I think there's a flaw in my code.

I know it's been a really long time since I've updated, and I apologize for that. I was in a pretty bad place all summer, but it got a lot worse as summer ended. I've had a hard time getting myself to do basic needs, let alone write. If you've been reading my stories long enough you'll know there was a similar hiatus last summer (though a bit longer). It's becoming pretty typical to relapse each year. Don't worry, I'm seeking help and I am getting better and hopefully I'll be updating more consistently (though maybe not more frequently with college and all that). This isn't an excuse, I just wanted to let you guys know. Now with all of that out of the way, enjoy!

Celestial Glowhead – Thank you so much for all of the reviews you've given on this story and Official Recruiter, you really don't know how much it means to me. Thank you for being so loving of my stories, it means so much to me.

"Not even a week and you're already back?" Sherlock glared at Fury. The director simply sighed. "Didn't I tell you not to make me regret my decision?"

"We are making progress—"

"But the fact that Doctor Watson almost lost it still remains." Fury shook his head. "I thought letting him recover in familiar surroundings would help."

"It is," Sherlock insisted. "We just need time."

"I couldn't care less about how long it takes. There are, however, people who care much more strongly. If you don't start seeing results soon—"

"It's barely been over a week since we even got him back from SIP!" Sherlock insisted. "We're making progress."

"Good." Fury got to his feet. "And I expect you to keep making progress." He shot Sherlock a look. "Don't land yourselves back here again, Holmes." Fury jerked his head towards the door. "Dismissed." Sherlock stuck his nose in the air and left.

As soon as he exited the director's office, Coulson ran up to him. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Holmes—"

"What?" he snapped.

Coulson halted. "I heard what happened. Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Coulson." Sherlock began walking to where John was being detained. Coulson trailed right behind.

"When do you think he'll come around?" Coulson asked.

"About another hour, according to SIP's notes. Unless…"

When Sherlock didn't continue Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Unless…what?"

"Unless we use the trigger words on him, which we are not doing," Sherlock answered quickly.

"What? God, no, of course not," Coulson said, aghast by the mere idea. "We wouldn't. We can wait another hour for him to come around, no problem." Sherlock stopped outside the door leading to the unit with John. Coulson watched the detective closely. "Is something wrong?"

After a moment of hesitation, Sherlock reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out the book. He flipped open to a certain page and stared at it. "Ever since John came back to Baker Street he's been handing me things. Sharp things – knives usually. Weapons of some kind." He didn't look at the SHIELD agent as he passed over the notebook. "I didn't know why, and I snapped at him, causing this…setback."

Coulson took the book and read what was on the open page. He frowned. Asset will arm any and all unarmed superiors, it read. If this does not occur, please refer to training and conditioning. Coulson looked back up at the detective. "He sees me as a…as a superior."

Coulson shook his head. "Holmes, I really don't think—"

The detective turned. "You saw the footage." Coulson fell silent. "Even if it's not a conscious idea, the fact that he treats me as such is an indicator of what's going on in his head. SIP ripped it apart and shoved back the pieces they saw fit."

"This is going to take time, Sherlock," Coulson assured. "I have complete hope for John getting back to normal. But if you want that to happen you need to be with him every step of the way, you understand?" Sherlock silently watched the agent. "You said you snapped at him, yeah? Well, you can't do that, not anymore. If you want your friend to have a safe, quick, and successful recovery you're going to need to be a little more caring. Show your support, but don't be overbearing. Be there for him but don't force him to overshare. Do you understand?" Sherlock's gave a nod so small Coulson almost missed it. The SHIELD agent didn't follow when Sherlock opened the door and continued down the corridor.

Sherlock rounded the corner and his day went from bad to worse. Standing outside of John's room was Mycroft, waiting casually. Sherlock glowered. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Making sure Doctor Watson doesn't…relapse, again. He could have killed you."

"But he didn't." Sherlock was not in the mood for this. "We can handle this ourselves, Mycroft, no need to meddle."

