Mycroft groaned as his phone rang with the breaking of the sun over the horizon. It had been a late-night before he had finally fallen asleep in the arms of the man he cared for. Well, there had been some activity before sleep that lead to both their hearts racing and ease of the stress the days had brought. Still, his work was never done and so he reached for his phone as he forfeited the warmth of those arms.
"Two calls in as many days. Should I expect another one tomorrow?" He greeted his brother as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Did you catch him?" Sherlock asked getting directly to the point.
"No, he was gone by the time my men arrived," Mycroft lied. In fact, Moriarty had still been on-site and seemed to be waiting for his men to arrive. His men, on the other hand, had been nowhere to be found. Mycroft's men expected to be ambushed as they put Moriarty into one of the black cars but no backup had arrived. It was obvious that he wanted to be caught and Mycroft was anxious to find out why. Only Moriarty had yet to say a single word since being brought into custody. "My men are out looking for him and should he resurface we will apprehend him as quickly as possible."
"He will never allow that to happen," Sherlock replied. *Oh but he already has brother mine.*
"Was there anything else?" Mycroft wondered. He smiled as he felt Greg lean against his back kissing softly on his neck. He wanted more than anything to get off the phone and show the detective just how much he loved him.
"I need my medical records," Sherlock told him immediately.
"I believe you have a copy in your fireplace. It may take a while but you should be able to piece together again using your microscope and a pair of tweezers," Mycroft replied. Greg snickered behind him and Mycroft couldn't help the brief smile that crossed his face.
"Those records were incomplete anyway. I need my full records brought to me as soon as possible," Sherlock huffed.
"Why?" Mycroft narrowed his eyebrows and put a hand up to stop Greg temporarily from making his way across his neck with his mouth. "Has the good Doctor finally admitted he needs your medical history in order to treat you properly?"
"Just get me my records," Sherlock snapped.
"Anthea will bring them over within the hour," Mycroft assured him. There was no thank you as Sherlock hung up on him. He sighed. He hoped Sherlock knew what he was doing as he suspected that John was going to be just as surprised to be handed the records as he was by the request. He had to remind himself that even if he had power of attorney over many aspects of Sherlock's life, he was still old enough to make his own decisions. He sent the text to Anthea for the records as well as several of his men to be on the lookout for Sherlock tonight. He had the sinking feeling his brother was going to need comfort tonight and look for it in all the wrong places once more.
"Is there a problem?" Greg asked as he put the phone back on the nightstand.
"I hope not," Mycroft replied. Turning, he laid back down trying to claim some of the warmth he lost. Gregory laid down across him and Mycroft smiled as their lips met and warm arms embraced him. That would do nicely.
In 221B Baker street, Sherlock climbed back into bed curling once more into John's side. For the first time in many years, he had woken up in the same bed as someone that he wasn't related to without having a panic attack. It had even been pleasant to drift half-awake in John's warm arms and to hear him snoring softly in his sleep. Sherlock hated to think that this was going to be the only time he ever felt this way but he had made up his mind. John wasn't safe with him and the best thing was to push him away for his own good. He just didn't expect it to hurt so much. No one beyond family had ever treated him so kindly and made him feel like he mattered. After today, he was going to be alone again. He had been sober almost five years now but the call for the oblivion the drugs brought was stronger than ever. He had planned to go to Molly today after giving John the file to try to get a liver or a kidney to experiment on but now he was thinking that he would help her instead. Then he would come home and upon finding John gone, get into his stash and try to forget.
"Mmmm morning," John moaned as he woke up. He stretched the best he could with Sherlock still in his arms, his back arching slightly off the bed. "Did you sleep alright?"
"Yes," Sherlock answered truthfully. Despite the circumstances that had caused them to fall into bed together, he had actually sleep decently for a change. There had been no nightmares plaguing his rest as John's arms held him tightly. It would have been worth sleeping next to him again in order to figure out if it was a fluke or if John really did help him sleep better. Only John wouldn't stick around after today. He would be gone by tonight leaving Sherlock to sleep alone once more but maybe if he stored the moment in his mind palace and slept up here tonight he could recreate the safe feelings John provided.
*Sentiment* He scoffed at himself.
"I don't have to work today if you wanted to have a lie in this morning," John suggested.
"I promised Molly that I would help her in the lab," Sherlock lied.
"In that case, I will go start the kettle," John told him. He squeezed Sherlock briefly to him before rolling out of bed and heading down the stairs. Sherlock lay there for a moment later then followed John to the kitchen. He disappeared briefly into his room to gather clothing and showered while John made them tea. He had just settled down at the table with his tea and a piece of toast when a knock at the door sounded through the flat. Sherlock was down the stairs and answering it before John even had time to react. Anthea handed him a thick folder and he took it from her flipping quickly through it.
