John hung up, letting the phone drop to the floor.
"He said it was a mistake. Sleeping with you."
He glanced outside, the dreary London weather especially depressing, echoing the turmoil within John's heart. A roll of thunder, then lightning lit up the sky momentarily.
Time for a walk.
He didn't bother with the customary umbrella, and left his phone on the floor. He needed to wash away the hurt, and he didn't care how. He locked the door, walked downstairs, and into the cold, wet night.
"I want John."
"I've told you that he's not coming."
"Why on earth not?" Mycroft sighed wearily.
"Because I don't think he's the best thing for you right now," replied Mycroft through gritted teeth.
"You don't get to decide what's best for me My. I want John," replied Sherlock sullenly.
"You can't," retorted Mycroft, glancing down at his book. Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head as his body tensed, a seizure taking hold.
"Sherlock, this isn't the time for your games," said Mycroft, not looking up. Alarms sounded as Sherlock's heart rate shot up, and Carter ran into the room.
"Christian!" Called Carter, pushing the code button on the wall. Christian sprinted in, and helped Carter roll Sherlock on his side. Mycroft moved out of the way, dropping his book on the floor.
"I thought the medication would fix the seizures," said Mycroft.
"It will Mycroft, it just takes time before it reaches full effectiveness," said Christian. Carter was concentrating on the clock, counting the seconds as Sherlock continued seizing.
"Why aren't you doing anything?" Demanded Mycroft.
"We can't. He's had too much Lorazepam and sedation, and we're trying to wean his body off it. If it goes longer than five minutes, we'll intervene," said Christian. At four and a half minutes, Sherlock's body started to relax, the tremors slowing until they were non-existent. Carter made a note on Sherlock's chart, then grabbed an oxygen mask off the wall, slipping it over Sherlock's mouth and nose.
"I… I had no idea that it would be so… terrifying," remarked Mycroft, looking visibly shaken.
"It's your first tonic-clonic seizure without John," replied Christian.
"I had no idea what it was really like," responded Mycroft.
"It'll be like this every time. Are you sure you're ready to be a full time carer?" Asked Christian. Mycroft shook his head.
"Now I'm not so sure."
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
Mycroft said it was a mistake.
John trudged through the freezing rain, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched. A car drove past, drenching him further with the icy spray. He huddled further into himself, no longer caring. A second car drove past, stopped, and reversed back to him. Greg Lestrade climbed out.
"Christ John, you're soaked. What are you doing out here?" Asked Greg. John attempted to answer him, his teeth chattering hard.
"Sh-sh-sher-sherlock…" he tried. He started shivering violently, and Greg made a decision for him.
"Get in the back. I'm taking you back to St Bart's," said Greg. John shook his head.
"N-n-n-no," chattered John.
"I don't know how else to warm you up John. You're starting to turn blue," worried Lestrade. John nodded, and allowed Lestrade to bundle him into the back of the car. He stopped shivering, and laid down on the back seat, curling up into the foetal position.
"I'm calling Mycroft, letting him know where you are. Did you even let Sherlock know you were gone?" Asked Lestrade, pulling away from the curb. John didn't replied, instead starting to sob, curling up tighter.
"Christ," muttered Lestrade, concerned. He pulled into the parking lot at St Bart's, and opened the door to pull John out. John tried to stand, his legs numb. Greg pulled John's arm over his shoulder, and helped him stumble inside the doors. John still had tears streaming down his face, and Greg was worried about some kind of emotional breakdown.
"John, who was the trauma doctor looking after Sherlock when he first came in?" Asked Lestrade, still supporting John's weight.
"Sh-sh-shaw," mumbled John.
"I need Doctor Shaw paged here immediately," demanded Greg. Nurses at the desk acquiesced, and in seconds, Greg found Doctor Christian Shaw standing in front of him.
"God, John, what's going on?" Asked Christian. John mumbled an inaudible answer, before collapsing on the floor, taking Greg with him.
