A/N: Oh my god, thank you everyone for the reviews! Please tell me what you think! A bit quicker with this one and I hope to keep that up.

Sherlock awoke to the sound of expensive heels on lino and a swish-thump-swish-thump of an umbrella coming down the hall. He sniffed and slowly extracted himself from the bed, his feet touching the floor just as Mycroft slunk into view. His brothers only indication he had seen him at all was the slight raising of his left eyebrow and a dip to his head as he entered the room. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and fixed his older sibling with a glare.

He had no reason to be here.

Mycroft finally looked away from the bed (And the all too obvious evidence of Sherlocks previous position.) and into the eyes of the detective, something strange flashing behind his almost pitying gaze. Sherlock snarled, he didn't want pity and he especially didn't want it from Mycroft.

"You surprise me Sherlock." He didn't reply, he just turned to face the bed, dropping himself into the bedside chair.

His brother pitied him. He thought Sherlock was pathetic.

"When I heard you were seeing a therapist I...well let's just say I was certain some sort of joke was being played on me."

"What do you want Mycroft?"

He knew what he wanted; he wanted to be left alone with John and for the doctor to be awake so he didn't have to listen to Mycroft's petty concern, so he didn't have to stay here with this hole in his chest.

"What I want Sherlock is to congratulate you. It is a humbling move to admit you need help, something I didn't think you capable of."

"I didn't want to, don't want to."

"Then why go?"

"I promised John."

This time the shock was evident on his brothers' face, mouth forming an o-shape as his eyebrows reached for his hairline. "Oh I see, and you intend to keep this promise?"

Sherlock just tilted his head, his eyes flickering to Johns face and back for a moment. (Ignoring of course how offensive it was his brother was so surprised that he would keep a promise.) It was true, he had promised John and that was why he agreed to go but...it wasn't the reason he stayed in that room and it wasn't the reason he was honest with Barrows.

It was John's face, a single tear streaking down his face and the fear, the fear so alive in his eyes as he tried to rouse Sherlock from his nightmares. He couldn't get the image out of his head, it made his throat stick with acid and his stomach turn and so he had to get better, he had to stop the nightmares.

"Yes, is that such a surprise?"

Mycroft didn't speak he simply smirked and turned to look down at John. "Has he woken yet?"

"No."

"Hmm, he was put on rather heavy pain medication, I suspect he will be out for it for a while... Although it does look like his dressing needs changing. I will call a nurse." Mycroft turned sharply on his heel and glided out of the room. Sherlock blinked, well that was strange. Why was his brother suddenly so concerned with Johns care? That was Sherlocks job. He considered it for a moment and concluded there was probably some sort of initiation John had passed and perhaps that meant Mycroft already considered him family. An odd thought but one that felt good. (Not something he would mention to anyone. Not even John.)

He waited for the sound of his brothers shoes to fade before he reaching for Johns hand, lifting it up into the air to grip his finger tight and feel the weight of Johns own ring digging into his flesh, enough to mark Sherlock skin. It was oddly comforting so he kept their hands joined right up until the nurse bustled into view, dropping his lovers palm and crossing his arms. The nurse didn't even look at him, intent on dealing with the doctors wound. She pulled the sheets back and rolled Johns top up, Mycroft pushing a trolley with a small basin, a cloth and clean dressings on it up beside her. He then took a step away and walked around the bed to Sherlocks side, placing his hand on the top wing of the chair. For one horrifying moment the younger man thought he was going to touch him but the elder Holmes brother simply left his hand there as they watched the nurse peel back the old dressing revealing a mass of purple bruising and a jagged cut, crusted slightly with blood and sewn with thick black stitching.

Sherlock knew John had received stitches both inside and outside the wound and although the appearance of the injury was not a shock (After all he had seen injuries much much worse than that.) it still made his mouth taste bitter and his stomach lurch and so he looked back up to John's face instead. The doctor didn't flinch, his eyelids fluttering as he dreamt, face so relaxed. The nurse wiped his wound carefully, reapplying the soft white pad over the top and taping it firmly to his skin. She packed away her things and glanced up.

"He should wake up soon, the doctor will visit later to talk to you about his condition."

"Thank you Marjorie."

"Mr Holmes." She smiled at him and wheeled her cart out of the door. Mycroft stayed where he was, looking down at John. "I have organised a new guard for you. His name is Johnson."

