Authors Note: HEYO! XD Please tell me what you think; I would love to know XD I own nothing and no one, apart from the following: Fredrik Jones, Theodore Wells.

JUST SO YOU ALL KNOW: This is my FIRST attempt at Sherlock and Johnlock, so please be kind!

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ALSO: I made up middle names and first names for certain characters, just so I had something to work with ^_^

SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, BUT I'M IN UNIVERSITY!

Chapter 10

Sherlock

Saturday, April 18th, I woke up rather early. It wasn't unusual for me to do so, far from it. What was unusual was that I didn't want to get up.

I lay in bed, staring at the wall, the covers pulled up to my chin; John had already left. The first week back for the summer term, in short, had been far worse than awful. It seemed that, as we started to reach the end of the academic year, more and more people decided to tell me exactly what they thought of me.

It meant, a lot more people calling me a freak.

It meant, a lot more people calling me a psychopath.

It meant, a lot more people calling me anti-social.

Someone had even managed to find out about my diagnosis of Aspergers and ADHD.

Everything had just gotten a lot worse and it had only been five days.

John had noticed a change in my behaviour, subtle as it may have been on the outside. He had started to spend more time with me inside school hours, fending off anyone that wanted to belittle me. Of course, this caused a few more people to try and insinuate we were a couple. He would just brush it off as he always did. At the house, he acted as he always had with me, even continuing our nightly routine. Only, he had stopped waiting a few hours to come to my room, instead getting ready for bed and coming straight across the hall.

I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Whilst I believed that, yes, he most likely had no interest in being with me, the routine that had been in place for a few months almost suggested otherwise. It was...confusing.

Sighing, I shifted until I lay on my back, the duvet slipping down slightly.

Usually, I had no problem knowing what people were thinking. They were all so boring, predictable. John... John was different. He wasn't like everyone else. He wasn't as much of an idiot as the rest of them. He was the first person that tried to help me understand everything I didn't.

I could quite certainly admit, as of that moment, that my feelings for John were not platonic. I would not say 'love'. I refused to say 'love'. I mean, who really knew about 'love'? Who knew what it felt like? Honestly, I refused to believe that anyone truly understood love. At that moment, I just knew what I felt for John was not typically what someone felt for their friend. Even I knew that.

I didn't move until two, almost three, hours after I had woken up. Harry and John were both sitting the conservatory, the same one we had gone into on the day I had met them. The siblings were sat on one of the window seats, their backs to the slight sun behind them, laughing.

The sun through the window made John's hair look lighter, the lightest it had been since the summer. It just seemed to brighten him up all the more...

No. Stop that!

It was ridiculous thinking like that. It would only make my infatuation with him worse. What was the point if there was no hope? John would never reciprocate, nor did I think I would act on it. What was the point in thinking these things when it would, ultimately, lead to nothing?

It frustrated me. It seemed that I couldn't delete the feelings or thoughts I kept having, in regards for John. It didn't help that this seemed to worsen my changing behaviour, making John even more concerned. All I wanted was for it to stop. I didn't want to think or feel these things!

My eyes narrowing, I backed out of the room, quietly.

I turned my back the moment I knew I wouldn't be seen, making my way to the living room. I marched straight to 'my' armchair, throwing myself down into the seat, curling up into a small ball. I closed my eyes, screwing them up as tight as I could, just wanting to block everything out - the sun, the laughter, the happiness. I wanted to block out everything that could make these feelings grow.

I didn't know how to deal with them. I didn't know how to function with these feelings. I had experienced kindness from few people; I hadn't seen a functioning relationship, until I moved in with the Watsons... I didn't know anything about relationship of any kind! John would say it was all based on instinct, but that didn't explain why he was the first friend I had made. Though, apparently, I treated him a lot different to how I treated others...

All I wanted to do was scream. I wanted to do something to get rid of the frustration; the confusion! I couldn't handle the pressure that it all brought on.

The only thing I knew was hate, not love.

I didn't know how to act without fearing abuse.

I couldn't trust easily, for fear I might end up like Sherrinford.