"John shouldn't remain at Baker Street." This made Sherlock pause. "For the safety of you both."

Sherlock stepped closer. "Absolutely not. Baker Street is the best place for John to recover. Putting him in unfamiliar surroundings won't do him any good."

"Sherlock—"

"No." He simply pushed past his brother and walked into John's room, closing the door quite forcefully behind him.

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True to his word, Fury let the two go back to Baker Street. Now Sherlock was really beginning to feel the pressure. If there was another incident, one more screw up, it was all over. SHIELD (or worse yet, Mycroft) would be taking charge of John's condition and Sherlock would not allow that. As soon as they returned to 221B John headed straight to his room. Sherlock didn't try to stop him.

Sherlock spent the next few hours scouring through the flat, removing anything that could easily be used as a weapon – which was just about everything. Of course, there were some things he couldn't just get rid of. Tools and knives that were often used had to be locked away. If it came down to it John could probably break through the lock, but Sherlock wouldn't let it get to that point.

When John had first returned home, Sherlock had gone through the flat with a fine-toothed comb, tidying up and hiding the gun, locking away anything that could possibly be unsafe. He thought he'd done a good enough job but going through the flat a second time made the detective realize exactly how much he'd missed the first time around.

Sherlock had just about finished when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Hudson was out so that meant it was up to Sherlock to open the door. With much annoyance, he stopped what he was doing and made his way down the stairs, throwing the front door open. There on the threshold stood Agent Clint Barton.

Sherlock hadn't seen the rogue Avenger since the telekinetic attack just shy of a year ago. He had a duffle bag slung across his shoulder and was wearing civilian clothing, a broad smile on his face. "Hey."

The detective rolled his eyes. "SHIELD sent you to keep an eye on us I take it?"

"Is it really too unbelievable that I might just be here because I need a place to crash? Casual reminder that, technically, I am a wanted criminal."

Sherlock just stepped aside, letting Clint enter. The two of them walked up the stairs to 221B and Clint's eyes widened when he saw the sitting room. "Whoa. This place is a helluva lot cleaner than last time I was here."

"You can take the couch."

Clint slowly nodded, making his way over to the couch. "Okay. Thanks." He tossed his bag next to the couch and sat down. "Seriously. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Not that I have any say in the matter. No doubt SHIELD would require someone—"

"Come on, seriously?" Clint said. "I mean, really? Sherlock, I'm not here because of SHIELD."

"Why else would you be here?" Sherlock snapped.

Clint was taken aback. "I want to help. As a friend, not as an agent on an assignment." He folded his arms. "I…Well, I kind of know what it's like to not be in control…" Sherlock simply watched the agent closely. "Back during the New York attack, I was…compromised." The agent was clearly not used to retelling the story. It was something he'd chosen to push away. "I guess you could say I was mind controlled – that's really the best way I could put it. I wasn't in charge of my own body and sometimes I wouldn't even be able to think for myself. But I remember it. After it was all said and done, I remembered all of it. I remembered aiding the enemy, I remembered killing other agents, killing people I considered friends." He paused, looking away. "I'm a spy – an assassin. I've killed before and I've had no problem doing it…But that was different. I wasn't in control and I killed allies, not the enemy. It took a long time for me to recover from that." Clint bit his lip. "I want to help, Sherlock. Let me help."

After a few moments, Sherlock went back to tidying the flat. "How long do you think you'll be here?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Hard to say. A week or two? It all depends on how you guys are doing."

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Both men looked over as John entered the room. He spotted Clint and stopped short. The archer offered a goofy grin. "Hey! How you been?"

John hesitated. "Uh…I mean, I-I've been…adjusting." He looked Agent Barton up and down.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You do remember me, right?"

"Yes. Yeah, you're…you're Hawkeye."

"The one and only."

"What are you doing here?"