"I don't want a new guard."

"Well you must have a guard Sherlock, you know that if you don't-"

"You will drug me and keep me locked up in your bloody house. Yes Mycroft, I know."

"Well then, Johnson will be here soon and-"

"I told you I don't want a new guard. I want Becker back."

He sighed and looked down at him; Sherlock leant back in the chair to make eye contact. (Really, his brother did get needlessly protective at the slightest hint of trouble. It was as irritating as it was disconcerting to see concern and worry in his brothers eyes.)

"I have already made it perfectly clear to the commander that I do not want him replaced."

"Sherlock he failed in his duty to protect-"

"I don't care. It's Becker or nobody."

Mycroft seemed to consider it for a moment before letting a long breath out of his nose and pulling out his phone. He dialled the number whilst looking at his brother, holding the phone to his ear as Sherlock glared up at him. "Johnson I regret to inform you that you will not be needed." There was an answering voice barely audible to Sherlock but even from his distance away he could hear the relief in the soldier's voice. He snorted, after all he was well aware what a difficult job it was to protect him, and he always did try his best to make it as...uncomfortable as possible. "Yes I would like to talk to Becker. Thank you."

Sherlock looked back to John; at least he still had some control over his life. He could still make his own decisions, and he could still force them on his brother...and Lestrade it seemed. Only now he saw that the papers were on the side table to his left, unnoticed due to his brother's arrival. Sherlock smirked.

"Commander. My brother wishes you to continue your previous duties...Yes please come to the hospital. Thank you." He hung up and moved away, gliding towards the door. "The commander is on his way. I trust I can leave you alone for a few minutes whilst he travels here only...I am a very busy man." Sherlock didn't reply and Mycroft seemed to take this as agreement because he sniffed, picking his umbrella up from where he had leant it by the door waving a regal hand as he disappeared from view.

"I do not think this is what Mr. Holmes meant when he told me to keep you out of trouble."

"I get in more trouble when my work is kept from me and this is important. Turn left."

Becker sighed and turned his eyes back to the road. He had been remarkably easy to order around since he returned to John's room. They had been there for less than ten minutes when Sherlock had him agreeing to drive to the different locations on his list if Sherlock would let Becker decided whether or not they approached a place based on Sherlocks deductions and his own perception of the threat level. It was an irritating detail but it did mean he was able to at least see the places the car had been, to build up a proper image of the man responsible.

As they drove from place to place he was getting more and more frustrated, they were going to shops and offices again and again and not one of them made a spark in his mind, not one was anything outside of a fucking household chore. That was until the 13th location on the list, another unassuming office block except this one was different. As they pulled up Sherlock groaned, fearing yet another ten minutes sat outside watching ordinary people doing ordinary things when he saw a man.

A man in a tightly fitted black suit with a well turned heel and slick hair just visible under a stiff hat. Sherlock tensed and Becker instantly pulled a gun from his waistband, glancing from the detective to the office windows.

"What is it?"

"That man...that man."

He was frozen in place as the man leant over the desk to talk to the receptionist, gesturing with his hand before nodding his head and turning rigidly, awkward limping as he walked back towards the lifts in the corner, turning just as the doors closed on him, his face hidden from view as his face was leant downwards but Sherlock could see form here that the man had significant damage to his leg and had suffered injuries to his hands as well. He watched the lights; the man was going to the sixth floor.

The man was... it could have been...he wasn't sure and he threaded his hand through his hair before reaching for the door handle.

"Moriarty."

Becker frowned as Sherlock jumped from the car and darted across the street, the commander catching up to him easily as they both attempted to appear less desperate (Or in Beckers case, confused.) by walking slower and putting their hands into their pockets. The receptionist glanced up and smiled widely at Becker, flicking her hair and licking her lips.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, my friend here is lost mind helping him out?"

Becker opened his mouth to argue but Sherlock was already heading for the stairs, leaving the blushing commander to stammer out that he was trying to find Waterloo tube station as the receptionist rounded on him from behind the desk.

He pounded up the stairs, barging past men and woman who barely gave him a glance, continuing with drinking their coffee and talking amongst themselves as though a six foot detective wasn't bearing down on them from the stairs below. The floors seem to pass by too slowly and he watched the numbers grow and grow his heart pounding in his chest as it tightened and he tried to breathe, tried to think about breathing but his legs were on autopilot and his mind couldn't concentrate on anything but the ticking clock in his head.

