Devonshire Squires Chapter Thirty One

First time

As luck would have it, when Sherlock woke up for the first time, Mary was there. John had gone for a walk just before eleven thirty at night, claiming he needed "some air," as he called it. She always gave a little wry smile at the thought that the atmosphere in a hospital didn't qualify as such, but she knew better than to point this out. After so many hours of waiting, the military man in him just had to make use of his muscles. So, she was the one who saw the patient's first purposive motion, a twitch along his left hand's index finger. Sherlock blinked a few times, then managed to get his eyes open a bit.

"Hey there. Welcome back." She said it very softly, but with real feeling. She had silenced the little voice which whispered in her head that if Sherlock were to die, then his brother would have no reason to poke any further into her background. But watching John struggle through more than two days of uncertainty had put those thoughts firmly into the dustbin. If Sherlock died now, after what he had told Mycroft in the treatment room, John would never be the same. She feared that losing Sherlock a second time would be become more important than what she had to offer him.

Mycroft Holmes had been right; it was really only as a threesome that they would be able to move forward. She was okay with that, loved John enough to want that for him. She was also selfish enough to know that she would do anything to keep this life that she was building with John going. She knew that she owed Sherlock for bringing John back to life after Afghanistan, but even more for being willing to disappear to keep John alive long enough for her to meet him and fall in love. Their three lives were inextricably linked; she just hadn't realised it before now.

There was no reply to her greeting, nor any recognition that she had spoken. Sherlock was not looking at her; his half-closed eyes seemed to be focusing on nothing. She wondered what he was feeling.

As soon as the decision had been made to move Sherlock to the private room, John had begun to change things. The strip lighting in the room was turned off, the fluorescent tubes removed. The only light on when Sherlock opened his eyes was a small table lamp in the corner with a 40 watt bulb and a dark shade, out of direct line of sight of the bed. The hospital sheets had been swapped for some decidedly not NHS. Most peculiarly, he'd insisted on the room being…well, Mary could only call it washed in plain water.

"Why? It's not like it hasn't been thoroughly cleaned and disinfected." Mary was confused by all the palaver.

John had replied tersely. "Yes. That's the problem. To his nose, this place will absolutely reek of disinfectant." The monitors were swapped for ones that ran more quietly, alarms muted, audio monitors switched off. "He has SPD. It's just one of the reasons why he hates hospitals."

"You sound like you've done this before."

That stopped him, and he looked up from the IV pump that he was working on. "Yes." He looked back at the monitor and fiddled with a digital read-out. "The biggest problem is going to be keeping him in here voluntarily. You heard what he said just as well as I did. He might have been off his head with fever and drugs, but he spoke more truth than I've ever heard out of him before. He doesn't want to be locked up again, but that's what Mycroft's going to do. The last time, I went with him* and it… wasn't fun."

It was one of the things she loved about John- his understatement. Another was his determination.

"I have to be there when he wakes up."

"Why?"

"Because he hates hospitals; he has a lot of bad memories about them. I need to be there to tell him that I won't let Mycroft put him in a facility."

They'd talked about it, and agreed. Sherlock would come home with them. There was a spare bedroom. Whatever it took, they'd do it, together. If that involved drug detoxification, then they'd get him through it.

Looking at Sherlock's unfocused eyes, she could only think that John was going to be so cross that he wasn't there.

"Sherlock? You in there?"

No reaction; in fact, no acknowledgement that she had even spoken to him. She started to feel uncomfortable, wondering if there might have been some sort of damage. Could this be an absence seizure?

She reached out and touched his hand very gently. "Sherlock, John's just stepped out; he'll be back soon. He's been waiting for you to wake up."

He didn't move in response to her touch, which worried her. Looking up at the silenced pulse monitor though, she saw that the rate had suddenly jumped. He started to breathe more rapidly, and then turned his head away from her. A gasp and wince of pain shot across his face.

"Shsss, don't try to move your head. Your neck was cut and the stitches will pull." She didn't know whether it would be right to remind him about how he got the wound. Hurry up, John.