"I need help here!" Called Christian. He disentangled Greg from John's cold limbs, and two nurses helped Christian lift John onto a gurney.
"Cut these clothes off. Julie, I want blankets and towels, we need to get him warm and dry. Anna, go up to the fourth floor, room 401. Mycroft Holmes should be up there; bring him down immediately," ordered Christian.
"What can I do?" Asked Greg.
"You've done so much already. Bringing him here was the best thing you could have done in this situation," said Christian warmly.
"Will he be okay?" Asked Greg.
"He'll be okay. Give him time, we'll get him warmed up again," said Christian. Greg nodded, and headed for the door, desperate to see Molly and revel in her warmth, remind him of their love for each other. Christian watched the police officer leave, and glanced up as Anna returned, Mycroft in tow.
"What's going on?" Asked Mycroft.
"When you decided to lie to John Watson about Sherlock, when you decided to become the primary carer instead of John, you broke a man. I tried to warn you this would happen Mycroft, and you refused to listen, as per usual. You need to see what consequences your personal actions have Mycroft," retorted Christian angrily.
"You're a doctor. You don't get to have an opinion in matters like these!" Exclaimed Mycroft.
"I do when they affect my friends Mycroft! John had never opened his heart to someone else before Sherlock; he'd experienced enough trauma and pain in Afghanistan for him to decide that he was too broken to maintain a positive relationship," answered Christian.
"Then he met Sherlock…"
"A man more broken than he. You may not like the fact that Sherlock is gay, or the fact that John Watson is his chosen partner, but you have to admit, they are perfect for each other. You've been able to focus more on your work rather than devoting resources to watching his every move. John has the expertise, experience and knowledge to be your brother's primary carer; you don't, and you know it Mycroft Holmes," responded Christian.
"But he's gay!" Exclaimed Mycroft half-heartedly.
"You haven't cared for him any less without that knowledge; why does that change things now?"
"What happened? Why is John unconscious? My?" Asked Sherlock as the unlikely procession came into the room. John was wheeled to the other side of Sherlock's small room, and immediately attached to monitors and oxygen, still swathed in layers of blankets.
"I've made a terrible mistake Sherlock," started Mycroft.
"You wanker, what on earth did you do to John?" Demanded Sherlock.
"I sent him away because I thought I was doing what was best for you! You never showed any inclination toward the same gender before, and I had no idea you preferred it. I found out that you were gay Sherlock, and I thought that John was pushing it onto you somehow, making you something you're not," said Mycroft hurriedly.
"What did you say to him?" Asked Sherlock, eyes blazing.
"I may have told him that you said sleeping with him was a mistake," mumbled Mycroft.
"You're a daft arse, you know that? Christ Mycroft, I could bloody well kill you right now! I love that man, and you go and tell him to sod off? Get out," demanded Sherlock.
"What?"
"Get out, now! You're no brother of mine, not until you can apologise to John for what you've done. Go!" Mycroft turned tail and fled, and Sherlock rolled awkwardly onto his side so he could see John.
"It's okay now John. You're back with me. It's okay," he murmured.
"There are still signs of alcohol in his blood; too much for my liking. We don't know how long he was out there, but judging by his temperature, I'd say around four, maybe five hours," said Christian, filling Sherlock in.
"Will he be okay?" Asked Sherlock softly.
"He'll be fine. We're observing him at the moment, and trying to get him warmed back up. We didn't realise how bad it was until we took his temperature," answered Christian.
"Will he die?"
"Not if I can help it. We're giving him the best care Sherlock, and I thought it would help you to have him up here where you can see him, see he's okay for yourself," answered Christian.
"Thank you," whispered Sherlock.
"You need to get some rest Sherlock. We'll look after John for you," said Christian quietly. Sherlock nodded, and continued watching John, matching his breaths to his. His own breathing started to even out, and his eyelids fluttered, on the brink of sleep…
"He's crashing!"