He finally made it to the sixth floor, his head swimming. He hadn't eaten in a while and his blood sugar was likely to be low. A cold sweat broke out on his face and Sherlock wiped his hand across his cheek and swore. He knew what would happen but he couldn't stop, he couldn't let him get away.

Sherlock cursed his mortal body but pushed on, his eyes searching and searching for the man but as he sprinted through offices and whirled around corners his vision began to wobble and his head began to hurt and he knew it was going to happen but he was at the end of a corridor and the man was there and so he pushed harder trying to force himself to run faster before he passed out but the man was too far away and not matter how hard he pushed he couldn't run any faster and the rising pressure in his head was too much and the world went black.

He opened his eyes, his throbbing head and cursed. The small group of office workers now grouped around him on the floor simply sniffed, looking bored. "Sir, you shouldn't be up here."

A particularly snooty man in a tight grey short sleeved shirt, white pants and pointed grey shoes leant down towards him. He sniffed and made a disgusted face as thought Sherlock stank. "Didn't you hear me? We don't have any money to give you so this fainting lady impression won't work."

Sherlock frowned and propped himself up on his elbows so his face was very close to the other mans. He just stared back blithely and the detective glanced back down the corridor. "Who was that man?"

"What man?"

"At the end of the corridor, the one with the limp."

The man rolled his eyes and got up, flicking imagined dirt from his starched shirt shoulder. "I don't know who you are talking about."

The other people snorted and walked away from him, just as Becker skidded into view jogging over to where the detective lay seething and quickly sliding his gun back into its holster whilst simultaneously batting Sherlocks hand away from his ankle knife. He waved a hand at the people, one of them pointing to his gun. "Is he yours?"

"Yes, if you will excuse us."

Becker bent down and bodily lifted Sherlock from the floor, the detective murmuring into his ear, his fingers tight on Becker's bicep as the commander stopped him from dashing back down the corridor. "What are you doing! Go after him!"

"No. Its better we leave now and come back when you've had something to eat."

"He will be gone."

It seemed that the solider simply didn't understand what was at stake.

"Did he see you?"

"No."

"Then he won't know we were here."

"Those people will tell him."

Becker shook his head and began to half walk half drag Sherlock to the stairs. The detective tried to fight him but his head was still thumping and his legs felt weak so instead he just clung to the man until they reached the empty stairwell. "Listen to me, I know those people. I have met enough of them in my line of work to know that they probably wouldn't even think to mention it if you had dropped dead in the middle of the floor."

Sherlock groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "You had better hope so."

Becker sighed and turned on the spot, checking their points of exit before turning back to give the detective a once over. "When did you last eat?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. He couldn't remember.

Becker had taken him back to Baker Street, rifling through their kitchen as Sherlock showered and changed. The detective found the commander peering into one of his specimen jars, tapping the side and watching the yellow liquid inside slosh back and forth, jiggling the dog foetus inside. He seemed fascinated and Sherlock considered for a moment whether John was pleased that now found his various experiments and collections 'normal' or whether it was unnerving to him. Ah yes, John.

"Are you taking me back to John now?"

"Ah no, I thought we should make sure you get something to eat first."

Ah it seemed the 'feed Sherlock' baton had been passed on again. "Fine."

The commander placed the jar on the counter and smiled gesturing for Sherlock to lead him out. He just wanted to go back to the office and find that man and know. The commander chose a burger bar a few streets away from the flat, ordering for the detective as Sherlock didn't even look up from his phone.

He was checking for texts from John.

He knew the doctor was probably still sleeping but the hole in his stomach didn't seem to be going away and he was beginning to get desperate.

The burger stuck in his throat and he swallowed hard, glancing up to see Becker take an enormous bite chewing with an almost orgasmic roll of his eyes. He seemed to swallow the entire meal within mere minutes and sat staring out across the brightly lit bar with a wistful expression. Sherlock forced down his own burger, nibbling at the chips in the full knowledge that he would not be allowed to leave until he had finished it all. (It was after all, standard protocol.)

"Your partner is back."

Becker swivelled his head back, his eyes wide and Sherlock smirked. "How did you know that?"

"Your hair commander."

"What about it?"

"You are using product."

