John had been in war.
He'd seen men die in his arms and saved countless more. He'd been shot. He'd killed men. He'd never been more terrified than he was right now.
The whole place smelled chemical, that at least was calming enough to the doctor in him. Still, his hands were twitching with nervous energy. Even the great Mycroft Holmes paced the room, and this was a man that hardly ever left his chair when he could help it.
They were currently seated in a small room outfitted with one table surrounded by chairs. They hadn't been there long but it seemed like hours to John.
Finally the door to the room opened and John leapt up from his seat in anticipation, wanting so badly to see that familiar mop of black curls.
"You must be the family of Sherlock Holmes?"
John's heart fell. It wasn't Sherlock, just his doctor.
"Yes, I am Mycroft Holmes and this is Dr. John Watson." Mycroft replied for the sake of the army doctor who was too busy looking like a kicked puppy to answer.
"I'm Dr. Kenning. Now, I'm sure you already both know how this is going to work. We're going to bring the patient in here, it's a good idea to let them know your reasoning for getting them to seek help." Kenning wasted no time explaining the situation. "It helps with the healing procedure. Often times patients don't understand how much they affect the people they love with their choices. Maybe talk about how his using hurt you. Don't be angry though, be very supportive."
"Yeah...got it." John nodded distractedly.
"Alright. Good. Well Sherlock should be along any moment now. In the meantime are there any concerns you'd like to share?" Kenning asked.
"...Do you think he'll ever use again?" John asked. He knew perfectly well what the answer would be but he just needed to get his question out there.
"No one can say for sure." Kenning replied. "We have to hope that this is what he needs to heal."
John nodded again and then sat back down.
After another long period of waiting the door opened again and this time John's heart leapt to see a disheveled and pale Sherlock walk through the door.
He noticed that the younger Holmes avoided looking at anyone in the room, and moved quietly like a ghost to the chair at the far side of the table. There he sat with his eyes pointed down at his feet, his mouth set in a thin line.
John's mouth was too dry to speak, he kept trying to find the words but didn't know what to say. For days he had been thinking of something...anything to say to Sherlock when he saw him next but now he just couldn't.
"We've brought Mycroft and John in to speak with you, Sherlock." Dr. Kenning said softly. At this Sherlock finally looked up, his eyes filled with an emotion that John could not read.
"Yes." He stated simply. "So you have."
"Is there anything you'd like to say to them before we get started?"
"No."
John shifted in his seat and Mycroft scowled, neither one very buoyed by Sherlock's attitude.
Dr. Kenning directed his attention to John, clearly signaling him to start.
"Dr. Watson? Would you like to start?" He prompted.
John shivered, this time it was his turn to look at the ground.
"Sherlock..." He sighed. "You are the smartest person I have ever known." He chewed at his lower lip. "No...you were the smartest person I have ever known. Then you nearly killed yourself."
Both Mycroft and Dr. Kenning shot John astonished looks and made various signals for "stop this now" but John ignored them.
"You always have to be by yourself. You can never stop and think about how everyone else feels. You want to know how I feel?"
Sherlock was staring at John, his features cold and unreadable. John couldn't tell if he was angry or not but it didn't matter. Even if Sherlock never spoke to him again at least he would be alive.
"I feel like you're an idiot." John stood, his stomach in knots. This isn't how he wanted this meeting to go. "I'm sorry, I have to leave." He muttered, and then fled from the room.
"Are you getting along with the other patients?"
"I don't think this is relevant."
"It's very relevant, seeing you interact with the patients and staff will let us know if you're ready to interact with the rest of the world."
"I've never been ready to interact with the world. John tells me that I should never become a doctor because my bedside manner is garbage."
Dr. Kenning nodded, there it was again. Another reference to John.
This was to be Sherlock's last session, having been issued a clean bill of health he was to be realeased the next day. Although Dr. Kenning had pushed for follow up sessions the higher ups had insisted that Sherlock was mentally fit enough to skip the next step. Personally Kenning believed that the real reason Sherlock got out so early was because no one wanted to deal with him anymore.
"I hear that Dr. Watson recently got divorced." Kenning mentioned casually.
"Yes. Good for him." Sherlock smirked.
"That's not very supportive." Kenning sighed, fingering his own wedding ring.
"Oh don't pout. It's not that I don't approve of marriage, I just don't approve of John's. It made him so inaccessible. I need him for my work." Sherlock scowled. "Well I say I don't approve of marriage. I should say rather that while I feel marriage can be a useful tool legally I feel that love is something that I will never pursue and find utterly useless."
