"Carter, I need you to go and page Dr Wainwright, now," said John forcefully.
"John, what's wrong with me?" Asked Sherlock fearfully.
"I'm not sure, but we'll work it out," replied John, trying to stay calm for Sherlock's sake. He started to stroke a hand through Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock grabbed his wrist.
"My head hurts John. Everything is too loud," he whispered. John immediately noted that Sherlock was slurring his words, seemingly unable to wrap his tongue around the simple words. Mark appeared next to Sherlock's bed, and glanced at John.
"What's up?" He asked. Sherlock tensed up, eyes rolling back as his spine arched, all coherent speech lost as his body seized.
"Shit. Carter!" Called Mark urgently. He tipped Sherlock into the recovery position, and glanced at Carter as he appeared.
"Lorazepam, now!" He ordered.
"We can't keep dosing him up on Lorazepam Mark," said John, concerned.
"I know. As soon as he's dosed up, I'll take him up for an MRI. Best to do it while he's out," said Mark. Carter reappeared, and immediately injected Sherlock with the medication.
"I'll call Mycroft, see if I can get him to come in. We need to talk about a way to manage this," said John as the seizure started to ease.
"Sounds good. We'll return Sherlock to the fourth floor when we're done. Carter, you right to come with us?" Asked Mark.
"Mycroft is paying for me to be Sherlock's nurse while he's here, so sure, I'm all yours," grinned Carter.
"We'll see you upstairs."
"What do you mean 'there's nothing on the scans'?" Demanded John.
"Just that. There's minor swelling from the concussion, but there's nothing otherwise to indicate the current seizure activity," said Mark. They'd returned to the family room to discuss Sherlock's ever changing condition and treatment options.
"God. This is crazy," muttered John.
"Believe me, I understand. For now, this is what we're looking at. Hannah, do you want to start first?" Asked Christian.
"Sure. John, Mycroft, it's not good news I'm afraid. Sherlock's pancreas isn't producing insulin anymore. He's going to need insulin shots every day, and learn how to recognise the signs of a hypo," started Hannah. Mycroft looked gobsmacked.
"You're saying Dr Parker, that my brother is a diabetic?" He asked.
"Yes Mycroft. It's easily managed, and especially so considering he's got John with him, but it's a bit of a shock. We've still got labs running, but so far, this is what the labs are all pointing to," said Hannah, looking almost apologetic.
"It's not a death sentence Mycroft. He can learn to manage it," said John quietly.
"John is quite right Mycroft. He'll be okay," assured Christian.
"In the realms of orthopaedics, Sherlock's last surgery went really well. His healing time will be a little longer than normal, but that's to be expected in a diabetic. The wire frame that's holding his leg together will be taken off after it's started to heal, and we'll reassess the break then. It may require internal pinning, but right now, we'll take it as it comes," reported Tim.
"Last but not least, Mark. What are we looking at for Sherlock?" Asked Christian. Mark sighed, templing his fingers in front of him.
"There's no reason for him to be having seizures; his blood sugar levels are within normal parameters, there is no evidence of TBI or raised intracranial pressure. To be honest, I've got the whole neuro department looking at this, and we're just as stumped. By all theories, Sherlock should not be experiencing these tonic-clonic seizures," said Mark.
"Yet here we are, dosing him up on Lorazepam every few hours when he starts seizing," said John, looking down at his hands.
"He's still having seizures?" Asked Mycroft, his usual fancy airs lost as his tone became concerned.
"Frequently," replied John.
"We're going to start him on some new medication, and see what we can do to ease up the frequency and intensity," decided Mark.
"Can't you just give him something to stop them?" Asked Mycroft.
"Not without destroying his liver and kidneys, or reawakening the drug habit that he's had previously. We're handling this as per protocol for standard seizures, and this means we have to toy around with different medications until we find a balance that works for him. He may still have seizures Mycroft, but with medication we can reduce the frequency and intensity, allowing him to live a normal life," answered Mark.
"I want to see him," demanded Mycroft.
"We'll go there in a moment," said Hannah diplomatically.
"Right now, we need to make some decisions," said Christian.
"Like what?" Asked Mycroft.
"Who will be the primary carer for Sherlock?" Responded Christian.
"I will, of course," responded Mycroft. John stared at him, open-mouthed.
"What?"
"I will. He is my brother, my flesh and blood. Mummy would be most upset if she found out I wasn't looking after him, and you're not even family," answered Mycroft, finality in his tone. John looked at the table, throat thick and tight.
You're not even family.
"Maybe you're right. Excuse me," whispered John, fighting back tears. He stood up and walked out of the family room, leaving Mycroft and the four doctors behind. He got in the lift and didn't look back.
Maybe Mycroft was best.
Mycroft sat next to Sherlock's bed, his analytical mind looking over his younger brother, assessing him.
"John?" Whispered Sherlock, stretching a hand out.
"No, it's My. What do you need?" He asked, moving to the edge of his seat.
"John. I need John," responded Sherlock huffily, crossing his arms as best he could.
"You don't need John, you want John. They're entirely different," responded Mycroft. Sherlock peeked at his brother.
"What did you do?" Asked Sherlock haughtily.
"Nothing. John left on his own accord…"
"You pulled out the flesh and blood card again! Christ, I love that man My, and you're pushing him away," scorned Sherlock.
"I'm not pushing him away Sherlock, he left! He did not have to leave!" Exclaimed Mycroft. Carter chose that moment to walk in, armed with medications. He took no notice of the arguing siblings, instead pulling over a bed table.
"Right. Sherlock, we've got some new medication to start you on, and you've got dinner coming in half an hour as well. We've got to keep an eye on your blood sugar level, and start managing your diabetes," said Carter cheerily.
"My what?!" Asked Sherlock. Carter looked up at him.
"Mycroft didn't tell you?" Asked Carter, paling slightly.
"No, I though Dr Parker would inform him," responded Mycroft through gritted teeth.
"John's the one who asked if he could tell Sherlock diagnoses and treatment plans. I assumed that you would take over responsibilities as Sherlock's primary carer," explained Carter.
"What on earth haven't you people told me yet?" Demanded Sherlock.
"It's okay Sherlock, I'll get Dr Shaw to come in and explain what's going on," said Carter, heading for the door.
"I want John. Bring John back!"
John sat on the sofa in 221B, beer bottle in hand.
He should have known that it was too good to be true.
He loved Sherlock, enough to know it hurt being away from him. Alcohol would numb the pain, at least for a little while. He'd already sent Mrs Hudson scurrying back down the stairs on his return home, uninterested in talking to the landlady. He took another swig of the brew just as his phone vibrated on the coffee table.
Mycroft is here, and you're not. Molly wants to know if you're okay – GL
John ignored the message. He was cold, tired and hungry, and no longer interested.
Mycroft was right.
He wasn't family. He wasn't even related to the Holmes family, but he felt like he was accepted into the unit. It hurt to have Mycroft decide that he was incapable of caring for the man he loved, to decide that he could no longer be there. It felt like a 180-degree turn from what Mycroft had expressed earlier at having John look after Sherlock.
He mentioned Mummy this time around. Maybe he'd spoken to her…
"Mycroft, I want to speak to Sherlock," demanded John. He hadn't even realised he was calling the elder Holmes brother until his phone was in his hand, ringing.
"He doesn't want to speak to you," replied Mycroft tightly. John felt his heart tighten in his chest.
"Oh. I didn't realise it was like that," said John, heart falling through his stomach.
"He said it was a mistake," added Mycroft.
"What was?"
"Sleeping with you."