For those of you who have been asking for an update here it is. I haven't abandoned this story; it's just that it is the end of term and my teachers decided that what I really needed was a load of tests to prepare me for the holiday. Unfortunately passing them was a priority so I can continue with my courses which meant this had to be left for a little while. But they're over now and I passed which leaves me free to write, hopefully the lack of school for the next 2.5 weeks will mean more frequent updates. So here is the next instalment, I hope that it was worth the wait. Enjoy and don't hesitate to leave a review. I'm being serious, don't hesitate at all.

Caught in transport

It wasn't long before John returned to the room, arms full of towels, cloths ad bed linens. He had phoned Mycroft and the man had been even more furious than John had been. Swearing he'd have the hospital shut down and that those who had been caring for his brother would never get a job anywhere again and he would personally ensure that they did not receive any benefits. Despite the fact that he was going too far, in the doctor's opinion, he did understand where the elder Holmes was coming from. One, or even maybe two, mistakes would have been forgivable but not the large numbers that were being made. There was really no excuse for that level of inattention or incompetence.

To be honest, he was dreading cleaning Sherlock up, that just wasn't what their relationship was like, but when Sherlock fell their relationship was irrevocably changed. John knew that the personal care was going to become a major part of their lives so he may as well get used to it. A part of him wished that the detective would allow the nurses just to do their job and clean him up the other part of him, the part of him that considered Sherlock closer than a brother reprimanded him for being so selfish. Even if Sherlock would deny it he was terrified and he wanted his best friend to help him, not a bunch of imbecilic nurses who hurt him. Anyway, John knew that once of his curable maladies were healed they'd be heading back home, even though that would not be 221b Baker Street as it was not wheelchair friendly, and once they were out of the hospital John knew he would be providing most of his care.

Oh, and how Sherlock would hate that yet there would be no one else he would rather do it. He would have to wash Sherlock; the man would probably end up wearing pads as well as having the catheter and John would have to change those. There would be enemas to perform and feeding would, most likely, be traumatic. He couldn't be kept on IV nutrition much longer and using a feeding tube through the nose was not a long term solution. A gastric tube would have to be placed, although John wouldn't do that himself. He wanted nothing more than for Sherlock not to need all this care but the reality was he did need it and John would do anything and everything within his power to make Sherlock's life that little bit more comfortable.

Tentatively he knocked on the door to Sherlock's room and closed the door behind him. He hated the fact he couldn't gauge how Sherlock was feeling, even under normal circumstances that was hard but the doctor had become quite accustomed to the slight twitches which betrayed the thoughts and emotions which he denied. Now there was nothing, absolutely nothing, but he was grateful to Mrs Hudson who studiously nattered away as she normally would.

Sherlock wasn't sure if he was pleased that John had returned. Obviously he wanted to be clean, he felt disgusting, but the sheer intimacy was disturbing to him and he hated the idea of being so dependent on someone. But at the same time he felt he needed John and he hated it when he left the room, so in the classical Sherlock manner, he ignored his emotions, deemed them unimportant. As he felt the doctor's and Mrs Hudson's hands touching him wiping him clean in the most intimate of places, and their soothing voices which uttered endless streams of meaningless words with which they hoped to distract his ever active mind, he viewed the task logically and objectively. It was undignified for him to be left the way he was and could lead to serious health complications, and since he could do nothing about this himself, all down to his pointless transport, as a doctor John had no choice but to help.

He managed to ignore their ministrations and probing hands in this way until they began rolling him, this was hard to ignore. He was feeling slightly nauseous and horrendously embarrassed, he felt he was on full view to the world and was just grateful that Mycroft was not around to see him in such a position. Luckily it wasn't long before they were removing the sheet from underneath him expertly and tucking another, clean one, underneath his body. It was amazing really, it was obvious now that Mrs Hudson had previously been a nurse but he hadn't realised that before now. The nature with which she assisted John was trained and professional, how hadn't realised it with her kind and motherly nature before this point was beyond him but it was a trait that was natural to her. At least he still had command over his mind even if he didn't have it over his body.

John was expecting to find it awkward, to not quite know how to do such a simple task when the patient was his friend, Sherlock Holmes. However, once he had started it all came to him naturally and apparently to Mrs Hudson. Within no time at all and before he could do anything to stop her, Mrs Hudson had gathered up the soiled bedding in her arms and was heading towards the door. "I've got this dear, you've been losing too much sleep and you need to take things easy." John nodded, not feeling like disagreeing with her for once.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson, that's really very kind of you."

She directed a sad smile towards him before leaving the room, she really did feel very sorry for John, and even more so for Sherlock. It broke her heart to think of the emotional turmoil that must be raging through his mind. She couldn't imagine being in Sherlock's position right now, she honestly didn't think she'd be able to cope, but then again, he didn't really have much of a choice, there was nothing he could do about it.

As she shut the door she jumped as her eyes fell on Mycroft who was leaning on his umbrella, obviously waiting to speak to someone. "You can go in now Mycroft, we've cleaned him up and he's decent now." He nodded slowly as he looked disgustedly at the linens in her arms.

"Actually, if you have the time, I was rather hoping I could talk to you."

"To me?"

"Yes, if you would care to dispose of that then we can go down to the cafeteria and I'll call my people to get us something decent to drink."

"Um, yes, ok but I am fine with drinking the stuff here, it's really not a problem."

"You may not mind it but I will not abide by the stuff, I will be ordering something palatable, you choose what you want."

Mrs Hudson was gone a long time, about an hour and a half, and John was worrying about her a great deal. He'd managed to distract himself by reading to Sherlock from the newspaper, keeping him up to date on all the latest murders and any other crimes he thought that the man would be interested in. He'd gotten through the whole newspaper and had just picked up his phone to call Mrs Hudson when the door to the room opened and in walked Mycroft, closely tailed by Mrs Hudson. "Hello Dr Watson."

"Mycroft," John acknowledged with a slight nod of the head before he quickly turned his attention to Mrs Hudson. "Where were you?" he demanded. "I was worried; I thought that Moriarty's men might have got you." The woman smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry John; I was talking with Mycroft in the cafeteria."

"Oh?" he asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Yes," the elder Holmes said taking over from Mrs Hudson. "We were discussing where you would be living when Sherlock got out of hospital, that is assuming you still want to live with him of course."

"Well of course I do!" shouted John suddenly angered by the British government's mannerism. "I'm not the kind of person to abandon my friend simply because he is injured."

"Well I didn't think you were," he replied, ignoring John's outburst.

"And I would appreciate it if you did not talk about him like he's not here, Sherlock is completely conscious." Mycroft nodded and continued.

"An ambulance will be arriving in about two hours to take you and my brother to the private hospital where you and Mrs Hudson will be provided with your own rooms."

"And what about when he's well enough to leave hospital?"

"Well, I have discussed this at length with Mrs Hudson. She has agreed to vacate her flat and move into 221b so that you and Sherlock can live downstairs if you still wish to live in the same place. I shall pay for any ramps or room modifications which need to be made like widened doorways. Also, you will not need to pay the rent anymore, I will pay for that. If you are in need of more financial support then I am more than willing to provide it. I am currently trying to procure communication equipment for my brother but it is proving difficult, I shall let you know when it has been ordered." The doctor simply stared and Mycroft, he had a strong urge to hug him but he restrained himself, it was unlikely that scenario would end well.