None of it helped me. Everything my parents had made me suffer through didn't help me. Of course it didn't! Nothing they did, or had done, or would ever do would help me! Well, unless I worked a case that relied on the knowledge, or something of the sort.

Throughout the day, my mood dropped significantly. I couldn't get away from the thoughts and feelings. I couldn't stop my mind from dragging me back to that house. I couldn't stop thinking about my eldest brother.

Nothing could stop the growing angst.

Because of this, I was snappier than usual. Mrs Hudson would say nothing to me, already knowing about the moods. All she would do is set a cup of tea on the table next to me, then leave. Harry and John, however, being the only other ones in the house at the time, took the brunt of my foul temper.

Countless times, I deduced Harry. She would pretend like she didn't care, that it wasn't affecting her, but I could see the pain she tried to hide in her eyes. But there also seemed to be some kind of understanding. I didn't know why that was there, I didn't know how she could feel that...

It just annoyed me more.

John... John got it worse. Because, at the time, I saw him as one of the objects of my frustration, I became particularly bad tempered towards him. I did the same as what I did to Harry, deducing him and facts about his current girlfriend, Mary. I would bring up the situation with school, saying that he only made it worse when he followed me around...

John, however, didn't react like Harry did.

John was confused. He didn't understand why I was acting in such a way. He was hurt that I was saying such things to him and his sister. He was fed up with my mood, in turn growing increasingly more angry.

There was a point where, sickeningly, I was happy with that outcome. Anger I knew how to deal with; anger I understood. I wondered if he would hit me, if he would yell and scream at me.

I was this sick mix of happy and terrified.

"For fuck sake, Sherlock! Can you just act normal already?! Stop being such a-" John hissed.

"Go on, finish the sentence!" I screamed over the top of him. "Say the word! Just do it, call me a freak!"

Just like a snap of someone's fingers, John changed. His anger turned to confusion, his body posture relaxed.

"I wasn't going to say-" he started.

"You're lying! You think I'm a freak; everybody thinks I'm a freak!" I yelled, grabbing fists full of my hair. "I'm a freak; I'm psychopath; I'm a fucking robot! Why wouldn't you think that?"

"Sherlock, I don't-"

"STOP LYING!"

I flew up those stairs.

The second I reached my room, tears were gushing down my cheeks. I closed the door as gently as I could, weakly punching the wall next to it. I hadn't wanted it to get that far, I hadn't wanted to target Harry and John.

I couldn't stop my mouth from acting, before my brain had caught up with it.

Though, honestly, it probably didn't help that I hadn't been taking my medication. It was difficult, remembering to take it every day, especially when working a case or falling deep into my Mind Palace and losing track of time.

I hadn't taken my medication for my ADHD for the past three and a half weeks.

I hadn't taken my medication for my depression, something that had only recently been added to my list of 'problems', for the past week.

I hadn't taken my sleeping pills since John had started staying with me at night.

At that moment, all I wanted to do was sleep. I wanted to get rid of everything that had happened. I wanted to move on from it, to start the day again.

I just felt so tired.

I couldn't remember moving from the door to my bedroom, into the bathroom.

I couldn't remember going into the cabinet, taking out the pills.

In my head, I tried to calculate how many of each I would need to level myself out.

In my head, it seemed like a good idea to just take them together.

It seemed like a good idea to just sit down on the bathroom floor, just for a second, until I didn't feel so tired anymore.

John

It took me minutes before I could move.

I felt rooted to the spot, not understanding what had just happened. I couldn't understand how Sherlock had just flipped.

I wanted an answer. I wanted to know what was wrong with him. I wanted to know why he had gotten so standoffish with Harry and I. I wanted to know what was making him so upset.

The second I could move, I ran up the stairs, intent on talking to him. I would take the bait and get mad - I would stay calm, get him to explain to me what was wrong. All I wanted to do was help him. I wanted to help solve the issue, if it could be solved.

I wanted to be there for my best friend.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I found.