"I see Mycroft has already posted men outside my flat. Does he not think the cameras are enough anymore?" Sherlock questioned her.
"You will be under extra surveillance until Moriarty is caught," Anthea informed him never looking up from her phone. Sherlock shut the door in her face heading back up the stairs.
"A case?" John asked hopefully from his chair when he saw the file under Sherlock's arms. Sherlock shook his head no. He held the file out to John who took it with a slightly confused look on his face. He opened it to the first page and then quickly closed it again.
"These are your medical records," John stated.
"Very good, John," Sherlock replied as he moved towards the door to grab his coat and scarf.
"Mycroft realizes that I," John began but Sherlock silenced him by holding up his hand.
"I asked Mycroft to have them delivered. After last night, I realized that I could no longer keep certain information from you. If we had been hurt at the pool you would have had no clue how to care for me properly or what danger you were really getting yourself into. Also, any treatment would have been delayed until they were able to reach Mycroft. I want you to read through my records so that you are able to make informed decisions in the future," Sherlock told him.
"Why would they need to get ahold of Mycroft?" John asked.
"It is in the files," Sherlock pulled on his gloves and turned away. "Molly is waiting for me, we will talk tonight. With that, he was out the door. He hailed a taxi going to Barts as he mentally prepared himself to come home to an empty flat.
Confused John sat with the file in his hands. In it, contained the answers to the questions he had regarding Sherlock's health. He had refused to read the file when Mycroft had first presented it but now Sherlock had willingly given him the information and asked him to read it. It was a show of trust from Sherlock allowing him access to his medical records and it would allow him to treat Sherlock better as well as answer pertinent questions if they ever ended up in the emergency room. He set the file aside for a moment as he made himself a new cup of tea. Then settling in his chair he opened the file.
Within the first few pages, he found that he was right about his own findings. Sherlock had been diagnosed with autism at an early age. His parents had immediately placed him in several therapies to help him but there were still several notes about a possible group home placement when he became an adult. John could also clearly read the abuse in Sherlock's file as he had been to the hospital multiple times before the age of six with cuts, bruises and, a broken arm. His parents had been investigated but there had been no findings of abuse and the case was eventually dropped. He continued to read about the fire that almost took Sherlock's life at the age of six as well and how he spent a month in the hospital. He had ended up needing surgery on his leg to fix burn scars but there were no more strange visits to the ER until he was older.
John's heart hurt when he realized that Sherlock had discovered drugs at the young age of sixteen. It was just marijuana at that time but it was clear that he advanced to harder drugs fairly quickly. He dropped off the radar for a while stopped going to his therapy appointments and disappeared. He was hospitalized once for an overdose but escaped the next morning before the doctors were able to check on him. The second time he was brought in he was kept for a week. His body was fighting an infection from the cuts on his arms and the doctors had a psych evaluation performed. John wasn't sure how he managed to pass as he could tell just from reading the paper that Sherlock had more than likely attempted suicide. He was released and that was the last time he was heard of for almost two years. Until he reappeared in an alley.
John had read more than his fair share of medical files over the years as well as treated people in the military on their death beds. He had seen so much death and destruction that it haunted him at night. Still, it was different reading the medical file of the man that you had grown to love and realizing that he had almost been lost before you even knew him. His stomach flipped and he fought desperately not to be sick as he read about the John Doe found in the alley whose name had been changed to Sherlock after he was identified by a Detective Lestrade. He wanted to put down the file but instead made himself read about the stitches that were placed to repair the damage the man had suffered. His body was basically a walking skeleton close to starvation and going into organ failure. How he had lasted the night let alone lived yet again was beyond John but showed Sherlock's strength. He was in the hospital for a month at that time and it would have been longer but he was released against the doctor's advice into the care of Mycroft. During his stay, his body began to heal and he was treated for syphilis as well as herpes. John actually felt himself breathe a sigh of relief upon discovering that Sherlock had managed to avoid contracting HIV or Hepatitis. He was taking a regiment of Valtexx on a regular basis to prevent flair-ups from herpes but the syphilis had been treated with antibiotics in the hospital.
From there it went into his time in rehab and being released back into Mycroft's care after. Blood reports followed showing that he continued to be clean from the drugs and that he had his STI currently under control. His last doctor's visit advised that he stopped smoking and that he was underweight but overall healthy despite the damage he did to himself in his early twenties. John paused at that last thought. Sherlock was only thirty-one. He had only been twenty-six when he nearly died the last time. He was still so young but had gone through more than most people John knew and came out of it in the end with his mind still intact. He couldn't help the tears that filled his eyes at the pain that the man had gone through as he closed the file setting it aside.
