Five years prior:
The sound of footsteps followed by the tap of an umbrella echoed in the halls of the hospital as the well-dressed man made his way down the corridor. He had briefly considered not making the trip out when the call had woken him only a few hours after he finally got a moment to rest. The call had come from a number he didn't recognize on an unlisted line. Few had the number so he answered the call on the second ring.
"Hello," Mycroft answered keeping his tone neutral.
"Hello, this is Detective Lestrade. May I please speak with Mycroft Holmes?" A soft voice questioned on the other side of the line. Mycroft recognized the name of the man from the few reports that he had received over the years. His brother had been arrested by the man on one occasion for stumbling onto a crime scene high and yelling that they were all idiots. The Detective for some reason had taken a liking to Sherlock allowing him to help if he could get clean. So far Sherlock had failed that goal spectacularly as he didn't see it as motivation enough to stop using the drugs that had taken over his life.
"How can I help you, Detective?" Mycroft asked softly even as he felt his heart speed up. Every time someone called about Sherlock he feared that this call would finally bring the news he dreaded to hear. The first overdose was considered accidental but he was positive the second one wasn't. He swore he was done with Sherlock after that as the fading man continued to refuse help. He swore he would be there if Sherlock ever got to the point that he would accept his help. Until then be froze all of his accounts and turned almost a blind eye to his drug-fueled antics. Focusing on his work he had his minions update him of the occasional sighting letting him watch on from the sidelines as his brother turned from the bright-eyed chubby-cheeked little boy to the almost corpse he was now. For almost two years now, he had been planning his brother's funeral. Nothing official, yet, but he wanted to be prepared for the day that he was finally able to bring his brother home for good.
"Sherlock was found this morning in an alleyway in London and has been admitted to St. Barts in critical condition," Lestrade informed him.
"Another overdose?" Mycroft wondered.
"Not this time," Lestrade answered. "I am willing to discuss the details with you but it is a conversation that is best done in person. I can come to you but it will be a few hours or you can meet me outside of his room."
"My brother doesn't want me there," Mycroft responded as he turned to his computer ready to retrieve the files that St. Barts had on his brother.
"He asked for you," Lestrade stated hurriedly before he could hang up. The words caused Mycroft to pause leaning back in his chair.
"I will be there soon," Mycroft answered. He left almost immediately for the hospital, only pausing long enough to retrieve the necessary information on his brother. According to the police reports, Sherlock had been found in an alley almost completely naked and they had only been able to identify him due to his previous run-ins with the young detective Lestrade. His body was covered in bruises and cuts along with the tell-tale sign of drug use due to the track marks along his arms. Abuse and drug use were nothing new it was the mention of blood on his thighs that made Mycroft see red, though. Someone had seriously hurt his brother and Mycroft would stop at nothing to make them pay for thinking they could use Sherlock's body in such a way. His suspicions about the blood were confirmed by the fact a rape kit had been performed upon Sherlock's admittance to the hospital.
"I want all CCTV footage of last night covering London near St. Barts delivered to my desk immediately," Mycroft had ordered as he hurried out the doors. The man at the front desk didn't question his order as he set out to retrieve the necessary footage as Mycroft left the building. It was a short trip to the hospital and he made his way quickly up to Sherlock's room only slowing down as he approached the lone man sitting in the chair. He recognized him from the file that he had composed on his brother over the years and he stopped before him.
"Mycroft?" Lestrade questioned. Mycroft nodded once and Lestrade motioned to the chair beside him. "You might want to sit."
"No need Detective. I have all ready accessed his files and familiarized myself with the pertinent information. The CCTV's have been accessed in the area where he was found and once the people responsible for hurting him have been located they will be dealt with," Mycroft informed the Detective.
"You can't just take over my investigation," Lestrade answered angrily.
"Actually, you will find that I can and it will be in your best interest if you forget what you have learned because I can guarantee that you won't find those men," Mycroft answered coldly. "Now, if there is nothing else, I would like to see my brother." Lestrade could only gesture towards Sherlock's room and Mycroft nodded his thanks as he turned towards the door.
