John was exhausted. He was still fairly new to St. Barts hospital so he had no one to trade shifts with when he needed a day off to rest. He had not made any friends to do that with yet. He had been at the hospital for almost 48 hours straight, only taking naps when he should have been eating. Even then he would only be asleep for about twenty minutes before he would hear, "Dr. Watson, you're needed in the clinic." Or "Dr. Watson, you've been requested in the OR.", and most often, "Dr. Watson, you're needed in the ER stat." He was a great surgeon, in fact once he finished his residency he was going to go and be an army medic, be a surgeon as well as a soldier, but that did not change the fact he had no real name for himself yet, he was looked down on for his young age and that meant he was stuck with all the more unpleasant cases and patients. Either he was looked down on because other doctors assumed he was not good at what he did or they knew he was better than them, and they were simply being petty.
Whenever there was a particularly annoying patient, or gruesome situation that wasn't deemed "cool" he was the one they got to deal with it. He was the one who had to have the patience to deal with the hypochondriacs and he was the one who had to deal with the bloody, literally blood soaked, patients that came in through the ER that weren't considered "interesting cases", as well as the cases that made most doctors flinch, not because of what happened but how it happened, like the attempted suicides.
That was why after being asleep for no more than five minutes John was rushing down to the ER where an attempted suicide was just coming in. The first thing he saw as the doors of the ambulance opened was a man who looked to be around his age holding onto an umbrella in one hand like it was his life line, and his other hand stroking the hair of the patient. In all the years John had been alive he had never seen someone look as scared as the man with the umbrella. John only had a few seconds to observe the scene before the paramedics had the gurney out of the back and were wheeling it toward the door with John in tow as they quickly briefed him on the case. It was not until the man with the umbrella was being held back and yelling, "But that's my little brother, I have to make sure he's okay", that John looked down to see who his new patient actually was. It was not until then that he noticed that the boy could be no older than seventeen. He felt his heart drop at the thought of such a young person resorting to something like this and he felt it drop more as he looked back at the boy's older brother and realized the man was crying. He just wanted to know his baby brother was going to be okay, that he was not going to lose him.
It was at that moment, when he saw the grief on that man's face and the pleading expression, that he forgot he was tired and worn down, that he'd been up for almost two days straight. He found new energy because he was determined to save this young man's life no matter what because he needed to be able to walk into that waiting room and tell that poor man that his brother was okay, or at least as okay as a suicidal person could be. He needed to feel like he had helped after being run down for so long, he needed this to all turn out well. He desperately needed the win.
For the next two and a half hours John switched to full on Dr. Watson mode as he was rushing around, doing everything he could think of for the young man, who he found out after looking at some hastily drawn out charts was named Sherlock; Sherlock Holmes. He didn't stop to take a breath until Sherlock, who had come in on the very brink of death, was transferred to a room where he would be constantly observed and was in a stable condition. He had found out that the brother's name was Mycroft, apparently he was well known at the hospital for some odd reason. He couldn't help thinking to himself that the brothers both had such odd names. The second he could he went to go find the man in the waiting area. Mycroft immediately recognized him as the doctor who had taken his brother away so he was on his feet and walking toward him the second he got in the room, his umbrella at his feet like a walking stick when he paused before John.
With tears still in his eyes, but otherwise looking calm, Mycroft spoke first, "Please... please tell me he's okay…" Mycroft paused to take a deep breath as his mask slipped and he all but choked out, "Dr. Watson, please just tell me he's okay, that I haven't lost the person that means the most to me in this world."
John wanted to put him out of his misery, stop the man from feeling so much pain, so he spoke quickly, "Your brother came in just in time for us to pump his stomach and get most of the poison out of his system. If it would have been even five minutes later we would not have been able to do anything, it would have been too late, but because he got here when he did we were able to stabilize him, but because of the reason he ended up here he is under a forty-two hour psychiatric hold and has to be assessed before he can be released." John tried to smile at the man but was feeling the exhaustion hitting him at full force again, even worse now because he had no reason to fight it off anymore.
He wasn't sure how he had expected Mycroft to react. He had seen two different sides of him in two very brief meetings after all. He saw him at his lowest, when he was broken and worried, and he saw him now, when he seemed to have an amazing amount of control over himself, but he never expected the man to engulf him in a huge bear hug. Mycroft whispered, as if he was afraid if he spoke any louder John would take what he said back, "Thank you, so much, Dr. Watson. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost my baby brother."