It was no wonder that Sherlock had trouble trusting him or anyone else. After all the pain he had gone through it amazed John that Sherlock had even been able to lay next to him at night and allow John to hold him. It was clear that he had grown to trust John, and John vowed that he would do everything he could not to ruin that trust. He would allow himself to cry now while Sherlock was gone but he wouldn't show any pity for the man once he got home. He would welcome Sherlock like normal and then maybe order from the Chinese place that Sherlock liked or if he wanted John would make him shepherds pie for supper. He listened closely for the door as he calmed himself down, then took a shower and continued his day like normal. After a quick trip down to Tesco for supplies, he sat down with his laptop to type up what he could about the Moriarty case.
It was late in the afternoon when Sherlock finally returned home. John was just putting the finishing touches on the blog when he heard the man coming slowly up the stairs. John looked up in concern as Sherlock usually took the stairs several at a time. As Sherlock entered it was clear just for a moment that he was surprised to see John before his face quickly became the blank mask that it always was. John's eyes narrowed in suspicion as Sherlock took off his coat and scarf hanging them on the hook.
"Why did you really give me your medical files?" John questioned.
"I told you," Sherlock answered.
"I mean the truth, Sherlock. If you were trying to scare me off with your medical files, you should have realized that I am an Army Doctor. I have seen worse than this in battle and it will take more than a shitty medical history to make me abandon you. Especially, when Moriarty is still out there and we have no idea what he is planning," John seethed getting to his feet.
"That is exactly why you need to leave. I have enemies John, and I never should have asked you to place yourself in danger. I think it is best that you find a new flat and forget that you ever knew me," Sherlock advised him as he laid down on the couch steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
"Not gonna happen," John told him.
"Sentiment," Sherlock mumbled.
"Damn right and me leaving isn't suddenly going to protect me. In case you forgot, they took me when I left your side. There is nothing that will stop that from happening again regardless of whether or not we live together. I chose this life and given the choice I would choose it again in a heartbeat. So you can forget this nonsense of trying to drive me away because it isn't going to happen," John informed him. Sherlock sat up quickly and hurried to his bedroom. John expected to hear the door slam but Sherlock came back about a minute later with a small wooden case in his hand. He sat down again on the couch opening it so that John could see the glass syringe with the vials inside. John crossed his arms watching as Sherlock rolled up his sleeve to reveal the old track marks.
"Are you really going to give up almost five years of sobriety to try to prove a point, Sherlock?" John asked him.
"If I have to," Sherlock answered calmly. He lifted out one of the vials along with the syringe.
"I can tell you now it won't work. I knew you were previously a drug addict from the first night I lived here and I chose to stay knowing that there was always a chance for you to relapse. So, the only thing you will accomplish is having me watch you even closer and probably a nasty detox if I even let the needle enter your skin," John advised him more calmly than he felt. He wanted more than anything to rip the syringe away from Sherlock but it would just push them further apart.
"You feel a sense of obligation to protect me since you couldn't protect your mother from your abusive father or your sister from her drinking. You joined the military and chose to become a surgeon in order to save people and then you were shot. The wound ruined your military career and gave you an unfounded obligation to protect me. I tried to make you see the error of your ways by giving you my medical files but I now see that only made you think I needed you even more. Well, I release you from that obligation and you can go," Sherlock told him coldly.
"No," John replied simply trying not to let Sherlock see just how much his words hurt. Sherlock was trying desperately to push him away because he was afraid and John wasn't going to let that happen. He was going to show Sherlock that he was going to be there for him no matter what and he was going to start by disposing of the contents of that box. As calmly as he could, he walked over to the table picking up the box along with the syringe and vial.
"Give those back," Sherlock order but the fight was gone from his voice. John ignored the request as he took a step back.
"I am going to flush these vials while you pull your head out of arse and order us Chinese for supper. Then we are going to eat and you are going to answer a few questions I have about your file. Maybe then we can watch a movie and relax but one thing that isn't happening is this needle going into your arm. Nor, is my leaving so get that idea out of your head," John ordered. Turning he headed to the toilet to flush the contents of the vial listening for any sound of Sherlock trying to leave the flat. He was relieved when he returned a few minutes later to find Sherlock sitting in the same position on the couch staring blankly at the fireplace. John took a deep breath as he stood in the doorway watching him. He had the feeling they were in for another long night.