Guardian chapter 6

Two pairs of strong hands caught him. They pulled him back onto the roof; and before John could protest, he was injected in the neck. Very quickly the ex-army doctor's body went limp and his consciousness was stolen away.

Everything was blurred. The shape of a face swam into view. John closed his eyes tight, and then opened them as wide as he could. The person in front of him began to speak.

"John, it's okay. You're going to be okay."

The voice was familiar. John blinked again. The first thing he remembered seeing was a broken nose. He knew who it was then.

"Get away from me." He tried to make it sound forceful, but he was still drowsy from the drugs so it came out as a drunken mumble.

"John, I want to help you." Mycroft walked across the room and sat down on a dark green leather armchair. John suddenly became aware that he too was sitting on a seemingly identical armchair. Beside him was a small wooden table and on top of that was a mug of steaming tea. The sandy haired man picked up the mug and cupped his hands around it. He was about to take a sip when he stopped himself. Reluctantly he put the mug back on the table. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I can assure you, it's not drugged." John looked back at the tea. "I didn't want it anyway. I never want anything off you." Mycroft sighed and looked at his hands. His voice was low and quiet. "Well, unfortunately John, that's where you're bang out of luck."

It was a while before anyone spoke again. John was determined not to engage in conversation, and Mycroft could think of nothing to say. There was a comforting warmth coming from a fireplace at the side of the room. Finally, Mycroft spoke. "Why did you want to jump?" John's head spun round to look at the man. Mycroft was still looking at his hands awkwardly. The ex-army doctor slowly turned his head to look back at the wall. "What does it matter? I just wanted it to end. Who cares how it's done?" A few more minutes of silence followed. It was John's turn to ask questions now. "Why couldn't you have just let me jump?"

Mycroft didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and walked across the room to a drinks cabinet. He poured out two whiskeys and carried one over to John. The sandy haired man just put it down next to his, now cold, tea. He had no intention of drinking it. Mycroft sat back down and took a sip from his own glass. "You may as well drink that."

John wrinkled his nose up. "I don't drink cheap whisky." Mycroft chuckled.

"I saved you; at least I think I did, out of guilt." John turned his head to look at the man. "It's my fault he did what he did, I've come to realise that now. It's kept me awake for nights just thinking about it. I don't want it to happen to anyone else, especially the person my brother was closest to."

The fire crackled and popped. "I helped Sherlock in the past. I want to help you, now."

John looked annoyed. "I don't need your help."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose. "John, today you tried to throw yourself off a building." John just looked at the floor. "Did Sherlock ever tell you about the time he wanted to end it all?" John shook his head. "Well I suppose he wouldn't have. He was completely out of it by the time I found him. He had taken a lot of drugs, and I mean a lot. I had looked everywhere for him, I eventually had to get in touch with Detective Inspector Lestrade. We found Sherlock in an alley way. I don't think any of us expected him to make it. He woke up a few days later and I vowed then that I would always look out for him. Great job I did there."

John picked up the glass of whiskey and took a sip. It made his throat feel warm and calm. "Why hasn't Greg ever mentioned this?"

Mycroft smiled. "I asked him not to. I assumed he must have mentioned it at some point. Anyway, I looked after Sherlock and eventually got him off the drugs. I want to look after you. I don't want you to end up like Sherlock."

John shook his head. "I'm not your pet."

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. After a while, Mycroft spoke. "I didn't tell Jim about that. I didn't tell him a few things."

John was still looking at the floor. He didn't want to make eye contact with Mycroft and risk the other man seeing his damp eyes.

"I didn't tell him about the things that were just me and Sherlock, or the things that Sherlock begged me never to tell. I didn't tell Jim about how Sherlock used to get me to read to him when he was three, or how his first word was my name. I didn't tell him that Sherlock still has some self inflicted scars on his stomach, and most importantly, I didn't tell him about the times we used to play pirates when our mother and father were out of the house." There were tears running down Mycroft's face. His voice had gone all shaky so he stopped speaking. "What I'm trying to say is, I know my brother, and he would never, ever want you to do what he did. I'm just here to save you from yourself."

John nodded his head. He had so much hatred for Mycroft, but deep down he knew that he was doing what he thought was best. "Can I go to bed?" John asked.

Mycroft nodded. "Of course, it's the third door to the left."

John left the room and walked along the wide corridor. That night he cried himself to sleep, because while his deceased friend might not want him to hurt, it didn't stop everything from feeling shit.

AN: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again for all your reviews. :)