Clint shrugged. "Just need a place to lay low for a while. No biggie." Sherlock gave a huff from the other side of the room. The two assassins looked at the detective for a moment, but Clint manage to break the awkward tension. "So…I heard you had a bit of a…setback," he began carefully.

John hung his head. "Yeah."

"You'll get there, trust me."

"And you would know?"

Clint paused. "Well…I know a guy." He got to his feet. "Just take it easy, alright? Things'll get better."

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True to Agent Barton's word, things did get better. Slowly, but surely, John got better. It was the small things at first, barely noticeable. He would talk more – notably without being prompted. He'd actually gone on a few walks with Clint which Sherlock was not invited on. The detective had no idea what the two talked about in their time spent together, but he didn't press too hard to find out. He was aware Clint wasn't all too open about his mind control experience and it seemed to be doing John good, so he didn't question it.

For a while.

As the second week of Agent Barton's stay came close to ending Sherlock had to ask. As soon as John left the room Sherlock turned to Clint. "What have you and John been discussing?" Clint was taken aback by the abrupt question. "It seems to be working and I take it you'll be leaving soon." Clint slowly began to nod his head. "Would you care to share your findings so I can continue helping him after you're gone?"

Clint paused, trying to organize his thoughts. "The thing that helped me the most when I was recovering from what that grease-bag Norse god did to me," he sneered, "was open ended questions. Nat would—" He stopped and corrected himself. "Agent Romanoff would constantly ask me to make decisions. Which mug did I want, did I want my eggs fried or scrambled, did I prefer red or blue – those kinds of questions. Easy, simple, but they forced me to use my free will and make a decision. As I kept getting better the questions got a little more complicated. Did I prefer cats or dogs and why, if I had a dog what would I name it and why, what was my favorite food, if I was in any other job what would it be, and so forth. They weren't choosing between two options anymore, it was explaining my thoughts and feelings."

"And where are you with John in this process?"

Agent Barton looked towards the stairs, checking to see if John was coming yet. He turned back to Sherlock and shook his head. "Obviously what happened to John was much, much more severe than what happened to me, so we've been taking it pretty slow. I'm just starting to ask some more open ended questions, but offering some choices still doesn't hurt." Sherlock nodded along. They both heard John's door open. "I'll probably stick around another couple of days, so I'll let you know how things are right before I leave."

John walked into the room, jacket slung over his arm. Clint turned and grinned. "Ready?" John nodded. Clint smiled back at Sherlock. "We'll see you later, alright?"

"Alright."

Boredom was nothing new to Sherlock Holmes. A hated enemy, sure, but not new. As soon as Clint and John left on any other day he had to stop himself from asking Lestrade for a case. He couldn't do it without John and John was by no means ready for a case yet. But Sherlock knew today would be different – his boredom would be short lived. He picked up his violin to pass the time.

Not even an hour later, he heard footsteps on the staircase. He didn't even bother to turn around. As soon as the visitor entered the sitting room he stopped playing. "Captain Rogers," he greeted. The figure halted. Sherlock turned around to face the super soldier in front of him. Sherlock gave his bow a twirl and set it and the violin back in the case.

"You were expecting me?" Steve asked. The rogue Avenger had definitely changed. His hair was longer, not as well kept, and he'd grown a beard. He wore a baseball cap and had a pair of sunglasses in his hand.

"Eventually. There's apple cake in the fridge if you'd care for any." The hero was actually speechless. Sherlock made his way over to his chair. "How's being one of the world's most wanted treating you?"

Steve watched the detective closely. "Not bad." He shook his head. "Clint did say you were good—"

"Naturally. So Agent Barton was the one to contact you. Figured as much."

"Did he tell you I was coming?"

"No."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "Then how did you—"

"It was only a matter of time seeing what happened to John was an attempt of recreating what happened to your best friend." Sherlock indicated to the seat across from him. After a moment of hesitation, Steve made his way over to the chair. "I take it you have some information to provide," Sherlock said.