Sherlock closed his eyes and a moment later, was asleep again.

oOo

Second time.

Mycroft had not yet turned the corner from the main corridor, but his hearing was acute enough to know that the man sitting in a chair outside Sherlock's room had stood up. He wondered whether Lewis would be astute enough to know whether it was friend or foe coming toward the room.

His question was answered by the look in the agent's eyes. He'd known exactly who it was coming to see Sherlock. Good; he'll need those skills in his new role. Ashley Lewis would be assigned permanently to Sherlock; the knife wound would give him added incentive.

Mycroft simply nodded a greeting and went into the room without knocking. A startled John was half-way out of the chair beside Sherlock's bed, before he recognised who it was.

"You could have knocked." It was said in a whisper, as he sat back down.

Mycroft allowed an eyebrow to rise. "Why should I?" Unlike John, he didn't lower the volume.

"Because I'm still worried about someone out there wanting to take him to pieces, okay? Or is the man you've posted out there just for show?"

"Actually, he's there to keep Sherlock in, more than to keep others out." Mycroft anticipated that this would provoke John into a protective reaction.

He smiled when he received the predicted glare from the doctor.

John then looked back at the still form on the bed. "Well, Sherlock's not going anywhere just yet. He hasn't woken up again in the past eight hours." He was still keeping his voice down.

Mycroft sniffed. "He will, soon enough. And then we will have to deal with the situation," ramping up the pressure.

John stood up and put himself between Mycroft and the patient. Very quietly, but with a steely determination, John replied, "This isn't something you get to dictate. Not this time. When he's well enough to be discharged, he's coming home with me. Mary and I will get him back on his feet."

"You're assuming he'll go with you." Mycroft knew that John would have to want this to happen a great deal, if he was going to be able to deal with Sherlock at his worst. So, challenging his assumptions should intensify his commitment.

"Of course he will. Given the choice between being locked up by you in some military facility, or being with us- well, there's no contest and you know it."

Now, to deliver the warning, "Some people might admire your optimism, Doctor Watson. I choose to see it as a weakness, which he will exploit. You are not trained in psychiatry, and your own…history makes it unlikely that you can help him deal with whatever actually happened while he was away."

John's eyes narrowed at the intended jibe about his own experiences with PTSD. "Mycroft, maybe the fact that I can understand something of what he may be experiencing will be helpful. Ever thought of that?"

Good, he's taking the bait. "Of course I have thought of it- and immediately dismissed it. You are not an expert. Why should you succeed in changing his behaviour when all those medical professionals who have attempted to do so before now have so conspicuously failed?" Mycroft knew that the more he was able to challenge the doctor's fitness to take on this role, the more Watson would commit to it. Reverse psychology is so useful.

"Just maybe, because I am a friend, Mycroft, not another 'medical professional' thrust down his throat by an interfering big brother."

"You think of Sherlock as a friend." He loaded the word with distain, knowing that the doctor would react with an affirmation. Sherlock was going to need John to be willing to commit to more than the ambivalence that had characterised the doctor's attitudes since his return, so provoking a stronger bond was necessary.

John bridled at the tone, and snapped back, "He needs a friend now more than he needs a brother, especially one who used him to stop a terrorist plot at the expense of his own health and well-being."

Now that you've bought the idea that I'm the villain, let's introduce the fact that Sherlock might not be amenable. "He didn't argue; the necessity was obvious to him, if not to you. But then you ended up in the tube carriage alongside a bomb. I can assure you that he didn't want you to be there with him. Surely that much has become clear since then."

John's back stiffened. As he watched the doctor's left hand flex, Mycroft wondered if the man was preparing to hit him. As useful as allowing such a thing to occur, if only to shake Sherlock out of his comatose state and bond him closer to the doctor, Mycroft was not minded to let it happen. Looking at the still figure on the bed, he sniffed. "Well, if he can sleep through this, then I suppose it is unlikely that he is going to wake anytime soon. I would appreciate a few moments in private with him, nonetheless."