When I heard no sound coming from Sherlock's bedroom, at first, I wasn't worried. I knocked, but I got no reply.

So I walked in.

He wasn't in his room.

I heard no noise coming from his Experiment Room.

And then I saw a hand.

In the bathroom, poking out just past the door was a hand. A violently shaking hand.

I ran as fast as I could towards the bathroom, shoving the door open as wide as it could go. Laying with his back towards the bath, was Sherlock.

Passed out, on the floor.

In the middle of a seizure, turning blue and barely breathing.

"HARRY! CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I screamed.

Sherlock

There was beeping.

Lots of beeping.

Beeping and dripping and noise. My head was already pounding, as if my skull was keeping a marching band prison, letting the drums beat against the bone there.

Talking.

Voices started to become clearer, closer... I didn't recognise them.

I didn't want to open my eyes.

The voices were ripping through my ear drums.

Why were they so loud?

Everything hurt. My head. My stomach.

I felt weak. Weaker than I ever had before...

What was wrong with me?

I could hear the beeping get louder, faster. I could hear a slight urgency in the voices. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know what was going on... I didn't know why there were so many voices.

That was when they touched me.

"NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!" I yelled, pulling my arm back and pushing myself away, as my eyes snapped open. "GET OFF ME!"

The voices kept talking, hands on me, trying to keep me down.

Panic.

That's all I felt.

Painful panic that gripped my chest and heart, squeezing so hard it felt like I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't tell where I was. Everything was white. There was nothing that I could cling onto, nothing I could see that could tell me where I was.

I kept screaming, kept yelling. I was just hoping someone would hear me, that someone would come help me.

And they did.

The door slammed open, another voice joining the others, only much louder. I couldn't hear what they were saying, I didn't know what they were doing... All I knew was that the voices were leaving.

I couldn't tell if I was alone, or if the loud voice was still in the room with me. I had my answer when I heard footsteps approach me... I tried to back away from them, but they didn't try to touch me. I just heard them sit down.

"Hello, Lockie." the voice said, quietly.

All the noise stopped.

Carefully blinking, clearing the fuzziness from my eyes, I slowly turned to my right. In a chair, next to me, I found Mycroft sitting next to me. His hair was a mess, his clothes were rumpled, he had dark bags under his eyes. He didn't look like the well put together man I had started to know him as.

"What's going on?" I tried to demand, my voice rough.

"You're in the hospital." he told me, gently, handing me a plastic cup of water. "You've been here for three days - you've only just woken up."

"But why?"

"You overdosed."

Mycroft explaining to me what he knew was the first, real conversation we had had in years. No screaming, no yelling, no insults. He just sat there, talking to me, actually seeming concerned.

He got me to explain my side of the story. He was one of the few people who could tell when I was lying, he always could. I told him everything that had led up to the decision, being more than a little vague when it came to John... Mycroft knew, though. He read between the lines and he understood.

For the first time in a long time, I actually felt like Mycroft was my brother. It felt like he actually cared about me. Like he really did give a damn. For a moment, I was elated - maybe there was a small bit of my brother left... At the same time, I was fuming - why did he care now; why would he act like this now? It made no sense to me!

I shuffled away from him slightly, moving as far over to the other side of the bed as I could. How long would it take for him to change again, to go back to a cold-hearted bastard? I wished I didn't think like that, I wished that he wouldn't. I just wanted my big brother back...

I missed him.

"I miss you too, Sherlock." Mycroft said, quietly, staring down at the edge of the hospital bed. "I miss my baby brother."

"Don't lie to me." I whispered. "You don't care."

"I'm not lying! I have always cared about you!"

"Really? You call leaving me to the dogs caring? Don't make me laugh."

I watched Mycroft flinch slightly, his hands tightening into fists on his knees as his shoulder tightened just a little. He started to shake. The movement was so subtle that I barely noticed it. If I was anyone else, I wouldn't have.

"Th-They said they would stop." he whispered, his voice breaking just so. "Th-They said they would leave you alone."

