"I'll hopefully see you soon." Debbie said pulling John into a tight embrace. "It was so nice having you here."
"I had a really good time." John said enthusiastically.
"Well," Debbie said. "I'll give your mother a call saying that you made it onto the train."
"Thanks." He said.
He boarded the train and settled into the seat giddy for the two hour long journey to end. He had a great time with his Aunt. They spent almost every day out exploring the city. She took him to her favorite parks and restaurants. They went to see several films and went shopping for some new trainers and clothes for the new semester. He loved spending time with his father's sister. She was so interesting and engaging. They talked for hours about anything and everything. The only negative point of the whole trip was Sherlock not being there. He'd tried to call Sherlock's cell a few times at the beginning of the week but the genius was probably too busy to answer the blasted thing. He felt excitement cascade through his body at the idea of seeing his boyfriend. He was determined to have his mother drop him off at the manor instead of taking him straight home. He couldn't imagine waiting a whole other day before seeing him. Because he was so eager to get home, the train ride seemed to drag on forever. He practically leapt from the still moving car as it pulled into the station. His mother pulled him into a tight hug before helping him with his bag and directing them to the car.
"You had a good time, then?" She asked.
"It was brilliant." John said. "London's amazing."
"I'm so glad." She said. "Are you ready to get back to the house?"
"I was actually wondering if you would mind dropping me off at the Manor." He asked. "I just want to see Sherlock for a bit. I'll catch a ride back with Mrs. Hudson."
His Mum studied him carefully before sighing and nodding gently. "That's fine, sweetie. But there is something I want to talk with you about tonight, alright?"
"Okay." He said smiling happily. "Thanks, Mum."
He talked the entire ride to the manor telling her about everything that they'd done and where they'd eaten. He described Debbie's wonderful flat that with its giant windows and stainless steel appliances. His mother was smiling warmly as she pulled up to the drive.
"Thanks," He said. "I'll walk from here."
"And remember I need to speak with you tonight, John." She called as he practically fell over himself to get out of the car.
"I know." He shouted as he began jogging down the drive. He was practically sprinting down the drive when he heard a high pitched giggle from the tree line. He turned slowly to see Jim smirking at him.
"I'm kinda busy." John said before turning back toward the house.
"The pet's eager to return to its master." Jim mocked. "That's so adorable."
"Say what you want to so I can get away from you." John said firmly.
"I told you he'd get bored, Johnny Boy." Jim said gleefully.
"I don't believe you." John said, feeling his pulse jump nervously.
"Believe what you want, Pet." He said with a shrug. "You'll find out soon enough. It is a shame you didn't let him bugger you before you left. You won't have the chance now."
Jim turned and disappeared into the trees before John turned and raced to the house feeling terror fill his heart. He burst through the side entrance, up the stairs, and into the residential area. He ignored the surprised shouts from Mrs. Holmes and made a beeline for Sherlock's room. He burst in and felt all of the blood drain away. He staggered over to the bed and collapsed on the floor against it trying to fight against the feeling of sharp claws tearing his chest apart. He kept his face buried in his hands as he heard Mrs. Holmes follow him into the newly organized room.
"I'm so sorry, John." She whispered brokenly.
"Where is he?" John asked feeling tremors run through his entire body.
"He was sent to a treatment facility in Scotland." She continued quietly.
"What happened?" He asked.
"Mycroft found him out by the pond." She said. "He was…he was with Jim."
"Oh god." John cried softly. "Was he? Were they?"
"I'm so sorry." She answered.
He wrenched away from the bed and ran into the bathroom, heaving painfully as he fought through wrenching sobs and painful gags. He stayed on the cool tiles of Sherlock's bathroom unable to even process whatever Mrs. Holmes was saying. He wasn't sure how long he lay there before he heard his Mum call his name and pull him into a close hug. She held him while he sobbed painfully, his gasps and sobs tearing their way out of his throat. He felt all of his energy drain away leaving him shivering and exhausted.
"Let's go home, sweetie." His mother said quietly.
He nodded silently and let his Mum lead him out of the house. He didn't even look at Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft as he made his way out to the car. He climbed in and slumped against the door after his mother shut it softly. He closed his eyes and waited for his mother to get in the car.
"If he needs anything…" He heard Mrs. Holmes say quietly.
"Excuse me." His Mum said firmly. "But I really don't think that my son needs anything from you right now."
"I just want to help." She said softly. "We're very fond of John."
"I appreciate that." His Mum answered. "But I can't even stomach the idea of him being constantly reminded of this more often than he must. You won't be seeing him again."