Mycroft didn't let go for a few minutes but John didn't mind, it was making the man feel better, and he had to admit it felt nice to be recognized, but when he did finally pull away John led him to the room where his brother was, even though strictly speaking Sherlock was not supposed to have visitors yet. He bent the rules a little and it was worth it when he saw Sherlock open his eyes as he and Mycroft walked into the room and saw how happy it made Mycroft. It was not the obvious kind of happy, because the smile on Mycroft's face was a pained one, but he could see it in his eyes and by the way he swiftly made his way to his brother's side and started stroking his hair with one hand and holding his brothers hand with the other, completely abandoning his umbrella against the wall, and John had a strange feeling the man was rarely without that umbrella. He could tell that now at least some of Mycroft's tears were tears of joy. He could also see the regret on young Sherlock's face, which gave him hope that maybe he would be okay, that he would not try to hurt himself again, and that Mycroft would never have to find out what he would do if he lost his baby brother.
He didn't want to interrupt the moment so he stayed in the background and waited for an opportunity to do his evaluation on Sherlock now that he was awake. He thought he would be waiting for a while so he sat down in the corner of the room, watching the two young men. He could have sworn that they were having some kind of nonverbal conversation in addition to the one John could hear but before he could really think about it his exhaustion took over and he found himself drifting off.
He was startled awake by Mycroft what seemed to be a few hours later. At first he didn't know where he was or what had woken him, but as his mind started to wake up and become coherent he remembered and realized Mycroft had been shaking his shoulder gently, his hand still on his shoulder.
Almost whispering, Mycroft softly apologized, "Sorry, Dr. Watson, we didn't want to wake you up before. You looked so tired when I first saw you, then when you passed out in the chair you just looked so peaceful and one of the nurses told us you've been here for over two days. We thought we would let you get some rest." He sounded like he was apologizing for doing something wrong and it was confusing John's freshly awakened mind.
Stretching a little on the chair John tried to sound as reassuring as possible as he assured Mycroft, "No need to apologize, god knows I needed some rest. I actually want to thank you for letting me. Most people would just get mad at me for it." He smiled up at the man standing over him before he himself got to his feet. With the sleep still audible in his voice he yawned and walked over towards Sherlock's bed as he continued, "However, I should probably do my job before I head home for a proper rest."
Sherlock was looking up at him with a piercing look, his quicksilver eyes darting over John. John felt like he was looking straight into his mind when Sherlock finally settled his gaze straight onto John's. Like somehow this young man knew everything about him and everything he was thinking, and as if Sherlock could read that thought as well, he started telling John about John's own life.
In an even, monotones voice, he told him, "You became a doctor because your dad was a doctor. You look up to him as a hero because he was an army doctor, in fact once you are done your residency here you will become an army doctor as well, partially because you want to follow in your father's footsteps but also because you want the excitement, but mostly because you want to help people and who better to help then those who protect their country?" Sherlock paused for a second to intensify his gaze even more before continuing, "The reason you are the doctor who deals with cases like mine is the same as why you want to be an army doctor, you care more for the patients and you like the excitement of a life or death situation, you like it when you can beat the clock and save a life. At the same time that is how you got a gambling problem, the excitement of winning or losing large amounts. You grew up with support and you got along well with your only sibling when you were young, however, you now resent them. It could be that they also have an addiction, to alcohol, but it could also be because they recently broke things off their spouse, who you rather liked, because they too were a doctor. You often bend the rules for patients when you do not agree with them, or you think more good could be done if the rule is bent." At no point did Sherlock's voice change from the monotones one and at no point did it show the slightest bit of emotion. He was simply talking like he was stating facts.
John just stared down at him in complete shock. This young man had just told him his life story like he was talking about the weather. It was not until John opened his mouth to speak that he saw any emotion cross Sherlock's face, and only to add to his shock Sherlock actually flinched away like he thought John was about to yell at him, or worse. Instead all John could manage was a whispered, "That was brilliant."
That definitely evoked emotion from Sherlock as John saw surprise, doubt and even a little embarrassment quickly cross his face before Sherlock spoke in a disbelieving voice, "Really, you think so?"
Excited, John said, "Of course, that was amazing! How did you know all that? I know that no one I work with knows even half of that about me." John was still staring down at Sherlock in wonderment.
He actually saw Sherlock blush a little bit as he explained, "Well, it was all quite simple; simple deductions. For instance I knew about your father because of your stethoscope. It's an old army doctor model, which tells me you got it most likely from an older man who you look up to, because you use it, and the obvious choice is your father, from whom you probably inherited your surgeon hands from. As well the fact that you still use it, and you are almost done your residency tells me you probably want to follow in his footsteps. The nurse that was telling us you have been here for so long also commented on the fact you always have to deal with such difficult and urgent cases, but that you never complain, although she thinks it's unfair to put all the pressure on you, but you truly don't seem to mind, which tells me you like the cases that get shunted to you, and the most likely reason is that they are exciting, another reason as to why you would end up as an army medic. As well from what my brother had told me you show a great deal of compassion, after all most doctors would not hang around in the background and wait to do their job when they could be home asleep, just to let brothers talk." Sherlock was actually smiling a little up at John now, no longer sounding like he was simply stating facts. He sounded pleased and excited.
