The night was cool and quiet in this part of London as the rain beat steadily against the rooftop and slid down the windows. Hands pressed against his mouth and nose blocking his air as he fought against them. Normally, he would have been able to dislodge the person fairly easily but his body was weak from the torment that he had put himself through over the last month. That fact didn't concern him as he had put himself directly into the path of Smith in a desperate attempt to get John back. He did everything Mary told him to send himself to hell as she asked by destroying his body with drugs, putting himself in harm's way, and even allowing John to take his anger out on his body. He was optimistic that he had deduced everything correctly as he lay helpless under Smith's hands his lungs straining for breath. The door flew open and for just a moment he believed it had worked.
"Mr. Holmes are you okay?" A voice he recognized as one of the officer's guarding his room asked. He couldn't answer as he gasped for breath his lungs burning with the desperate need to fill them with air. He grabbed desperately for the button that would raise the bed again allowing him to sit up as he caught his breath.
"What were you doing to him?" Another voice questioned. This one sounded calm but underneath the calmness was a coldness.
"No," Sherlock gasped.
"He was in duress, I was helping him," Smith answered not realizing that he had picked the wrong victim. In the coming months, his popularity would rise as the truth about his actions in this hospital became clear. There would be families coming forward to speak about missing loved ones and demands for Smith to be held accountable for his actions. Books would be sold about the Saint Caedwalla's hospital killer. Not that he would get to relish in his growing fame. Culverton Smith would disappear that night and his body would never be found.
"Sherlock, what was he doing to you?" The calm voice came again. Sherlock took a deeper breath causing himself to cough as the cool air rushed against his dry throat. Despite Smith's claim of helping him, he made no move to step forward and offer assistance.
"It doesn't matter," Sherlock answered at last collapsing back against the back of the now raised bed. Despite the drugs in his system, both medicinal and illegal, he couldn't stop thinking about where he had gone wrong. He had done everything she asked and yet it hadn't worked. He didn't bother to look up as the man strolled confidently over to the bed.
"It looks to me like you were suffocating him and attempting to overdose him." There was a small pause.
"Saline," Sherlock admitted as he finally turned to look at his brother. Mycroft was looking down at him with pity in his eyes and Sherlock couldn't meet his eyes as he looked hopefully behind him. It was a childish hope as he would have heard John's footsteps but he desperately wanted to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in a protective stance. The door was void, though, beyond the officer still watching the three of them.
"Of course," Mycroft answered. Mycroft motioned the officer forward as he gestured to Smith. "Arrest him. My men are waiting downstairs and they will escort you from there."
"Yes, Sir," the officer replied stepping forward.
"You can't arrest me, I haven't done anything wrong," Culverton argued. He looked between them. "This man has been off his tits and hallucinating. I was kind enough to provide him a bed and care in my hospital while he recovers."
"There is a recording device in the cane if you need evidence," Sherlock informed Mycroft as he let his eyes close. Normally he would let Culverton feel like he had the upper hand by admitting he had searched his items. Not this time, though. He wanted the cane gone along with everyone in the room. Culverton had gone quiet at the mention of the cane and finally allowed the officer to lead him out of the room. The door closed behind them and the room was quiet for a long moment. He kept his eyes tightly closed fighting desperately to not hear the words that he knew were coming as the chair beside his bed was pulled out and the sound of Mycroft sitting down broke the quietness briefly.
"You had him killed," Sherlock whispered, his voice hoarse.
"No," Mycroft answered. "The thought did briefly cross my mind earlier tonight when John came to my office to confess what he had done. He had another solution though in order to make amends for his misdeeds and I have agreed to help him implement them. As we speak, he is boarding a plane to an undisclosed location in the middle east where he will assist my men as their on-call Doctor and surgeon until further notice."
"And Rosie?" Sherlock asked.
"Has been placed in my care temporarily until other arrangements can be made," Mycroft admitted. Sherlock forced his eyes open turning to look at his brother. Mycroft's face was blank as normal but his eyes showed how tired he was. "John has requested she be placed with a good family that can raise her as their own."
"He would never give her up," Sherlock argued.
"John admitted to me that he hasn't been much of a father to her since Mary died. He has passed her from daycare to family friend, to neighbor, to sitter, while only keeping her long enough to move her. He never really had a desire to be a father due to how he was raised and he doesn't know how to fix that. So rather than continue to be selfish to her he decided to do what he thinks is best and give her a better life. He wants her to go to a family that can love and raise her properly, while he returns to the life he desired," Mycroft told him.