Steve began to nod. "When I heard what happened…I had to check it out." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've never encountered anyone who's been through anything close to what Bucky has. There were others like him, others working for Hydra, but they were killed." He leaned back into the seat. "Now obviously what happened to your friend isn't near what Bucky went through since Hydra was completely successful and had him for seventy years, but…it's close. Similar, I mean." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I can't offer you everything I know, but I can give some advice."

"Agents Barton has already given his…two cents."

The super solider raised an eyebrow. "His question method?" He nodded. "It's a good place to start, that's for sure. He knows a thing or two about brainwashing and mind control," he ended softly.

"The New York invasion, yes?"

"Yeah." Steve wrung his hands. "It was pretty hard on him. He pulled through alright though." Suddenly, Steve made a face. "You looked familiar, but I know if we'd been formally introduced I would have remembered you."

Sherlock nodded. "We encountered each other during the New York invasion. You – quite literally – shielded us, then got us to safety."

Steve's eyes lit up with a hint of recognition. "You know, that's probably it. Yeah, I think I remember that." He nodded, trying to remember the details of the encounter. "What were you two doing in New York?"

"Bit of a long story. SHIELD wanted to hire us but there a bit of time travel involved."

"Ah." Steve chose not to question it and the two of them fell into a short silence. Eventually, Steve leaned forward. "So it's the same, huh? Codes, trigger words, assignments, the whole works?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered quickly.

"So I take it there's a book."

"There is."

"Can I see it?"

Sherlock sat straight up. "No," he snapped. "The book stays with me. No one is to look at it but me."

Steve seemed unfazed as a small smile crept onto his face nonetheless. "Good." He got to his feet, slipping his hat back on his head. "I have no doubt you're doing the best you can. And it's a good idea to keep that book stashed away, although it would be an even better idea to destroy it altogether." He gave a polite nod and headed out the door without another word.

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Agent Barton only stayed another two days. The day before he left, two familiar faces showed up at the door. A huge grin spread across Clint's face. "Hey, kid! Long time no see!"

Taria and Vi had stopped by to visit. No one had seen the two teens since the telekinetic attack and for a while it was cause for some worry. Taria had ended up at SHIELD medical, Vi by her side, but after they were discharged it was like they'd fallen off the map. No doubt if SHIELD was desperate enough they could have found them, but the organization decided it was best to let the two kids have a bit of peace.

Vi gave a kind enough smile to everyone and Taria accepted Clint's hug. "Man, where have you two been?" The agent asked.

"Takin' it easy," Vi said simply. "Taria still had quite a bit to learn about life on earth an', frankly, I needed a break from all o' the mutant chaos." She shrugged. "But we figured it's been long enough and decided to drop in an' say hi. Didn't expect you to be 'ere though."

Clint laughed. "Well, you know me – I'm unpredictable."

Vi just rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. "To be completely honest I don't actually really know ya."

"Well that's a shame, isn't it?" He shook his head. "I'm actually heading out tomorrow, so I'm not going to around for much longer."

"Well, safe travels, I guess," Vi finished lamely.

The more Vi and Taria talked the more obvious it became to everyone in the room that Vi and Taria had become an item. No surprising given what had happened and what Vi had said last time they saw the two. They were a good match. Odd, but you'd get that no matter who you paired a shapeshifter or an alien warrior princess with.

Vi and Taria hung around for a couple of days, popping in during the afternoon "just to say hi." John remembered them. Over the next few days, things got a lot better. John was still…not quite himself, but it seemed the memories were all there. Everything was there, just not organized.

Sherlock was still hesitant to take cases. He couldn't help but accept some cold cases that Lestrade sent his way, but he wouldn't take anything that would require action on his part. He despised it and desperately wanted things to go back to normal, but he knew John wasn't ready. After everything that had happened, he wasn't willing to put John on the line for the sake of a case. But he knew he'd be able to return to crime solving again. Soon, maybe.

Eventually.

Again, I'm sorry this took so long to get out. Thank you for reading.