A/N: Whoops. I played laser tag with my friends the previous week, fell and hit my head against the corner of a wall. I survived, but writing with a concussion isn't the best combo. But I'm back now!
Although, I'm struggling a bit with fic... It would really help to hear something from you guys so I can find some new motivation!

Chapter 11: Run To Me

When you've got shadows
Underneath your sun
And there's no oxygen
Inside your lungs

If you ever feel
The need to run
You can run to me

Run To Me - Causes

"Shit."

John stared at his phone. He had four missed calls, two text messages, and one voicemail, all from the same number. When he tried to call back, no one picked up. He quickly sent a text message with an apology and sighed.
He hadn't realized that he had been away from Fairlight Cove for a week and a half already. John had relied on Mycroft to take care of everything and the man had. He had canceled John's appointments, made sure he could take a leave of absence without any problems. But of course, Mycroft had not taken care of his personal appointments. Not that he had many of those, but this one was a long-time arrangement, one he took very seriously. This was the first time he had forgotten about it and he hoped that his simple apology was enough. He didn't want to explain the whole situation. He even didn't know if he was allowed to.

His phone buzzed with an answer. "Okay, but we need to talk soon."

John typed a quick response and put his phone away. He took the large mug of coffee in both of his hands to warm up a bit and looked outside the large window. The café across the hospital was where he spent most of the long moments waiting for Sherlock to finish his therapy sessions. It gave him time to think.
Sherlock was getting better and better each day, at least physically. The detox was going well, he would reach zero in three days. He didn't need many medications anymore and most of the injuries would heal with time. The physical therapist was coming by today to examine Sherlock and give him some exercises and after that Sherlock would be allowed to get out of bed, which was one of the final steps of preparing him to go home. He still had to go to his therapy sessions and checkups, but there would be no medical necessity to keep him at the hospital.
But the thought of Sherlock getting to go home didn't make John jump up and down with joy. It meant that he had to tell Sherlock that he no longer lived at Baker street anymore. John thought Mycroft had told him, but a brief remark from Sherlock the other day made clear that he thought John stayed at the hotel because of the traffic issues otherwise. John didn't have the guts to tell him then, but he knew he had to in the upcoming days and he didn't know how well Sherlock would take it.

John took a large sip of his coffee and looked at his watch. Sherlock's therapy session was finished in about 15 minutes. He took another gulp, stood up and put on his coat. He waved at the girl behind the counter as a goodbye and the girl gave him a friendly smile back.

It only took him about a minute to get to the hospital, but another 10 minutes to get to Sherlock's room. When John stepped inside, he noticed that the therapist was already gone. Sherlock laid on his back and covered his eyes with his arm. Mycroft sat in the chair next to the bed. John noticed the worried expression on Mycroft's face when he looked at him.

"Is everything all right?" John asked. He got no response. Sherlock didn't move and Mycroft just looked at his brother awaiting a reply.

John grabbed another chair and sat next to Mycroft. He took a good look at Sherlock and noticed every bit of color in his face was gone. Tiny drops of sweat coated his forehead and he was trembling slightly. John noticed the paper spit buckets on the nightstand. His gaze shifted from Sherlock to Mycroft, who gave John a knowing look. Mycroft hesitated to say something but didn't.

John reached out to Sherlock's other hand. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked gently.

Sherlock pulled back his hand. "I'm fine." He didn't sound convincing at all. John heard a snort next to him.

"You're not fine, dear brother."

"Sod off, Mycroft."

John raised a questioning eyebrow at the older Holmes brother, who just sighed in answer. "Care to fill me in here? What happened?" he asked Mycroft, but Sherlock was quicker in response.

"Nothing happened."

Mycroft ignored his brother and started to explain. "He passed out and got sick afterward. We had to stop the session."

John's mind went into overdrive right away. "Did someone examine him? What kind of tests did they order? Do you have any other symptoms?" He asked and stood up to take another look at Sherlock.

Sherlock let out a frustrated groan and threw is arm away from his head. "For God's sake, I'm not sick!" he growled, looking in John's eyes. "There was just too much to cope with during the session and my body couldn't handle the stress."

John froze mid-movement and felt a slight blush creep up his cheeks. He felt a little embarrassed. He was perfectly aware of the side-effects of EMDR. He was a doctor! "Sorry," he mumbled and slid back in his chair.

Sherlock just waved his hand dismissively. "You two need to stop hovering. It's annoying."

The three men sat in silence for minutes. John realized this was a good sign. Sherlock had admitted that the session was too much. Not only Sherlock noticed it himself, but he actually said it out loud. That meant the issue he had been working on during the session wasn't as much of a big deal anymore, which was good.

After a long pause, Mycroft cleared his throat. "Well then, if I can't be of your assistance anymore brother mine, I will leave you be. Do try to get some rest before your physical therapy." Mycroft stood up and waited for a response, but all he got was a huff. Mycroft nodded to John as a greeting and walked out of the room.

Sherlock let out a long sigh when his brother was gone and relaxed a little. He pressed his eyes shut and sank a little deeper into the mattress.

"You're still not feeling quite well, aren't you?" John asked quietly as he watched Sherlock's troubled expression.

"Nauseous."

"Do you want me to ask for something to help you with that?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered almost immediately.

"Okay." John stood up from his chair. "Do you want to rest? I can ask the physical therapist to come by later this afternoon."

Another immediate answer. "Yes."

John waited a moment before walking to the nurse's station. "Do you want me to leave too?" he asked hesitantly.

