Yay! If anyone is interested (because everyone seems excited about the amount of updating), I'm trying to stay five chapters ahead at all times. That way, if I want to back track to make minor changes for ideas further ahead in the story line, I can do that. So, I have 11 chapters posted, but have 16 chapters completed. That's why I update so often. I hope that makes sense and thanks again for taking the time to read my story!
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"That's a spectacular idea, Anna." Mr. Holmes said. "Let's give the boy a friend to hang out with during his punishment."
"He's completely miserable, Bert." Mrs. Holmes answered. "And I think that letting him see his friend, his ONLY friend by the way. The only friend that boy has ever managed to have, might help."
"That's just enabling his bad behavior."
"We both know that our boys are much too intelligent for that mainstream, watered down crap to have any effect on them." She countered.
"And you honestly think seeing his friend will help?" Mr. Holmes asked. "He'll probably eat the boy alive. No one would want to hang out with him the way he is now."
"John's not just anyone." Mrs. Holmes said firmly. "He's a nice kid who doesn't look at Sherlock like he's a freak and we both know with his family history, he's not exactly clueless about the effects of addictive substances."
"And you trust him?" Mr. Holmes said.
"You haven't seen them together." Mrs. Holmes answered. "They are great for each other."
"What's your opinion, Mrs. Hudson?" Mr. Holmes said. "Mycroft?"
"That poor boy is going through enough as it is, Bert." Mrs. Hudson answered. "Let him have his friend."
"I don't think you should." Mycroft said firmly.
"You want to punish him more, do you?" Mrs. Holmes cut in.
"On the contrary." Mycroft said evenly. "I don't want to put that kind of responsibility on John. This isn't his family. These aren't his problems. We're asking a child, who has already dealt with so much this year, to act as a nursemaid and punching bag because we can't get through to him ourselves. I still think we should send him somewhere to get treatment. We are not equipped to handle this."
"John's practically family anyway." Mrs. Holmes answered. "His sister is just like her father and his mother when she's not working is out doing god knows what. We're the only stable thing in that boy's life right now. He's missing Sherlock just as much as Sherlock wants to see him. I think it will be good for both of them."
"I'll think about it." Mr. Holmes answered after a brief silence.
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The next week at Holmes Manor was that same eerie quiet. Mr. Holmes stayed in the house but John never caught a glimpse of him again nor any of the rest of the family. Granted, he was outside mostly doing odds and ends. Mrs. Hudson, he knew, was just trying to keep him out of the way. One day, she asked him to go outside and walk around the pond to make sure that there were no fallen branches that someone could trip on. That day, he just curled up against a tree and read. When he came back at the end of the day, Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly and patted him on the cheek. It was the second week since the incident and John was washing the windows of the Conservatory when he heard someone come up behind him.
"John Watson?" A deep voice asked.
John turned to see Mr. Holmes smiling tightly at him with a set of familiar gray/green eyes. "Hello, Mr. Holmes."
"I'm told you've been a great help these past few months." He said.
"Glad to be of help, sir." John said. "This is an amazing house."
"Yes," He said, patting the stone work. "I am quite fond of it. Grew up here. It's unfortunate that I have to spend most of my time in London."
"That has to be exciting though." John said smiling.
"Tedious mostly." Mr. Holmes smirked. "I spend way too much time in meetings and not enough enjoying the city."
John nodded awkwardly before asking, "Did you need me to do something? I'm just about done on the windows."
"Actually," Mr. Holmes began. "I was wondering if you might want to pop in to see Sherlock."
"Really?" John asked happily.
"It might be good for him to see some familiar faces that aren't constantly lecturing him." Mr. Holmes said. "What do you think?"
"I'd love to!" John grinned.
"Right then. I'll just escort you up." Mr. Holmes said. "Mind you, he's not in the best shape right now."
"I don't mind." John answered.
They walked quickly into the residential part of the house and John barely had time to glance into any of the rooms before they stopped at a door with a lock on the outside.
"I know it seems a bit much." Mr. Holmes answered. "But it's for his own good."
John didn't say anything as Sherlock's father knocked on the door. He heard a muffled shout for whoever was there to go away but Mr. Holmes just whipped out a key and slid it into the lock. He cracked the door open a bit.
"What part of 'go away' did you not understand?" Sherlock voice slipped through the crack.
Mr. Holmes nodded to John and pushed the door open a bit more. John slipped through and jumped a little when he heard the door lock behind him. He glanced around and wasn't surprised to see the shades drawn. Sherlock's eyes were probably insanely sensitive right now.
"Hey, mate." John called softly to the form burrowed under the duvet. He watched as the figure began thrashing inside the covers before Sherlock's curly head poked out and pinned his eyes on the shorter boy. John took in the black, swollen circles under his eyes, the stark paleness of his already pale skin, and the sharper angles of his face.