He didn't bother to knock before entering the room to find a lone skeletal figure laying on a pure white bed. His long curly hair was matted around the sunken cheeks of his face and bruises marred what pale skin showing through. Mycroft had been informed that it would be a miracle if the young man managed to survive as his system was in almost complete organ shutdown from the drugs that coarse through his body.
"Oh, Sherlock," Mycroft whispered as he looked down at his little brother. To his surprise, the man's eyes opened a crack at his voice. Their eyes met for the first time in years and Mycroft braced himself for the inevitable telling off that always followed such an encounter. Therefore he wasn't sure he had heard right when the man's lips parted and he rasped a single request.
"Myc, I need help," Sherlock requested as he reached out a shaking hand towards his brother. Mycroft took the hand in his grasping it tightly.
"Of course, brother mine." Pulling up the chair beside the bed, he sat down in it still holding tightly onto his brother's hand. Sherlock made no effort to pull away from the small amount of comfort his brother provided as he closed his eyes once more slipping into unconsciousness. With his free hand, Mycroft retrieved his phone and began to make the necessary arrangements to get his brother the help that he needed. He just hoped that this time it worked.
-Five years later-
John sat on the single bed in the small upstairs room of 221b Baker street. In the last twenty-four hours, his life had changed dramatically and he couldn't sleep despite running all day. An amazing man had changed his life in more ways than one. John vowed that Sherlock would never know how close John came to tasting the steel of the gun he carried and that he owed Sherlock for not only fixing his leg but saving his life. Tomorrow he would get his stuff from the small bedsit that never really seemed like home and settle down officially for tonight though he would sleep in the bed, praying no nightmares disturbed his sleep. The last thing he needed was for a night terror to emerge when he knew little to nothing about his flatmate.
Sherlock had claimed that flatmates should know the worst about each other but had failed to tell him about his drug use or kidnap happy brother. There was also distrust in Sherlock's eyes when he studied him. As if he wasn't sure of John even if he had readily invited him into his flat and decided that John was going to take the upstairs room before he had even been sure of it himself. John hadn't failed to notice that upon returning to the flat that night that Sherlock had locked the door to his bedroom after bidding John goodnight. It might have been a normal habit of the detectives and not something John would have thought twice about if Sherlock hadn't looked at him with almost regret before closing the door behind himself. It was obvious to John that something was quite right with Sherlock but that was fine with him. He would take care of the mad man who saved his life and hopefully learn more about him in the process.
Stripping down to just his vest and pants, John climbed beneath the blankets. He lay on his back with his eyes wide open staring up at the ceiling. Ever since leaving the army, his life had been the same routine day after day and now in just a few short hours, everything had changed. He was eager to see what tomorrow would bring and maybe he would even have something to blog about. That would make Ella happy as he finally wrote about anything rather than staring at the blank screen wishing something would happen.
Closing his eyes, he turned onto his right side as he tried to will himself to sleep. What he didn't know that at that moment the lithe man with curly black hair was lying staring at the ceiling wondering about the blond army doctor currently sleeping above him. Something about John had made him trust him almost immediately but he was still wary of letting strange people into the comfort of his home. Even if John had saved his life tonight, he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep unless the door was locked keeping the doctor out.
It had been five years since that faithful night in the alley that changed his life and four since he had left rehab. He had then lived with Mycroft for two years before deciding he was ready to live on his own again. There had been a few small flats around London since then but it was just over a month ago that Mrs. Hudson had informed him that her previous tenants had moved out and offered him the upstairs flat of 221 baker street. He readily agreed and moved his stuff in immediately from his current flat along with most of what he had left at Mycroft's including his beloved violin. It was only upon John's arrival that he finally finished unpacking the living room even if his bedroom had been set up since the beginning. It was also John's arrival that brought the return of the locked bedroom door. Something that he hadn't done since moving into the safety of his current flat. It was obvious to him from the start that John had seen him as a potential boyfriend and while he truly was flattered he was also apprehensive about allowing that thought to continue.
"Alone protects me," he mumbled into the darkroom. *John also protects me,* his mind countered. He pushed the thought away as he wrapped himself tighter in his weighted blanket. Not yet ready to sleep, he slipped deep into his mind palace as he stored the events of the day including categorizing what color blue John's eyes were. A new room was already forming in his palace to store what he knew about John and rather than delete it he decided to nourish it and see just how large the room would grow.