Sherlock awakens with a splitting headache and a weight on his side. It takes him a moment to realize it is Mycroft's arm. "What the hell?" He quickly throws it off only to immediately regret the movement as his arm swells with pain.

Mycroft blinks drowsily, forgetting where he was for the briefest moment. When he realizes the person holding him isn't Mary, he sits up and shimmies off the bed.

"I don't feel very good." Sherlock sits up, putting a hand to his head. "What happened last night? Why was I snuggling your fat arse?"

"The diet is going fine thank you very much!"

"What happened?!" Sherlock yells, digging his fingers into his skull. His head is pounding.

"You, uh." Mycroft shakes sleep from his eyes, trying to remember last night. "You came here, I attacked you and you bled everywhere. Sherrinford stitched you up and we ordered food, which I want you to eat by the way-"

"No. I mean, why was I in bed with you?" Sherlock stumbles over to the balcony window and pulls it open. "I really don't feel good."

"Come eat something. I'm sure that'll help. What would you like?" Mycroft moves toward the fridge.

"Nothing," Sherlock spits, "I'm not going to eat!" He sits on the balcony chair reveling in the cool morning air on his sweaty brow.

Sherrinford chucks a pillow at the balcony window. "I'm trying to sleep. Can you keep it down?"

"Would you tell him to eat?" Mycroft asks, pulling out the cake and searching for a fork.

"Sherlock. I don't care if you don't eat on a case. I don't care if you don't like the food you're presented. I'm tired and if I hear one more complaint about you not eating, I will tie you down and shove the food down your gullet with a screwdriver. Do I make myself clear?"

"You wouldn't." The look on Sherlock's face is a mix between shock and disbelief.

"I would, and I would relish in it. So quit being a sodding git and eat the fucking food so I can go back to sleep without you bitching about it."

Sherlock smirks, his child-like rebellion presenting itself, "No."

Sherrinford turns over and pulls a pillow over his head. "I tried. He's all yours. Don't make me threaten you too Micro. I'm going back to sleep."

Mycroft grins lightly. "God dammit Sherlock." He stands in the balcony doorway, face full of cake. "You're acting like a two-year-old who won't eat her cheese puffs."

"I assume you're referring to an experience with Monster. I am neither two, nor a girl, and I don't like cheese puffs. American junk."

"I could call Father."

Sherlock freezes. He wouldn't. "Has Lestrade called back?" he asks in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

"Lestrade?"

"Yes. I called him yesterday asking about Jim. Has he returned my call?"

"Don't think so."

"Check." Sherlock leans back in his chair again, unable to hold himself upright.

"Hold this." Mycroft hands Sherlock the cake and reenters the hotel, returning with his phone. "Jim is still in jail. Checked this morning. -Lestrade"

"Tell him to check again!"

"Done. Sherlock." Mycroft says sternly, taking back the cake. "Three days. Regular meals. That's all I'm asking."

"Too many."

"God Sherlock. I don't want to have to call Father just to get you to eat. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Then don't do it! You don't want to talk to him anymore than I do."

"I don't know what else to do Sherlock."

"Don't do this. Think of something else."

Mycroft reluctantly dials the number he'd been forced to memorize. "Promise me, you will eat. At least try. For three days."

"No." Sherlock's eyes brim with tears and he turns his face away.

"I will hang up right now. Please Sherlock. I hate him as much as you do." Mycroft's stomach clenches as he listens to the phone ringing. Please Sherlock. He closes his eyes when a man's voice answers.

"Hello?"

"Hello Father." Sherlock's eyes widen as he silently pleads with Mycroft to stop.

"Mycroft! I was just thinking I'd call you. Haven't heard from you in a while. How's the public treating you?"

"Same as usual Father." Mycroft turns to Sherlock and mouths, 'Promise me. Please.' Sherlock shakes his head. "Tax fraud. Criminal involvement. The like."

"How's the family? Finally beat some sense into Caroline since her balk-talk the last time you visited me?"

Mycroft's stomach is in knots. He would never beat Caroline. "Y-yeah. She's very polite and obedient now."

"Good for you. Taking matters into your own hands. I knew you'd make a great leader. After all, you take after me. Big man on campus. Won't take no for an answer."

"Actually Father, that's why I'm calling. I have a problem. I was hoping you could offer some 'incentive' ideas to persuade a particularly difficult…client."

Sherlock mouths desperately. 'Hang up.'

Mycroft mouths back. 'You have to promise.'