He watched as the doctor warred with himself, but politeness prevailed.

"Thank you," he said to the closing door.

Mycroft turned back to the bed. One down, one to go.

"You may be able to fool him, but not me, Sherlock. I know you are awake."

A pair of grey green eyes opened slowly, but did not look at him.

"What, no caustic comment?" He wanted to hear the piss off that would have told him that Sherlock was back to normal.

The eyes closed.

"Oh, Lord. Are we going back to this? I think I prefer it when your depressions leave you anxious and agitated. Catatonia is just so annoying. Avoiding this is not going to help, Sherlock."

There was no reply.

He sighed. Impasse.

He pulled out the chair and sat down in it, noting that it was still warm from where John had been sitting.

"I'm going to take advantage of having you as a captive audience. For once, because your mouth is not being used to push me away, there is the faintest chance you might actually listen to me. So, here's the thing…" He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if hoping for inspiration. How to say this? "I'll only do this once, so you'd better be listening." He looked over at the still figure which showed no sign of reaction.

"I've…" Mycroft stopped, and then gave a wry smile that he knew he brother could not see, but would probably deduce anyway. "I've been meaning to tell you something, but the occasion hasn't really presented itself before now." He took another breath. "You know how unhappy I was about your original plans, your grand strategy to take down Moriarty and his network. I made my…feelings known about it at the time, I will admit. I thought it was yet more evidence of your impulsiveness and your willingness to take risks."

"But, I was wrong. You were right. The plan not only worked, you actually delivered intelligence far above and beyond anything I ever expected. The work was methodical, strategic in execution and masterful in tactical delivery." He was watching Sherlock's face, but keeping an eye on the silent heart monitor out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, Lord, I do hope you are awake. I don't intend to prostrate myself a second time."

That brought the tiniest of quirks to Sherlock's lip. He didn't open his eyes, but his lips parted just enough to let out a whisper, "Grovel. It will do you good."

That brought an answering smile to Mycroft's face. "And, despite a number of…shall we call them near misses?...you managed to come back alive, much to my surprise. But, the part that really astonished me was just how effectively you hamstrung me. That was…pure artistry. Once I got over the annoyance, I was able to appreciate it more."

"Good…." still a whisper, "Continue."

"I've had two years to re-adjust my thinking about just what you are capable of. I did not think you had it in you, but you showed me I was wrong. And that was reinforced when you came back and solved the underground plot that no one, not even me, had been able to figure out. So, I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt when things seemed to go…not quite to plan. Until this latest escapade of yours which makes me wonder whether your work away is just the anomaly. Really, Sherlock, why back to old habits? Taking unnecessary risks, impulsive behaviour, abandoning Baker Street? Oh, and shall I add the usual willful neglect of your health and then, sin of sins, relapsing into drug use?" He sighed- "what am I supposed to make of all that?"

Sherlock took a deeper breath, but it made him cough, and wince of pain shot across his features. "I don't care what you make of it. Just leave me alone."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Just walk out the door and don't come back. Easy." Another little cough escaped.

"I'm not going to lock you away, Sherlock, if that is what you are afraid of. It's never done much good in the past, so why should it now? I just want you to re-discover whatever it was that led you to control all those impulses over two years. You're back in London less than six weeks and all the old bad habits are back. Why? Just answer me that."

"No." Sherlock still hadn't opened his eyes.

Mycroft tried one more time. Very quietly, he asked, "What did they do to you in China, Sherlock?"

This time, there was no reply.

Mycroft let the question hang in the air. Finally, he sighed. "Find a solution, brother mine. I am willing, perhaps against my better judgment, to trust you. Now that I know what you are capable of, I don't want to be proven wrong."

There was no reply.

As Mycroft left the room, he wondered whether he'd done enough.

Author's Note: * read Sidelined, if you haven't done so before. Even if you have, re-visit and review. Go on, make my day; I know you love sicfic.