A/N.: Go on enjoy!

Chapter 7

Sherlock woke to the soft steady beeping of a machine right next to his head. The first thing he saw was John, slumped in a chair next to him. He looked positively exhausted, his facial expression set in a mixture between sorrow and annoyance. Sherlock knew that expression, John usually had it around him.

Twenty two year old Sherlock Holmes was back in the hospital. Whispered warnings had travelled through the building, passed down from doctor to nurse, from nurse to security guard; the young Holmes was not an easy patient. Sherlock insulted everyone who dared enter his room within minutes if he was lucid. The nurses avoided his room since the incident with the thrown thermometer.

The young man wouldn't admit it but he felt lonely. Mycroft hadn't appeared at his bedside as he had in the past. He hadn't even tried to reach him. The worst thing however was that Sherlock couldn't blame his brother. The small voice in the one corner of his mind that was untouched by his drug habit continued to tell him that he, Sherlock, had pushed Mycroft away. The voice was one of the reasons Sherlock wouldn't stop using drugs; they made it go away.

The door to his room opened and Sherlock felt the familiar itch to throw something; he really didn't want another stranger around him. Especially since thinking about Mycroft always left him feeling vulnerable.

"Good evening!" A young intern entered the room and smiled at his patient.

Sherlock observed him, saw the bags under the eyes, the tousled hair, the bad composure, the tiny scratch on his face and the photo of a gorgeous young woman in his pocket. He assumed she was gorgeous, he could only see the top left corner of the picture. "Haven't slept much since your girlfriend left you?"

Miraculously the intern didn't seem offended. "They told me you'd do that." He fished a medicine box from his pocket and put it on Sherlock's nightstand. "Take one of those, every four hours."

"She left you for your best friend. Can't feel too nice." Sherlock carefully observed the intern who'd nearly been through the door. Strangely enough he felt an urge to make him angry; mainly because it seemed difficult. All the other doctors and nurses had eagerly left his room after a single sentence.

The intern stared back and it unnerved Sherlock that he still seemed genuinely friendly. "Okay." He closed the door and sat down. "How?"

No one had asked that for a long time. Mycroft had always asked. He'd been the only one who was interested in Sherlock's abilities. The young man shivered and pushed the memory of his brother far, far away. "That picture, it is apparent that you value it and that she is important to you. That wouldn't be the case if you broke up with her. It is not difficult to deduce your lack of sleeping, everyone could do that. She slapped you; the cut on your cheek has been inflicted by a ring on her finger. Index finger to be precise, you were neither engaged nor married. You seem to be a friendly person, and if she left you there would be no need for her to slap you, at least if you didn't do anything. However you might have said something in spite, because you were hurt. Now, I figure she might have hit you if you confronted her with something she isn't happy about. Cheating on you with your best friend might just do that. It's a defense mechanism, really, we all do it. I don't see why, but apparently people grow more defensive if they know that what they did was wrong." The voice was back again asking maliciously why Sherlock automatically pushed every thought about his brother away. Sherlock ignored the voice.

The intern nodded slowly. "How would you know it was my best friend?"

Sherlock gestured to the phone that was clearly visibly in the doctors coat pocket. "You called a certain Paul sixteen times last night and he never picked up. Of course you could have called any friend of yours to whine, as people enjoy doing, but you started calling at 3pm. You're too considerate to wake up a friend."

The intern eyed Sherlock with mild interest. "Wow."

Sherlock felt himself blush and hated it. "It is not that impressive."

"Oh it is." The intern was grinning. "Not the deduction. No, I am an open person and it is easy to read me. But I haven't heard someone talk that quickly. Honestly, how do you keep yourself from swallowing your tongue?"

Sherlock felt oddly pleased at having as much of a normal conversation as it was possible for him. The intern's beeper, well, beeped and he waved at Sherlock before exiting the room.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock slowly turned around and raised his eyebrows: "What are you doing here? Has the world caught a break and you don't have to save it?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sat down. "How do you think the nation survived before me? "

The two brothers looked at each other.

"How's the diet?"

Mycroft registered the neutral tone. "Fine."

Neither man realized that John had woken up. The doctor felt the tension between the two brothers and left the room immediately; not even the encounters between Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes had made him that uncomfortable. No one seemed to notice him leaving.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Did you manage to destroy Moriarty's web?"

Sherlock nodded. He tried to sit up but a coughing fit disrupted his efforts.

Mycroft watched his little brother. He looked exhausted, pale and was nothing more than skin and bones. "How did you get shot?"

Sherlock's cheeks colored slightly. "I might have walked into an ambush."

"You are an idiot, Sherlock!"

"Yes and you are so much more intelligent, Mr. I-have-to-dramatically-kidnapp-John-Watson-when-I-want-to-know-something-about-my-brother!" Sherlock grinned and Mycroft remembered the times when friendly banter was a common occurrence for them.

"Why did you come? You hate hospitals." Sherlock sank back into his pillows.

Mycroft knew what his brother talked about. How he had never sat foot into a hospital room again after his fight with Sherlock, Barts morgue being the only exception. "I was told you may die."

"So? People die every day."

John stood outside the door and shamelessly listened in. He felt like banging his head against the door, apparently communicating was either extremely subtle between two Holmes or it was simply impossible.

"Sherlock, try to behave like a grown up for once!"

Sherlock resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Mycroft. Instead he went with the mature action of crossing his arms and huffing.

"You never told me why you stopped taking drugs." Mycroft sounded genuinely interested.

"A young intern convinced me that there were things worth living for," Sherlock turned to where John was supposed to be and frowned. "Where is he?"

"John reminds you of said intern?"

"Yes. Now, where is he? What have you done?" Sherlock was in the process of pulling his infusion hoses out; Mycroft had to stop him.

"Stop doing that Sherlock! I'm sure John is fine, I don't know where he went."

Sherlock eyed Mycroft skeptically. "The day John moved in was the last day I took anything."

Mycroft nodded shortly and got up. "Are you going to move back to Bakerstreet now?"

"I think so."

"I will visit you for tea then." Mycroft picked his umbrella up and made his way to the door. Halfway there he turned around, walked back and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder.

John might have missed that gesture had he not being peering through the keyhole. He smiled. Maybe there was hope left for the two brothers.

A/N.: So guys… Bad news first? I decided that this is the final chapter. I understand that you want a few more chapters about the boys, and I might even write them, but if so then in a separate story. I mean, one's supposed to finish when it is still good, right?

Thank you so much for staying with me during the story! It was my very first Sherlock Fanfiction and you have no idea how much your reviews helped, motivated and inspired me! Thank you all!