"Incentive huh?" Mr. Holmes chuckles. "Been ages since I've incentivized someone. Text me the address. I'd love to come help. I think I'm getting rusty."

'Don't do it!' Sherlock's face is drenched in sweat and Mycroft can't help but feel sorry.

"Oh Father. I can handle him. I've just run out of ide-"

"I insist. Would give me an excuse to see my son. When was the last time we worked together anyway?"

"I…um…"

"Um is not a word Boy!" Mycroft jumps at the sudden outburst from his father and almost drops his phone.

"Apologies. Won't happen again Sir." Mycroft's face pleads with Sherlock. 'Last chance.'

Sherlock turns away, forcing himself to not throw up, but the taste of bile is prevalent in his mouth.

Mycroft sighs. He was going to regret this, he could tell. "Father. I have to go. Got another client that just walked in. I'll text you the address. Good day." He hangs up. "Sherlock! Why?"

"Why me!? Why would you?" Sherlock is shivering violently. "Mye." He quickly stands and vomits over the railing. Mycroft puts a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, but he throws it off. "Don't touch me!" He wipes his mouth and storms off, grabbing his bloody coat and slamming the hotel door behind him.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft attempts to follow but is stopped by Sherrinford who had gotten out of bed and dressed.

"Let me. You've done enough." The disappointment in Sherrinford's voice breaks Mycroft's heart but he allows Sherrinford to chase after Sherlock alone. The hotel room falls silent and Mycroft turns and grips the railing of the balcony, trying not to scream.

Sherlock hears lopsided footsteps behind him. "Leave me alone Sherrinford."

"Dammit Sherlock! Wait up. I can't move as fast as you."

"If you want to walk with me, you'll have to keep up." Sherlock keeps up his pace, buttoning up the last button of his coat with fumbling fingers.

Sherrinford jogs to keep up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his foot and snatches Sherlock's good arm. "Sherlock, stop will you?"

"Why? So you can take me back to that bag of nonsense in the room? Or didn't you hear? Father's coming. The man who-"

"Yes. You told me. You're not going to get very far in just a coat and jeans." Sherrinford points to Sherlock's bare feet.

"Just watch me. I once wore a sheet to Buckingham Palace."

"Just a sheet?" Sherrinford laughs.

"Yup." Sherlock pulls his arm free and continues up the hall.

Sherrinford doesn't move. "Have you told Mycroft what Father did?"

Sherlock stops in his tracks. "Not entirely."

"How much does he know?" Sherlock doesn't answer. Sherrinford follows him to the elevator and they almost make it to the ground floor when Sherrinford hits the emergency stop button.

"What was that for?" Sherlock demands, trying to get to the control panel but Sherrinford holds him back.

"My foot is killing me and I'm not about to go chasing you all over London. I want you to talk to me."

"Why?"

"Because, Sherlock, I can't help you if I don't know you."

"No one can help me."

"John could," Sherrinford says softly. Sherlock doesn't say anything, just turns his head away. "You love him. It's obvious by the way you say his name. It's why you risked your life in the airport. Am I wrong?"

Sherlock scowls and sinks to the floor resting his back against the wall. "I don't love anybody."

"It's just us. I'm not going to blackmail you because you love a man." Sherrinford sits beside Sherlock. "Does he know?"

"No."

"What are you afraid of? John isn't like other people. He knows you, cares about you."

"He told me he hated me."

"He couldn't have meant it." Sherrinford stands. "You should tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"How you feel. It couldn't hurt." Sherrinford stands and hits the elevator button.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Two words. The Woman."

The elevator doors open and Sherrinford helps Sherlock to his feet. "And this woman?"

"Is my…girlfriend." Sherlock sways a little but gains his composure and leads them outside where he sits on the first bench he finds, which just so happens to be at a bus stop.

"You don't have a girlfriend." Sherrinford sits beside him and begins massaging his own aching foot. "Who is she?"

"Irene Adler. The Woman. Prostitute. Or ex prostitute."

"Prostitute huh? Sure do know how to pick them."

"She picked me I believe." Sherlock continues, "Very attractive and we both like each other. Set her own text alert noise. I hardly ever text back."

"So she's in contact with you but you're not in contact with her. Interesting. When did you last see her?"

"Been a few years." Sherlock mumbles.

"So why do you think she's your girlfriend if you don't talk to her and haven't seen her?"

"She had to go into hiding after a death sentence from some Iranians. Otherwise I'd see her more often."