Looking up, I turned slightly towards my brother, a frown on my face. Never had I heard him stutter, never had I heard him so close to tears. Never had I heard him so vulnerable. It was a side to him I wasn't used to.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, softly.

Mycroft didn't look up.

His knuckles were turning white from the strain, his shoulders starting to shake uncontrollably. He wasn't the Mycroft that had been created at the age of eleven anymore, he wasn't the strong older brother I knew until then... This was the side of him that he hid.

Hesitantly, I reached out a hand to him. He didn't react. Not until my fingertips touched the back of his hand.

He jolted slightly, only then lifting his head.

His eyes were haunted, a pain in them I had never seen. His pale skin had turned sickly, almost ashen.

"Talk to me." I pleaded, a small amount of panic starting to rise.

Mycroft's left hand uncurled from the fist it had been placed in, almost folding over mine. His grip was strong, as if I would slip away if he even let go just a little.

"They wanted me to leave, to go to a boarding school. I didn't want to leave you alone with them." Mycroft whispered. "So we made a deal - I turn into what they wanted and they would leave you alone."

If possible, Mycroft's hand grew tighter around mine. He was almost cutting off the circulation, he was holding it so tight.

"I-I didn't know they were lying. Honestly, I didn't. I should have realised, but I didn't. And that made you hate me more." he continued. "I thought you'd be better off, I thought they would stop. I just didn't want them to hurt you anymore."

I watched as he looked down, his eyes starting to shimmer with unshed tears. His voice became strained, trying to keep himself composed... It wasn't exactly working very well.

"I know apologising isn't enough, but it's a good place for me to start." Mycroft said. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. And I hope, some day, we can fix our relationship."

John

The nurses hadn't listened to Mycroft's warnings.

He had told them, even the doctors, that Sherlock would not respond well when he woke up. He had told them Sherlock would not do well with them all talking, with all the noise.

But they didn't listen.

The second we heard Sherlock screaming, Mycroft flew out of his seat. He ran into the room, yelling at everyone in there, demanding they all take their hands off of his brother, take they should take their incompetent arses out of the room.

That had been, almost, two hours ago and he hadn't reappeared.

Greg and I were still sitting in our chairs, staring at the door. In the three days Sherlock had been in the hospital, the three of us hadn't moved - unless we needed the toilet or one of us went to get food for us all. None of us wanted to leave, just in case.

It had been terrifying, seeing Sherlock lying on the bathroom floor, lifeless. I could think of what I had to do, I couldn't make sense of what was happening. I could only think to yell for Harry to get an ambulance, before trying to keep Sherlock as still as possible. I didn't know what else I could do to help!

The only good thing about the situation? I saw the brotherly side of Mycroft. I saw the side of him that I never knew he had. Whenever he left for a few moments, Greg would tell me how, what I had just seen, that was the real Mycroft.

I hoped to God he was right...

"You really like that kid, don't you?" Greg said from my left.

Looking towards the nineteen year old, I frowned slightly, cocking my head to the side.

"Who? Sherlock?" I asked. "Well, yeah. He's my best friend."

Huffing a small laugh, Greg smiled, shaking his head as he turned towards me.

"That's not what I mean, John." Greg explained.

"Then what do you mean?" I huffed.

"That's not for me to tell you."

Glaring slightly at the one I called a friend, I turned back to staring at the door. Honestly, why did he even say anything if he wasn't going to elaborate? I wasn't a mind reader, I didn't instantly know what he was thinking!

"I heard your dating some girl." Greg mused. "Mary?"

"We're not dating." I sighed. "We're just friends, nothing else."

"Oh? Harry said different."

"Harry knows shit. I am not dating Mary. Why is it, whenever I'm friends with a girl, people think I'm dating her?!"

Greg held his hands up in surrender, trying to contain his laughter. He had been awfully chipper since Mycroft had shut the door, blocking us from hearing his and Sherlock's conversation.

I wondered if Sherlock told him what had happened.

I wondered what Sherlock had done.

I wondered if it was an accident.

Of course it was an accident!

I hoped it was an accident...

