AN: Hello again! Sorry for not updating last week, I was away in Wales. (At comic con) It was brilliant but it also meant I couldn't update this. :(

Guardian chapter 8

It was the next day when John next saw Mycroft. He woke up after spending a night with the scratchy blanket and got dressed after finding a fresh set of clothes in the undersized wardrobe. John then left the room in the search to find food. The sandy haired man had been eating less and less since Sherlock stepped off the roof. It had just started by skipping a meal, he would be too busy thinking about what could have been, but as his body became used to the lower intake of calories he became less and less hungry. This wasn't to say that he didn't need the food. As a medic, he knew that his eating habits had to stop.

He made his way into the kitchen to find Mycroft sitting at a small table in the corner of the room drinking tea. John tried to ignore him. It didn't work.

"Good morning John!" Beamed Mycroft. He was disgustingly cheerful for that early in the morning. John nodded back to him.

"Did you sleep well?" Mycroft grinned at him. John just nodded again.

"I'm going to be staying home today, things sorted themselves out at work."

Fuck.

John sat in his room. He had taken his tea and a couple of biscuits in with him so he could avoid Mycroft for as long as possible. Things were getting boring. He hadn't brought a book into the room with him. Thoughts about Sherlock crept into his mind. John remembered the time Sherlock thought he was slipping drugs into John's coffee. He remembered when they first met and everyone assumed they were a couple. He sat for a while thinking these pleasant thoughts, but then other thoughts came to him, not so pleasant thoughts. He remembered Sherlock falling to the ground, his blood all over the pavement. He remembered how angry Sherlock was when Moriarty changed everything. There was no Richard Brook. He told himself that every day. John's mind drifted away from the good memories. All he thought about for that next half hour was wrong. He felt wrong for thinking it. All the blood, the hate and the pain. All the loss and the lies and the stories. That was what circled his mind. He wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop. Oh if only if he could just... but he couldn't. Mycroft wouldn't let him. He needed to get his mind out of that loop.

John rinsed his mug out in the sink. He had left his room hoping to clear his head. It had worked, a bit. He walked through to what seemed like the living room. To his surprise he found Mycroft sitting in an armchair reading. He had thought the man was in his room.

"Good afternoon, John" said Mycroft with a brief smile. John greeted him in return, but stood by the doorway wondering if he should leave.

"Do sit down John. You can't avoid me forever."

He was probably right. John walked over to a bookshelf and chose a book at random. He then went and sat down in a chair and began to read.

The book was very interesting. He realised as soon as he opened the cover that it was 'A picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde. A few hours had passed by the time he stopped reading. John was surprised at how fast the time had gone.

It was Mycroft who spoke first.

"I saw that you went into my office yesterday."

John's blood ran cold. What if Mycroft thought he had seen some kind of secret document? Would he just disappear, never to be seen again? Who knows what Mycroft was capable of! John nodded his head in response.

Mycroft noticed the ex-army doctor looked concerned.

"Don't worry about it. Feel free to go anywhere you want. If I had wanted to keep you out, there would be no possible way you could get in. Trust me."

John half smiled. "I'm going to go back to my room again. Can I take the book?"

Mycroft nodded. "Of course."

And with that, John walked back to his room with a slight limp in his step.

The sandy-haired man opened his eyes. Confused, he leaned forwards. A book slipped off his chest and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. 'I must have drifted off while I was reading' John thought to himself. This annoyed him slightly because he had lost his page.

The ex-army doctor swung his right leg over the side of the bed. He tried to will the other to do the same but no matter how hard he tried, he ended up having to lift his left leg over the edge of the mattress. Sleep partly cleared away and he realised his throat was unbelievably dry. Not having a glass of water in his room, he set off through the now gloomy house to the surprisingly modern kitchen.

When he entered the kitchen he could hardly see a thing. All that was in front of him was a dark outline of what he assumed was a work surface. He stepped over to it as quietly as he could. He wasn't sure if Mycroft was home, but if he was, John didn't want to wake him up. As he moved towards the 'What-he-thought-was-a-work-surface', bright lights flickered on. It took him a few moments of blinking before he could see properly again. In the second cupboard he looked in, there were some drinking glasses. He filled one up with tap water, drank it and then re-filled it again. Feeling more awake than he had before, he made his way back to his tiny room.

He was about half way through the long corridor to his room when he heard the noise. John stopped and held his breath thinking the noise might have been coming from him. It continued. John stayed in his spot for a few more moments. It sounded like someone was repeatedly breathing in sharply. After a few more moments, John realised someone was sobbing. It was Mycroft.

AN: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

I've written the next chapter. (I originally wrote it as one long one with this chapter but I decided to split it.)

*Spoiler for next week's chapter: 'Tears before bedtime.'*

Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)