Sherlock opened one eye and shot him a look. "Don't be an idiot, John."

After two hours of peaceful quiet Sherlock woke up again, just before the physical therapist arrived. He sat up straight right away and was almost eager to start, which made John laugh a little. The physical therapist introduced himself as Patrick and gave John and Sherlock a firm handshake before sitting down in the chair next to the hospital bed.

"Let's get right to it, shall we? The main goal today is to get you out of this bed and walking down the corridor. I also want to discuss your living situation. I think we can manage this in one session, but if it's necessary I will come back tomorrow." Patrick took Sherlock's chart and a pen and scanned the documents. John was sure the man was thoroughly briefed because he didn't seem to be surprised by what he read at all.

"Let's start with the questions first so I have a clear vision of what I'm dealing with here." Patrick didn't look up from the chart. "How accessible is your house? What kind of house is it? Do you have a bath or a shower? How many stairs are there until you reach your bedroom?"

Sherlock answered right away. "It's an apartment on the first floor, 17 steps to be precise. Bedroom is on the same level as everything else and there are a bath and a shower."

John didn't say anything. Sherlock was describing Baker Street as the house where he would return to like it was the most normal thing. He knew he couldn't avoid the subject anymore, knowing one of the next questions would be if Sherlock had any support at home. John made up his mind quickly. He couldn't leave Sherlock alone even if he wanted to. He could at least stay with him until he was feeling better. They would sort out the rest later.

Patrick wrote some things down. After that, he looked up from the chart. "Excellent. And can you move around freely?"

Sherlock nodded in response and Patrick bend over the chart again. "And do you have someone to take care of you at home, Mr. Holmes?"

John cleared his throat before Sherlock could answer. "That would be me."

"Ah Dr. Watson, that's great," Patrick said with a smile.

Sherlock looked at John, one eyebrow slightly raised. "But you don't live there anymore," he stated.

John was taken aback for a moment. How did Sherlock know that? Had Mycroft told him? But John realized soon enough that this was Sherlock Holmes, the man who could deduce a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. Of course, he knew. He shrugged. "I can help you settle and help you for a couple of weeks. And Mycroft can help as well, if necessary."

Sherlock looked like he was about to comment on that, but he didn't. Instead, he just shifted a bit and looked away.

Patrick put down the chart. "Okay, that's settled then. Let's move to the fun part, shall we?"

The physical therapist stood up and pushed his chair away. "I'd like to examine you first, okay? See what kind of strength you have left. Sit up straight for me, please."

Patrick did his examination and John was pleased to see that the strength Sherlock once had wasn't gone completely. The last thing John wanted was for Sherlock to be completely dependable at home. It would drive him crazy.

As the examination progressed, John noticed Sherlock got tensed more and more. His gaze was firm, focused and he didn't look up to Patrick or John once. His breathing was deep and steady as if he was doing a breathing exercise. John was about to ask if everything was all right when Patrick spoke again.

"Good. Now let's get you up and walking, shall we? Swing your legs to one side of the bed and sit up straight. Don't get up on your own, I will help you."

Patrick moved closer towards Sherlock and lowered himself to a kneeling position. Then, he swooped one arm under Sherlock's and tried to get him up on his feet.

"Stop."

Patrick looked up questioning and stopped moving. He gave Sherlock a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you will do…"

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "Let go of me." His voice was shaking and John saw the shimmer of fear across his face. This wasn't good. was scared, terrified even.

"Let him go," John commanded right away.

Patrick obliged and backed away a little, a little startled by the sudden turn of events. He stood up and looked at John questioningly.

John stepped forward and laid his hand on Sherlock's shaking shoulder. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm sorry," he stared. "I thought I could do this, but I… I can't. I need another therapist."

"Mr. Holmes, I can assure you I'm the best there is in this hospital. Don't let my…" Patrick defended himself. John cut him off with the raise of his hand.

"Why?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Because he's… He's a man."

"A man?" John repeated. But as soon as he said it, it hit him. A man. Sherlock didn't want to be touched by a man. John felt his insides contract. This was what he feared the most, what he was most afraid of. He knew Sherlock was tortured and abused. But John only could imagine what they had done to him in order to make him fear the touch of men.

It made John want to throw up. But he couldn't. This was not about him.

"Oh Jesus," he exhaled softly. He let go of Sherlock's shoulder and kneeled in front of the man. Sherlock opened his eyes by the touch of John's hand on his knee, but he didn't look up.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered.

John's heart shattered into a million pieces. He wanted to scream, to throw things, to punch someone. He wanted to say that Sherlock didn't need to apologize for anything, but he didn't trust his voice. All he could do was give Sherlock's knee a small squeeze.

After a long moment, Sherlock started to speak. "I don't have an issue with you, John," he managed to say. His voice sounded a little more steady now. "I know I can trust you."

John suddenly realized something. "Is that why all of the doctors and nurses were female? Did Mycroft know?"

"Yes."

There was another long pause. John watched how Sherlock tried to regain his composure. He closed his eyes again and took a couple of deep breaths. John didn't let go of Sherlock's knee, the warmth of his palm radiating through Sherlock's thin pajama pants in hope to give him some comfort.

"What if," Patrick started deliberately after minutes. "What if John was the one to help you? Would that be okay?"

Sherlock gave a small nod and John swore that could kiss Patrick for his suggestion. The man probably really was the best.

John cleared his throat and tried to sound as composed as he could be. "Okay. Let's get you out of this bed so we can go home."