They drove away quickly and John let himself be helped into the house and into his room. He collapsed on his bed and dropped into an exhausted, fitful sleep.
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Mycroft sat stiffly at his desk in his childhood home sighing and fidgeting. He was disconcerted. It was a very unfamiliar emotion for him. But that was only to be expected. This entire situation was incredibly disagreeable. That so many people were suffering from the selfish and careless actions of his brother was detestable. He felt a subtle anger settle in his gut as the memory from earlier in the week rose unbidden to his mind.
He'd come home early on Tuesday to have a little chat with his brother regarding the appropriate use of his highly confidential work address. Mrs. Hudson had pointed him in the direction of the pond and he twirled his umbrella in agitation as he crossed the lawn. He was rounding the hedge when he saw them: Sherlock and that awful little rat clinging to each other, an abandoned line of cocaine on the bench next to them. Mycroft would be unable to explain his thought process during the next few seconds. It seemed completely involuntary as he strode toward them in a few short steps and drove the end of his umbrella deeply into the side of that waste of oxygen, Jim Moriarty. He felt satisfaction flow through his veins as he heard the painful yelp from the younger boy. It died quickly as he met the now terror-stricken features of his drug-addled younger brother. He grabbed Sherlock by the shirt roughly before facing Jim again.
"Off my property," Mycroft growled. "Now."
He watched Jim scuttle off clutching his side before dragging Sherlock back to the house. He felt bile rise as Sherlock began pleading with him.
"Please, Mycroft!" Sherlock screeched. "Please! You can't. Don't do this. You can't tell John! Please! Don't tell John, Mycroft! They'll send me away! Don't do this! Please! I won't be able to see John!"
He pulled Sherlock through the house and dropped him on the couch in the living area before shoving a finger in his younger brother's face.
"I knew it," Mycroft fumed. "I knew that you'd relapse and not only did you do that, you cheated on the one person in this entire bloody world outside this family that gave a fuck about you."
"Please, Mycroft." Sherlock pleaded. "You can't tell him."
"That's where you're wrong." Mycroft bit back. "He deserves to know and if no one else will tell him, then I will. He's so much better than you ever will be, Sherlock."
His mother had finally entered the room curious about the ruckus and he watched as her face crumpled at the sight of her youngest son.
"I'll call Father." Mycroft said before turning away from his disappointing younger sibling and stalking to his room. Within an hour, Sherlock was bundled into the private car with an escort to be delivered to a high-security treatment facility. He'd never seen his mother so upset. She'd spent the whole next day cleaning and organizing Sherlock's room. When she'd ask him to stick around until John returned, he'd agreed readily. He knew telling John was going to be awful and he wanted to be there for his mother. Watching that young man crumple under the weight of knowing that yet another person he loved had betrayed his trust was heart-wrenching. He'd watched John being taken away by Mrs. Watson knowing full well that she blamed the entire incident on their family. Mycroft couldn't even gloat about the fact that he'd been right. Of course, he'd been right. Sherlock never should have been allowed to stay at the Manor after the previous incident. He should have been sent to treatment to get the help he needed as well as spare the entire family and John from more disappointment. He was brought back from his reverie by his mother.
"When are you heading back?" She asked tiredly.
"Probably tomorrow." He answered. "Will you be alright here?"
"Of course, darling." She said. "I have my work and Mrs. Hudson to keep me company. I'll be fine."
"Well, you have my number if you need anything." He said.
"Thank you, Mycroft." She said.
"Anything for you, Mummy." He said.
"Do you think she meant it?" His mother asked. "Would she really keep John away from here?"
"I think she was responding to the obvious distress of her son." He said evenly. "She saw how devastated he was and immediately went on the defensive. But she's a reasonable person and I think that if John expresses an interest in visiting once some of the more painful emotional wounds heal, I don't think she would deny him his wish."
"I never meant for any of this to happen." She said throwing her hands up in the air. "I wanted him to be happy. And he was! They both were. John was like a salve to that boy. I can't for the life of me imagine why he did that."
"Because he's a child," Mycroft said simply. "He's a self-destructive, selfish child who takes what he wants, when he wants it and assumes that nothing will ever hurt him. He doesn't think of the consequences or the emotional ramifications of his actions."
"Will he ever be okay?" She asked dejectedly.
"If he's very lucky and takes a very hard look at his life and choices," Mycroft answered. "He might have a chance."
"Not much hope then." She said drily.
"Oh, I don't know." Mycroft said. "He does have a tendency to surprise people and he's tenacious when he wants to be. He might just pull it off."
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We'll get through this. Together.