucked the mirror out of the nightstand's drawer. 'Here. Tell me what you think.' Sherlock tilted his head and hummed in thought as he stared at the stranger in the mirror. The haircut wasn't dramatically short but it did seem to make him look younger.

His eyes were bloodshot and sunken in his skull and his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut through glass.

The man staring back at him was a complete stranger.

'See? The cut's not so bad,' John said softly. 'I mean, your face could fill out a bit, but the hair isn't too bad.'

'Not bad at all,' Sherlock muttered, poking his right cheekbone experimentally.

'Hey. Stop. I'm taking that away. Mirrors are not going to help you recover. They covered mine up so I wouldn't stare at my body. Maybe I should do the same here.'

Sherlock snorted. 'It's fine, John. I don't care what I look like.'

'Somehow I doubt that. I'm making you a protein shake. And I want you to have at least half of it. Don't worry, it's not gonna be a huge shake.'

'I don't!' Sherlock protested. 'I care what you think of my body on the other hand. But I really don't give a flying fuck about what I look like!'

'Well, right now I think you look like the poster boy for starvation, so here.' He put a mug in front of Sherlock. 'Drink that. I'm making myself a sandwich.'

Sherlock lifted the mug up to his lips reluctantly. God, did he have to do this? Before he could force himself into drinking the shake he found himself saved by the bell. Or rather he found himself saved by his brother shouting and banging on the door.

'Don't you dare put that down,' John growled. 'Drink it. I'll deal with Mycroft.' He pulled his gown closed and tied the belt around it. He left the kitchen and went downstairs, opening the door and came face to face with a very pissed off Mycroft Homles.

'Ah. Hello Mycroft. How can I help you?'

Sherlock stared at the mug in distaste but began to sip at it gingerly anyway in the hope it would make John happy.

Meanwhile, a very red-faced Mycroft Holmes was stood outside of 221B. 'I think you are perfectly aware why I'm here, John.'

'You mean my "kidnapping" your brother and taking him home so he can receive proper care? Then yes, I do know why you're here. And he said you saw him the other day. Didn't you care to notice how emaciated he'd become?'

Mycroft's face creased in pain. 'I'm not an idiot, John. I know how dire his situation is. In fact, I am in despair over it.' He sighed tiredly and ran a hand down his face.

'So the exhaustion isn't from your new medication then? Look, I'm sorry I took Sherlock, but he wasn't getting any better there. If I hadn't intervened he would have been dead in under a week. He was dirty, unkempt, and starving. I'm feeding him now, if you want to see.'

Mycroft swallowed and looked at John sadly. 'And it would have been my fault if he had died. I doubt he wants to see me.'

'That might be good, yeah. I mean, no offence, but I think he just needs me right now. When he's got some strength back you can come over. I'm sorry, but I should go. I want to make sure he's actually drinking that protein shake I made him.'

Mycroft nodded solemnly. 'Very well. Do tell him I'm sorry. Not that he shall believe me.' He turned his umbrella in one hand and went to leave.

'Take care of yourself, Mycroft,' John said, closing the door. He went back upstairs to the kitchen, smiling when he saw Sherlock still sipping at the mug.

Sherlock smiled back at John. 'It's not half bad,' he commented, putting the mug down. 'I don't think I'll be able to manage much more though.'

'Well, how much did you drink?' John picked up the mug and smiled. 'Nearly half. Good job, love.' He set the mug down and kissed Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock chuckled lightly. It was making John so happy seeing him beginning to try to build up his body's natural form. And Sherlock loved it when John was happy. It had been far too long since he looked so well and acted so joyfully.

John moved about, making his sandwich. He poured himself a glass of milk to go with it, sniffing it first out of habit. He sat down across the table from Sherlock, smiling gently.

'I'm so proud that you were able to drink that. It should last until we go to bed. Think you might be able to have a little more before then? Or do you not want to risk it?'

Sherlock gazed on at John's hopeful face. It was a face he couldn't resist. 'I suppose I could stomach a little more before we go to sleep.'

'Even if it's only a few sips I'll consider it a victory.' John bit into his sandwich, chewing slowly. 'Hey. After this, wanna cuddle on the sofa and watch Doctor Who? There's a new episode tonight.'

'I can't think of anything I would love more.'

'Excellent.' John chowed down on his sandwich, savouring the taste. It was a habit he'd learned in his facility. He couldn't wait to get out of it. Because he savoured his food now he didn't finish quite as quickly and it took him longer to feel full. He didn't like it.

He finished the sandwich and drank his milk, depositing both plate and glass in the sink before turning back to Sherlock.

'Shall I carry you to the sofa? Or do you think you can make it that far?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I wasn't joking about needing therapy again. You will need to carry me.'

'I knew you weren't joking. I just wanted to know how bad it was.' John bent down and cradled Sherlock in his arms, hauling him up.

'Oh! Before I forget.' He carried Sherlock into the bedroom. 'Grab that blanket, would you?'

Sherlock grabbed the blanket that John wanted. 'Think we'll fall asleep?'

'There's a good chance, yes. Plus, I don't want us to get cold.' He walked back out to the sitting room and sat on the sofa, holding Sherlock in his lap. He turned on the TV and changed the channel to the correct one. Sherlock rested his head on John, pressing his tall, lanky body a close as possible, and drawing the blanket over them both.

