Chapter 5:

Their timing had been poor before. Still, the revelation of Sherlock's serious condition came at the worst possible time. When Mycroft allowed Sherlock to work with New Scotland Yard again as a government contractor.

"Ah, so the old dog has come back to his vomit, eh?" Dimmock was rather cheerful to see Sherlock rifling through files on Lestrade's desk. John figured this must have been the first chance he saw to destroy someone since the consulting detective had been away. Sherlock didn't so much as look up from what he was doing. That's when Lestrade came in.

"Sherlock, what are you doing in here? I thought...I thought we agreed to meet only in private." Lestrade frowned. The Chief Superintendent was here as well. He was glowering.

"Well, I had a rather hot call from a mysterious someone in Parliament, said Holmes here has secretly always been one of theirs. As in, they bloody well pay him on contracts and consider his little runs for us a field exercise. Pssh, almost like they're spying on us, bullying us into running things like they do up at the Queen's level. Little lap dogs." To hear it from the Chief, all of the men here were jealous. John felt his stomach twist, but why he didn't know. Lestrade whistled, but brushed it off.

"So, I'm guessing that's why he's allowed back in here, right? What are you looking for, huh? Maybe I can get it for you?" Lestrade looked to his superior then directed his question to Sherlock. The Chief nodded reluctantly. He brushed by Sherlock and scowled.

"Of course, if you try anything later...I'll have to use Dr. Watson's methods to keep you straight, right? An eye for an eye thing?" The Chief smiled. John stepped back, taking on a defensive position.

"You'll do what?" His voice would make the devil's blood run cold on a good day.

"You know like maybe he'll just casually need to call out on sick day." The Chief thrust his fist into Sherlock's stomach with all the strength in his upper body, using the desk they were standing near to propel himself. He'd clearly been meaning to do that for a long time, to get back at John for chinning him all those years ago. John's face melted in horror at what came next. He made it look as though he'd casually tripped for the cameras, in case anyone tried to squeal on him. Then the Chief got up and backed away before anyone could process what he'd done.

Sherlock reeled over the desk. The Chief lingered, smiling, a bit pleased with himself at the little "oof" sound that came from Sherlock. But then, Sherlock was panting, seething hissing sounds escaping him. John's face said that he would consider murder later if it meant preventing this from ever happening again. He was frozen in place as if he was trying to remember how to physically operate.

"Ha, you wanker…" The Chief walked off calling a few more explicit words over his shoulder about what a sissy Sherlock was and how no government charge had a real place among them. Some rubbish that no one could call him on; he was the boss.

Dimmock and Lestrade's eyes never left Sherlock. John was reluctant to look at him but finally did.

"Come on now, he didn't hit you all that hard? Just a little warning shot to keep Watson in line's all." Dimmock scoffed. John's hands were shaking.

"Oh, Christ. Not again!" And it was John's reaction that told the two DIs something was wrong.

"John, what is it?" Lestrade raised his hands in mock surrender. John was ignoring them like they didn't exist as he rushed to Sherlock. Sherlock whose panting had turned into coughing. He doubled over the desk and began to vomit up mouthfuls of black blood.

"Dear God!" All the color drained from Dimmock's face and he stepped back, horrified. Lestrade was frozen in place. John stepped to work.

"Alright. Hey...It's alright. This isn't as bad as it looks, Sherlock. Look at me." John turned Sherlock's face to him. The young man crunched his teeth together around the pain and the blood pouring down his chin. He took John's shoulder.

"The file! Tell me I haven't-"Sherlock's eyes rolled.

"Oh! No, don't worry about that now. We'll worry about the case after we see which one of your sutures he knocked loose, okay?" John let Sherlock lean against him as he lifted his shirt. He'd bandaged most of the surgery he'd had to re-do near the site of Sherlock's terrible evisceration. Lestrade panted, unable to see exactly.

"What sutures?" He stepped closer, but he had a feeling he'd not be getting a direct answer or even make eye contact with the irate doctor.

"Does it hurt or is it more numb?" John patted Sherlock's cheek. The man was shaking now, knees knocking.

"I...I felt something move?" Sherlock's brow twisted. John cringed. Then he took his belt off.

"Here. Bite down." He pushed the belt between Sherlock's teeth. Sherlock closed his eyes.

John reached to Sherlock's stomach and discreetly performed a minor surgery that made Dimmock vomit in a rubbish bin. Sherlock groaned into the belt, sounding like a dog crushed under a car with little-muffled yips and whines. None of it sounded remotely human.

Finally, John was done. He shakily pulled the syringe for Sherlock's pain meds from his bag. Only now did Lestrade realize John had been carrying a large medic kit over his shoulders almost every time they'd met in passing since Sherlock's return. Why was that? How had he not seen that his consultant had been so seriously ill?

"Alright. Alright, believe it or not, you're actually going to be fine in a few hours. It's just something we had to take care of quickly or it could have gotten a lot worse. Now…"John pulled Sherlock's coat off and rolled up his sleeve, prepping his arm to give him the dose.

"I've ruined his desk. But the files...I think they're fine. Lestrade...I couldn't find the financial report for Lancaster Holdings. I was following a lead I have considerable evidence for already there. On the Alfred Rothing case?"Sherlock resumed a completely professional air, completely unaware that he still had a beard of blood trailing his chin and scarily white throat. Lestrade's eyes were wide.

"Sherlock, that's in my car!" Lestrade was deeply upset. Sherlock cringed.

"Oh, my fault. Right, I should have texted first, sorry. I just...We were close to the Yard and I thought you'd be sensible and make copies." Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled, oblivious as to how insolent his voice sounded then. Normally, Lestrade would have been offended but he was floored by Sherlock's calm given whatever this horrible situation actually was.

"I've ruined his desk...They'll have to replace it. Look, John, it's already drying into the wood." Sherlock tried to brush some of his blood away with his sleeve. John looked up, swatting gently at his hands.

"I'd not worry about the desk. That's on the Chief, the least he can do for knocking an evisceration wound loose." John spat the last three words. Lestrade's knees knocked.

"E-Evisceration?" Lestrade was ash. Dimmock sat down hard on one of Lestrade's chairs.

"Mm, yes, surgical evisceration. In a cartel somewhere outside Kiev. No worries, Detective Inspector. It was a case on government contract. Nothing to do with your division, mm?" Sherlock looked over as John finished the injection.

"Okay, so, I think you can fax whatever the hell we came in here for, yeah, Lestrade? Let's go back to the flat, Sherlock. You'll be fine, but you've lost a lot of blood. I suppose it just started flooding your stomach. He hit something at the base of your lung as well." John helped Sherlock to his feet, cursing under his breath. Sherlock nodded. Lestrade made a note that John was alienating himself from him on purpose by using his surname rather than his given name as he used to. Even that didn't seem to matter now, with something about blood flooding Sherlock's stomach and injured lungs and all that. What the hell had been done to him?!

"I'll phone you when I have finished. The case's good as solved now. Just need that paper to cross a few Ts." The tone Sherlock was taking with Lestrade implied that whatever bit of comradery they'd had before was completely gone now. He'd been curt before, now he was militaristic and robotic.

John gathered all of his tools and wrapped Sherlock's arm around his shoulder. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rag. One that already had many dried bloodstains on it. He wiped Sherlock's mouth for him.

"Right...It's okay. Promise you the random bleeding isn't as serious as it looks. Sort of like when you get a sore in your mouth from eating candies, yeah?" John kept saying reassuring sounding things to Sherlock almost like he was talking to a child. He carried him outside and disappeared around the corner.

Lestrade turned to Dimmock.

"What in hell?" They said it at the same time.