I wanted nothing more than for this to be some kind of misunderstanding. That way we could all go home and try and move on. That was all I wanted. I didn't care very much for answers about Sherlock's outburst anymore, all I wanted was to get him home, where I could take care of him!

Huh...

It was only recently that I realised that had become a lot more...protective, I suppose you could say, of Sherlock. After everything that had happened since he started to live with us, with me, I just felt the need to be with him all the time, to keep him happy, to keep him away from anything that could hurt him.

I felt the need to be there so I could deflect anything negative coming his way.

I felt the need to be there so I could try and make it better.

At first, I thought it had only been during the week at school, before this incident. I thought that was the first time I had started to be so protective over my friend. But then I started to think back. I began to remember things I had done for him, over the past few months, that I probably wouldn't have done for every single one of my friends. One example being getting them to fall asleep, before going to sleep myself, next to them.

Now I was wondering, was it normal? Was my behaviour normal? Was it typical to act like this with your best friend? I suppose, in a way, Sherlock was a special case. I mean, he was just that - special. I didn't mean that in a derogative way, definitely not. But he wasn't like anyone I had ever met before.

It was confusing. I didn't know if I was just tired and looking too much into things, or if I had a valid point. And, if I did have a valid point, what did it mean?

Did he mean more to me than a friend?

Did I think of him as a little brother?

Did I love him?

Oh!

Oh my God!

I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes!

Sherlock

I was kept in the hospital for the rest of the week, everyone claiming it was 'just in case'. I didn't like hospitals. I didn't want to stay in the hospital. I wanted to leave!

But Mycroft never left me.

Neither did Gregory.

And neither did John.

The three of them were always there with me, never leaving me on my own. I think they were the only things keeping me from going completely mad; the only things stopping me from trying to break myself out. Well, them and the constant visits I received from Harry and Clara, Geoffrey and Philomena, as well as Mrs Hudson.

It was Sunday, April 26th 2015 when they finally released me. But they did that under one condition - I was to see a counsellor once a week, for however long Mycroft decided. I wasn't sure how I felt about the arrangement. I wasn't sure if I wanted to speak to some stranger about how I was feeling. But, apparently, they thought I had tried to kill myself, not listening to Mycroft and I when we had said it was an accident! Because they found my self-inflicted scars, they decided it may have been a suicide attempt.

Hence, the counsellor.

Getting back to the house was amazing! My only issue? Facing Harry again and being left alone with her and John. Since being in the hospital, I hadn't spoken to either of them about the incident. They hadn't brought it up and neither had I... I didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to remember the things I said to make them angry.

Mycroft hadn't wanted to leave me. He was hesitant, fluttering around and not knowing what to do. He kept asking if I needed anything, if I was sure I was going to be ok... He didn't want to leave me again. It was quite funny and, to be honest, I actually appreciated it. In a way, it proved to me that he really did want to fix things.

It took Mycroft and Gregory three hours to leave the house - only because they had plans with Gregory's parents. Even then, Gregory had to drag Mycroft out of the house.

After that, I was left with Harry and John. In the living room. Just the three of us.

I could barely look at them. I could barely breathe, I was so nervous. I just wanted one of them to speak, just wanted one of them to mention the elephant in the room.

"Forgive and forget?" Harry asked, smiling, as she held her arms out to John and I.

"Forgive and forget." John nodded, hugging his sister with one arm, as he held the other out like her.

They bother smiled at me, waiting for me.

They didn't try to push me - I suppose, in this situation, I should say pull me.

They didn't try to hurry me up.

They just waited for me to make my move.

"Forgive and forget." I whispered, nodding, hesitantly, joining them.

Harry's arm wrapped around my shoulders, John's arm around my waist. They both held me tightly, the warmth seeping into my skin. I hadn't expected such a reaction from them, and I could feel myself reacting without permission and, before I knew it, I was a broken, sobbing mess.

They held me tighter, both of them telling me it was all ok. Both of them telling me that everything would be fine. They comforted me.

If this was what it was like to be loved by family, I never wanted it to stop.

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