"Why is that?" Kenning asked, leaning forward.
"Oh please. Should I be prepared for questions about my childhood?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you must know, yes my parents divorced. My father and mother alike both had a habit of taking lovers."
"I see." Kenning nodded.
"Oh what a sad childhood I had." Sherlock dramatically sighed. "Of course if we're going to talk about failing marriage I rather talk about yours. How is that dear wife of yours?"
"That's an inappropriate question." Kenning glared. "Back on topic. We've never really finished talking about why you started using cocaine again. I know you first started because of your family troubles, but to return to the drug after such a successful self-made recovery...why would you do that?"
Sherlock glared at the therapist, growing quite tired of being studied like a lab specimen.
"I was bored." He said.
"You use that excuse a lot." Kenning noted. "Is it easier to believe in boredom than to admit in being upset by something?"
"I said I was bored." Sherlock insisted.
"Could it be something involving your work? Any friends? Family?"
"Stop this." Sherlock huffed. "I have given you my answer."
"Did it have anything to do with John?"
"Of course it did you pathetic idiot!" Sherlock shouted, his face turning red and his hands grabbing at the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. "My god, these are the kinds of doctors we employ? It's a miracle that half of our glorious country is still sane!"
Kenning blinked with surprise. In all the time he'd spent with Sherlock he'd never seen him display real anger. Annoyance, yes. Sarcasm, obviously. Anger? Never.
"I came back from the dead after three years of hunting down the men that put a target on his head and when I come back what do I find? He's married. So I return to the way I did things before I met him. Things were boring, dull, lonely. Stupid! Of course it's because of John!" Sherlock hissed.
"...Why don't you tell him that?" Kenning asked. "Have you ever talked to him?"
"In case you haven't noticed, the last time I met John he walked out of the room on me. The time prior he found me half dead in my apartment from an overdose and turned me in here. I was content to rot. He had to drag me back to life for a second time." Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, Dr. Kenning. I think we're done here."
Mycroft had sent him the car, but he didn't come. Sherlock was glad of this, both Holmes brothers knew that if they were together for the drive they would only end up arguing. In a way not showing up was Mycroft's way of taking extra care of Sherlock.
The car took him back to 221B, where he stood for a moment outside just watching the people walk by before walking back up the familiar stairs to his flat.
Mrs. Hudson, of course, had to stop him on the way to hug him and fret over him insisting that if he needed anything she was right downstairs and that she was so happy he was back. Once he had made it past her and up into his rooms he flung off his coat and sat himself on the couch, unsure of what to do with himself.
For a moment he entertained the idea of checking his website for cases, but then decided that he wasn't in the mood to sort through all the drivel that came before a real gem of a case. Instead he looked for his violin, finding it leaned up against the bookcase where he had last left it. He let it fly up to it's perch on his shoulder and then began playing a slow dark tune.
He was so lost in playing that he didn't notice someone walking into the flat. Their presence was only made known after they cleared their throat. Sherlock looked up and saw John standing in front of him.
"...You've been staying with Harry I see?" Sherlock said after some hesitation. "So you're looking for a more permanent residence." He let the sentence end there, not adding that his door was always open to the army doctor.
"Yeah...you know I really missed you doing that. You knowing everything." John chuckled.
They stood there, and John began wishing that there would stop being such an abundance of awkward silences in his life. To end this one he spoke up.
"Listen...Sherlock...I'm sorry. About running out on...well you know..."
"John, I have never been well versed in emotions." Sherlock replied casually. "So whatever you did will in the grip of yours I will forgive."
"Yeah, sure. I'm the only one with emotions." John rolled his eyes.
"John. I am sorry." Sherlock placed his violin down on the nearby armchair, stepping closer to John.
"What are you sorry for?" John asked.
"You shouldn't have had to deal with my problems." Sherlock said.
"I'm here to make sure you don't have any problems." John joked, elbowing Sherlock.
"So you will stay then? To ensure my problems have ended?" Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Yeah. If you'll have me." John gave a sigh and blushed slightly. "I've got nowhere else."
Sherlock put a slender hand on John's shoulder, his eyes running up and down the doctor's form.
"You have me." He said, hating his own words as he said it. Had talking with that idiot Kenning turned him into a romantic idiot that spoke his feelings aloud? Still, he did not regret leaning down and kissing John on the forehead. After all, with Mary gone and John looking for a home with him, it was time he made the doctor his. Who else would look after him but John Watson?