Again John could only manage a whispered, "Wow, that's truly brilliant." Sherlock blushed even more, then John thought of something, "Wait, how did you know about the gambling, Harry's alcoholism and the fact she left her wife, or that her wife was a doctor?"
Sherlock genuinely smiled up at him now, infectiously, "I knew about the gambling because I can see the imprint of a coin in your pocket, too big to be a real coin, so it must be a coin representing something, like dealing with an addiction, and you being a doctor who is so steadily rising in your profession would be too smart to be an alcoholic or use any other substance. You know what something like that could do to your career. So the next most likely addiction, and your thrill in getting the upper hand, told me gambling. I got to your sisters addiction simply because I knew about yours, and an addictive personality can be a genetic trait, and I can see worry lines on your face that seem to be rather permanent, which means you are always worried, and you wouldn't worry about yourself like that, so a sibling. I could also tell by your name tag that it was originally made for someone else, and not your father because it has a feminine touch to it, so who else would be a Dr. Watson, certainty not your sister with her alcohol problem, so a spouse who took on her last name, but since then they have had a falling out and that name must no longer apply her, so she gave it to you, which told me you are still in good with your ex sister in law, which also told me you were not on good terms with your sister, since you did not shun her ex after the separation, which also told me your sister was the one to break things off."
Sherlock was looking uncertain at John again as a moment of silence passed so John forced himself to speak, not wanting him to think he did something wrong or unbloody amazing. "That is truly the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Sherlock let the smile spread across his face again as he looked up at him.
Quietly, he joked, "You should see how brilliant my brother is then, he's the smart one." John sent a look across the bed to the man in question but when he saw the pain hidden behind the older brother's eyes everything came crashing back to him, why he was here with this amazing young man, why he met him in the first place, and his smile faltered, which in turn made the smile on Sherlock's face falter as he said, "You're going to make me talk about it aren't you?" John was convinced he could read minds.
John smiled a sad little smile at him now, "I can't make you talk to me but you will have to talk to someone, at least if you want to be released anytime soon."
Sherlock nodded, he knew he had to talk to someone and he figured it might as well be this doctor, after all something about him made Sherlock feel safe and like he could trust him, so he told John about how school normally was and how he could normally handle it. He also told John about his parents and how things had gotten harder after his brother left but that he never wanted to bother his brother with his problems. He avoided the day in question for as long as possible but he finally had to talk about what the boy at school had yelled at him from across the cafeteria, how things had only gotten worse when he got home and how he had tried to phone his brother. Sherlock had kept his eyes down the whole time he was talking but he looked up when he repeated the horrible words of his class mate and was a little startled to see not only his brother fighting to bite back anger but Dr. Watson as well, and for a second he thought he was angry at him until he realized the good doctor was angry at his classmate, all his classmates, and his parents. He also looked up at his brother when he talked about calling and getting the answering machine and was once again startled by his reaction, not because he looked angry but because he looked heart broken and was not even trying to hide it anymore; he'd never known Mycroft to look so broken before.
Looking at the heart break on both of the grown men's faces made Sherlock understand how idiotic he had been, for ever doubting his brother loved and cared about him, and for giving up on ever finding someone who would accept him for him and not hate him for his gifts. He realized there was a reason for him to live, in fact two reasons, and they were both in the room with him, sitting on either side of him. Mycroft was idly petting Sherlock's head now while the doctor had a hand on his arm, and it was surprisingly comforting to the young genius.
However, an hour or so later, after being less than pleasant with the therapist on call that evaluated him, Sherlock found himself stuck in the hospital for another week. Dr. Watson, who had told both Sherlock and Mycroft to call him John, promised to visit with Sherlock everyday whenever he could and Sherlock used the opportunity to get his brother to promise to visit too. It took a few minutes of pretending to plan an escape but it was worth it for the exasperated fond smile it put on Mycroft's face.
When John finally left to head home in the wee hours of the morning he felt like he might have finally made his first two good friends in this new city. He was actually greatly looking forward to getting to know both Sherlock and Mycroft better, and he was dying to ask Mycroft about that umbrella, it hadn't rained in London in days.
Also, even though he was a good five years older than Sherlock, he couldn't help looking up to him and his intelligence and had a strong suspicion Mycroft was very much like his brother in that regard, at least if what Sherlock seemed to hint at was at all true.
As he sat in the back of a taxi watching the city flash by he found himself excited for work the next day for the first time since arriving in London.