'Right on time,' John grinned as the show began. He pulled Sherlock close, adjusting the blanket so it covered his feet. He hummed and placed a gentle kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. Sherlock grinned and nudged John to encourage him to keep on kissing him. John hummed again and moved to place a kiss below Sherlock's ear. Sherlock moaned and nudged John again, wiggling on his lover's lap. John grinned and peppered kisses along Sherlock's jaw. One arm wrapped gently around his waist and the other travelled to his bum. Sherlock grinned like a maniac and wiggled on John's lap some more, quite aware as to how he was affecting him from the sudden pressure pushing up against his bum.

'I missed you,' John whispered against Sherlock's neck. 'It's so good to have you home.'

'I can tell you missed me.' Sherlock turned to peck John's lips. 'I missed you too.'

'Did you ever wank and think about me?' John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's plump lips and moaned. 'Because I sure as hell did.'

Sherlock frowned. 'No. Never. I was saving myself for you.'

'Oh.' John stopped his kissing and frowned. 'Now I feel like a fool. I'm sorry, love. I should have saved myself for you too.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No. It's fine. I suppose I was just too out of it to even think of wanking.'

'I would have dreams about us. They were highly erotic. And I'd wake up hard as a rock. I couldn't just ignore it. So, I thought about you, us, while I wanked. They were extremely satisfying if you were curious. Left me very out of breath.'

He nibbled on Sherlock's earlobe before kissing his jaw again.

'Oh, I had plenty of my own erotic dreams that sent me shockingly hard too. I just felt guilty about getting rid of them so I put up with my hard ons.'

'Yes, because it's all just transport, right?' John joked. He placed more kisses along Sherlock's neck, slowly making his way back up to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock hummed and devoured John's lips. He shifted so his hard on was pressed into John and pinched his arse. John grunted into the kiss and rocked against Sherlock, pulling him up so he straddled his lap. Their erections slid against each other, which wasn't too difficult. They were only wearing dressing gowns after all, and Sherlock's was wide open.

Sherlock rut as hard as he could against John's throbbing erection, clenching his thighs, and making loud grunting sounds. John panted and moaned. A hand grabbed their erections and stroked quickly, squeezing just enough. John thrust into his hand, the joint sensation of hand and cock sending him into a blissful unawareness. He was only aware of their little bubble. Just him and Sherlock entwined on the sofa, their moans and groans filling the room.

Faster and faster they rode together. Sherlock was impossibly close. It had been far too long since he had had anything rubbing against his cock, let alone John's cock. John kissed Sherlock deeply, flicking their tongues together. He squeezed their cocks just a little tighter, his free hand venturing beneath Sherlock's dressing gown to fondle his bollocks. Sherlock squealed in pleasure and, much to his embarrassment, came with an almighty splat. His cum flew everywhere and his body collapsed in exhaustion.

'Gorgeous,' John breathed into Sherlock's hair. He released his lover's prick and, using the fresh cum as lube, began to pump his own cock harder and faster.

'Let me help.' Sherlock batted John's hands away and slid down off John's lap and in between his legs. He pushed the dressing gown down and lowered his lips onto John's waiting member. John moaned and spread his legs wider, pushing himself further into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's prick, twisting it in such a way that made it feel like John was fucking his tongue within his mouth.

'Mmm, fuck! Holy shit!' John gasped out. 'Fuck that feels so good. Don't stop.'

Sherlock continued to swirl his tongue in that particular way with the added use of scraping his teeth against John's cock too. John dug his fingers into the sofa and slightly thrust into that hot mouth. That tongue had magical properties, making him go from 'oh yes that's good' to 'fuck I'm cumming' in under a minute.

'Fuck! Gonna cum,' he warned, his hips wriggling just a bit faster. Sherlock placed his hands on John's hips to still them. Chuckling loudly he began to bob his head up and down furiously. John panted harshly, his hands gripped the sofa tightly, and his hips still tried to wiggle despite Sherlock holding them down. He moaned and groaned and whimpered as Sherlock brought him to the edge, falling over it with a shout of his lover's name.

Sherlock gasped sharply as John came. He swallowed all John had and released him with a loud pop. John sighed and relaxed into the sofa, a goofy grin on his face.

'Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.' Sherlock crawled back onto John's lap with a similar grin on his face.

'It's been far too long,' he gasped out.

'It certainly has,' John sighed, pulling Sherlock into his arms. 'And, yes, I'll count that as a meal.'

'It was a delicious one at that.' Sherlock adjusted himself so he was almost fully submerged beneath the blanket and closed his eyes, ready for sleep.

'Do you want to skip Doctor Who and just go to bed?' John asked softly, petting Sherlock's now shorter hair.

'Yes, please,' Sherlock mumbled from beneath the blanket.

'Ok, love.' John placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's temple and hauled him up. He carried him to their bedroom and placed him between the sheets, kissing him gently.

'Get some rest, love. I'll be in later, ok?'

Sherlock stretched out underneath his covers and grumbled something incoherent under his breath as he fell fully asleep.

'I'm going to assume that was an "I love you," so I'll just say I love you too.' John placed another kiss to Sherlock's forehead and left the room, closing the door behind him. He sat back on the sofa, draped the blanket around his legs, and turned his attention back to Doctor Who.

When the show ended he turned off the TV and made his way to the bedroom. Sherlock was sprawled across the entire mattress, snoring heavily. John grinned and shook his head. He draped the blanket across the covers and moved Sherlock over just a bit. He grunted but didn't wake. John crawled in, shedding his dressing gown, and pulled Sherlock up to rest across his chest. He fell asleep listening to the softer snores coming from his lover, a small smile on his lips.

This was a bit of a shorter chapter, but at least you only have to wait until Monday. The next one is a bit longer, and it's the Halloween chapter oddly enough. I hope you all have a fantastic weekend and I'll see you on Monday.

TSA + IB