"What are you doing here?"Sherlock practically growled.
"Apparently," John said walking through the clutter to stand next to the bed. "I'm to keep your grounded arse company."
"I don't need company." Sherlock answered angrily. "I need about twenty pain killers and a sleeping pill the size of Russia."
"That bad, huh?" John answered.
"I haven't slept in three days, my entire body aches, I can barely open my eyes, and if I vomit one more time, I'm pretty sure my sick will include my kidneys and at least a foot of intestine." Sherlock mumbled.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" John asked.
"Would you be willing to strangle me until I pass out?" Sherlock asked. "That way I could at least be unconscious."
"I don't know about that." John said grinning. "But I can try what my Mum used to do when me and Harry were ill."
"I'm a genius, John." Sherlock snarled. "There's nothing your mother could have thought up that I haven't tried myself with thirty different variations."
"Grumpy." John said. "Do you want to try it or not?"
"Fine." Sherlock grumbled.
"Alright. Budge over." John crawled onto the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He settled in and put a pillow on his lap. "Come here."
"Really?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.
"I can go if you want." John said evenly. "And you can lay here in pain and bored to death."
Sherlock made a slow dragging motion pulling himself across the mattress looking so pathetic that it took all of John's self-control not to burst out laughing at the sight.
"Put your head here and face this way." John directed. He situated the genius with his head on the pillow in John's lap facing out to the rest of the room. Sherlock dropped heavily and curled into the fetal position protecting his still sensitive stomach. John ran his fingers lightly through the curls scratching at the scalp gently.
"This is hardly effective." Sherlock mumbled angrily.
"Just shut up and close your eyes." John said sternly.
Sherlock sighed heavily but slowly relaxed as John ran his fingers through the curls over and over again. He played with the black hair for about twenty minutes before Sherlock spoke again.
"That doesn't actually feel terrible." Sherlock admitted before burrowing his head deeper into the pillow.
"Did you just admit that I was right about something?" John asked astonished.
"Don't hold your breath about it happening again anytime soon." Sherlock said groggily. "It probably won't happen for another decade or so."
"I'll take it." John said. "And remind you of it daily."
"You're a sadist, John." Sherlock yawned.
John chuckled softly and kept playing with Sherlock's curls. After another ten minutes, he heard Sherlock's breath slow and the genius began snoring softly. He rested his head back against the headboard and closed his own eyes keeping the rhythm of his fingers even.
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There was something warm and soft pressed up against his nose when he woke several hours later. He inhaled deeply and let the smell of laundry detergent and skin tickle his nostrils. He snuggled closer taking another deep breath loving the way the smell seemed to soothe his whole body. He tried to push back the headache that was reforming behind his eyes. God, this was like the ten days from hell. He shifted trying to ease the tension in his back but it was like trying to fix the space shuttle with two paper clips and a piece of chewing gum. He rolled onto his back and cracked his eyes open. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he looked up into the sleeping features of John Watson. Delicious sparks of heat seemed to dance across his skin as he drank in the shorter boy's soft, blond eye lashes and stubborn chin.
This was different. He'd never felt like this about someone. This obsessive need to be in the same room, breathe the same air. He'd spent the last month making due with occasional brush of fingertips and visual feast of John's skin. He was so careful not to cross the boundary that John had set. More than wanting to grab a hold of the other boy, pull him close, and suck his way down that lovely golden neck, he wanted John to stay. To listen to him, laugh with him, be with him. He was terrified that pushing the line that John had set would cause John to walk away. He was frustrated and jumpy the day that Jim had shown up. He was three days past using up the last of his best stash and he was aching for a fix so bad that even the hidden look of disappointment on John's face wasn't enough to keep him from following after his dealer.
He grimaced as the memories of that twelve hour period swam to the surface of his thoughts. He'd felt so fucking good the minute he snorted the line Jim had prepped for him. His mind felt like it was running at full capacity and he had been determined to devote that focus to the feel of skin on skin and tongue, teeth, and lips against every part of Jim's body. They'd fought and fucked and took hit after hit until Sherlock's head felt like it might explode from the sensory overload. Jim had just pushed into him roughly for the third time when his mother had burst through the door. The miserable set of her beautiful features had seemed to slice into him as she witnessed her junkie son get buggered by a complete arse like Jim Moriarty.
He pushed away the memory and settled back against the blond who'd sat with him for the past six hours running those talented fingers through his sweat-soaked curls. He never wanted to move again. He just wanted to lay here surrounded by John's smell and body forever. He rolled back over and tucked his face into John's stomach before wrapping his arms around the other boys hips pulling him closer gently letting himself drop back into sleep.
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Thanks again for reading and reviewing!