"You know what I think?" Sherlock starts to respond but Sherrinford quickly cuts him off, "I think you'd prefer John, but he's dating other people and you feel you can't step in, so you cling to a relationship from years ago to make yourself feel less alone."

"Why should I listen to you? I only met you a couple days ago."

Sherrinford shrugs. "We slept together."

"Do not remind me of that!" Sherlock yells then groans.

"There must be something you trust about me. I mean, you told me about what Dad did, but you didn't tell Mycroft."

"Need to know basis." Sherlock dismisses Sherrinford.

"Fine. If that's your excuse." Sherrinford lowers his foot back to the ground. "How about this. Call John. Tell him how you feel. If he doesn't respond well, you don't have to eat."

"This again?"

"Hear me out! If John doesn't take your confession well, and it seems to me you believe he won't, you win. I'll convince Mycroft to stop pestering you, and you don't have to eat. However, if he doesn't immediately hang up on you and gets flustered, you still win on the love front, BUT you have to come back up to the hotel room and try to eat. Deal?"

Sherlock looks Sherrinford over and decides he's being sincere. "Fine," he sighs. He pulls out his phone and dials John.

"I'm going to check on your arm." Sherrinford carefully takes Sherlock's arm and pulls up the bandaging to check for infection. Sherlock winces. "Sorry."

"It's fine." The phone rings a few times, and Sherlock's stomach clenches harder than it already was. Then John picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hi John. I… It's me."

"What do you want Sherlock?" John asks darkly.

"I just… I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

John takes a deep breath. "I'm not sure I believe you this time."

Sherlock looks over at Sherrinford who urges him on. "I don't expect you to. It's, well, I'd do anything to protect you John. I… I'm afraid of losing you." John doesn't respond and Sherlock checks to make sure the line is still connected. "I understand if you want to hang up on me."

"No. I… Fuck Sherlock! You make everything so difficult."

"So I've been made aware." Sherlock laughs nervously.

"Is everything alright? You wouldn't call just to tell me you're sorry. It's not…you."

"I uh…I miss you. Or well…John. I…"

"Just say it already!" Caroline yells from the background.

"Care?" Sherlock looks surprised.

"Whoops. Sorry." Caroline's footsteps can be heard running away from the phone.

John sighs. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I'd answered on speaker since I was still getting ready. She was supposed to be watching cartoons."

"It's fine." Sherlock gasps as Sherrinford lowers the sleeve over the injury again.

"You alright?" John sounds genuinely concerned.

"Fine. I'm fine. I love you," Sherlock spits out then loses any color he still had in his face. "I-I mean..."

"Why are you telling me this?" John asks disbelievingly. "Did Irene end it?"

"No. No. We're still…texting…it's just…you. You're always in the back of my mind palace. And I can't shake you off."

"So I'm like a rebound thing? Just there in the back of your head, just as an in-case?"

"You know what I mean!" Sherlock is getting increasingly flustered. "I do a lot of thinking, moving things around, filing and tossing. You're like that one window that won't stay closed."

"So I'm annoying?"

"No!" Sherlock looks to Sherrinford for help, but he offers none, opting to lean back and just smile. "Damn, I suck at this. John, I don't…I want you in my life."

John pauses before answering. "You mean that?"

"I do. I can't file away my feelings for you. They just keep-"

"Stop there," John laughs breathily. "Sherlock. I don't know what to say."

"You could start by saying you don't hate me." Sherlock half-smiles hopefully.

"How could I hate you?" John's voice breaks. He's clearly on the verge of tears. "Why tell me this now? Why not before we left or- or…" He breathes in sharply. "Damn you Sherlock."

"Quite right too." Sherlock scoffs. "Goodbye John." Sherlock lowers the phone.

"I love you too, Sherlock." Sherlock smiles in relief and hangs up.

"So, your arm's looking good." Sherrinford smirks.

"Oh, don't pretend you're not bloody pleased with yourself." Sherlock tries to stand and immediately collapses back onto the bench. "That's not good…"

"Come on," Sherrinford grunts and stands. "Let's get you back upstairs. You need to rest and eat." He holds out his hand which Sherlock takes and shakily stands, leaning his full weight into Sherrinford. His breathing is heavy and unsteady. "Do you need me to carry you?"

"Out in public? No. Just get me to the elevator and make sure I don't fall over."

Sherrinford flashes him a small smile. "Alright you git. Let's go."

Song: Dust to Dust - The Civil Wars