"And you couldn't wait to get rid of him," Sherlock hissed trying to sound angry but it wasn't there. Things had been better between them after John forgave him for dying. They had been friends again and even lived together while he recovered from the gunshot wound and then again for the month that Mary had been on the run. Sherlock had noticed during that month that John had seemed lost when caring for Rosie using others to help but he thought that was because he was worried about Mary. Looking back he could see the truth that even then John had distanced himself from his little girl as he had trouble caring for her without help.
"I didn't do this to..." Mycroft began. But Sherlock didn't want to hear it.
"Give her to me," Sherlock interrupted.
"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed.
"Please Mycroft," Sherlock practically begged. He couldn't lose her too. He had already caused Mary's death and lost John as a result. Once he was better he could fly to the middle east and search for John but even if he found him, John wouldn't return home to him. Their days as partners were over and he would have to move on with the knowledge that he couldn't fix it. What he could do, though, was raise Rosie in John's stead and teach her about her parents.
"You have never been interested in procreating let alone raising a child of your own. Nor are you qualified to raise a child, and with your history, it would be inadvisable to allow you to adopt a child. John gave her to me to give her a better life with a family who will love her," Mycroft advised him softly.
"My record is clean beyond a couple of petty arrests but no one outside of this room knows the depth of my drug use. I can get clean and stay clean this time for her. I won't ask you for any more favors after this if you just help me Mycroft," Sherlock pleaded softly. Mycroft took a deep breath as he considered Sherlock's request. He had no doubt that his brother would love the little girl as his own. He had already shown more interest in her than any other child and was heartbroken when John had kept her from him. Mummy and Daddy would also be thrilled to finally have a grandchild to carry on the family name. They had given up hope of having someone who could inherit their wealth and manor in the future. Rosie would be given the world as a Holmes and would want for nothing in her life. If Sherlock was unable to be the doting father he wanted to be, nannies could help raise her until she was old enough to go to school. It wasn't the life that John had requested for her but it was a better life than he would have been able to provide.
"If I agree, 221b will need to be cleaned and the upstairs room converted into a nursery. I will require weekly drug tests for the next year and while your home is being converted, you and Rosie will stay with me at my home in London," Mycroft replied. Sherlock opened his mouth to argue and Mycroft held up his hand to stop him. "Not only do you have to finish detoxing and going through withdrawal, but you are also extremely malnourished and in double kidney failure from your actions. It would be extremely irresponsible of me to just hand you a toddler to care for while you need care yourself. I will have a nursery set up at my home and hire a nanny to temporarily help while you get on your feet again. We will have a trial run of six months for you to prove yourself capable of raising young Miss Rosie once you are out of the hospital. If at the end of that period you have proved yourself, I will help you to sign the adoption papers making her officially yours. If not, I will remove her from your care and place her in another home. Do we have an agreement?"
"Yes," Sherlock answered with relief that he was being given the opportunity to try. He had studied baby books when he realized that John was going to let him be a part of her life, not that he told anyone. He had helped to babysit occasionally and felt confident that he would be able to care for her. He would be in the hospital for at least another week which would give him time to review the books once more and learn everything he needed to know before he was expected to care for her full time.
The weight of the decision was settling fully as he realized he would have to change more than his flat. He couldn't run around risking his life with a child at home waiting for him. He also couldn't risk provoking criminals and having them invade his life like Moriarty, Smith, or Magnussen. He couldn't be the one to put Rosie in danger after he failed to protect either of her parents. His thought on John he squeezed his eyes shut trying to stop the tears that burned the back of his eyes as he circled back to the conclusion that he had failed to bring John back to him. A hand reached out taking his in it and surprised he gripped it back tightly. He was thankful for the moment of comfort as he fought the tears that threatened to fall. After a long moment, he let the hand go before reaching down to pull the blankets up.
"I should sleep," He told Mycroft his voice hoarse with unshed tears.
"Of course, Brother mine. I should go start the preparations to bring Rosie home," Mycroft answered getting to his feet. Sherlock listened to Mycroft cross the hospital room and then the click of the switch leaving him alone in the darkroom. He was only alone for a minute before a nurse came in to check his vitals and adjust his medications so that he was once more receiving the proper ones and not just saline. He glared at her the entire time before she finally left leaving him alone. Once more he could hear the rain against the window and he buried his head as he brokenly sobbed before falling into an uneasy sleep.