"So..."

"You wouldn't think to buy it for yourself, but your partner, she would."

Becker's eyebrow twitched and he grinned, glancing to the left before making eye contact. "Danny just came back from a long...long work placement."

Sherlock merely hummed, he didn't really care. As long as he was right, that was all that mattered (Of course he knew there was something he was missing, but there always was.)

The commander waited in the hospital lobby to talk to the men guarding John as Sherlock powered onwards, his energy returning after finally having eaten. He moved swiftly around other patients and visitors and doctors, side stepping and spinning to avoid running straight into them and once again turning into John's corridor he heard a familiar voice. A voice that sent a spark right down his spine and he broke into a breakneck run, flying down the cold lino hall and bursting into the room.

His veins thrummed with energy and his heart was so loud it almost drowned all other noise. All but his own voice as he all but shouted in sheer excitement. "John!"

The doctor turned to face him and it was almost in slow motion, the smooth pale skin of his neck pulled taut and then relaxing as he turned his head, tongue darting out and slowly sweeping across velvet lips, lips that pulled back into a gentle wide smile and his eyes, his eyes in a slow blink of fluttering soft lashes brushing across his cheeks before revealing his bright brown eyes, laughter lines crinkling as he smiled.

"Sherlock."

The detectives stomach dropped an he rushed across the room, reaching for John as the doctor mirrored him almost desperately and he grasped his lovers palm between his hands, squeezing tight enough to bruise his own skin with Johns ring and he felt his legs go from under him as he collapsed into the chair. John was here and John was awake. He was still smiling, still incandescent and glowing and beautiful.

He was still John.

In his excitement he hadn't noticed the other man in the room, John's glance to the doorway finally dragging Sherlock's eyes from his lover's face. Mycroft was sneering, a thump of his umbrella on the floor and he sniffed adopting a slightly concerned look.(It appeared his single mindedness when it came to John was more powerful than he thought and in that moment he couldn't have told you the colour of the curtains let alone that Mycroft was also in the room.)

"Where have you been Sherlock?"

"I was at the flat, taking a shower."

"For all this time?"

"Yes."

"Oh, really. So you weren't driving halfway across London following a list of locations where your attacker had been too in the hopes of confronting that very same man?"

Sherlock froze and glanced at John who was frowning now, his eyebrows knotted in disappointment.

"No."

"You are a terrible liar little brother."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn't miss John using his other hand to wipe over his face as he shook his head. He had the look of a man who had seen this too many times before.

"Really Sherlock, why can't you settle down like Mycroft? Get a normal Job."

His head snapped back up and he looked into the far corner by the window, at the location of the new voice, utterly surprised to see Mummy perched on a plastic chair making it look to all the world her very own throne, purple daubed blue dress that covered her like layers of cobwebs and a floppy hat dipping down over her severe makeup she lifted her chin regally and gestured towards John with a elegant finger.

"After all, look what your silly games have done to dear John."

He felt his cheeks flush but John squeezed his hand and suddenly he didn't feel so bad about it. (Although he found himself sitting up straighter now his mothers' presence was known.) "John doesn't mind, do you?"

John smiled pleasantly at Mummy and shook his head. "No, not at all." Good man.

Sherlock watched his mother carefully and something flashed in her eyes before she rose to her feet, hovering across the floor to place a ghostly hand on Mycrofts shoulder. "Come along Mycroft dear, as a newly engaged couple I am sure John and Sherlock would enjoy some time alone."

Mycroft nodded and thumped his umbrella one more time, raising a hand to duck his head slightly at John. "Doctor. Sherlock."

The detective waited for his family to leave before he let go of Johns hand and began untying his shoes.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't answer he just removed his jacket and trotted around to the other side of the bed, lifting the covers as John shuffled over. Once in the sheets he reached down again to clasp Johns' hand and lay back against the pillows, keeping his eyes fixed to Johns face and his lips and his eyes as thought he would puff out of existence if the detective so much as blinked and he smiled. Finally, he was back where he belonged and John was awake.

He was squeezing back and leaning towards him slightly and finally, finally the hole in his stomach seemed to lessen, knots untying themselves as the pain in his chest weakened. John was still smiling at him and he leant forwards the detective instantly coming to meet his lips in a surprisingly chaste kiss before John pulled away and titled his head, his stiff movement betraying the pain he was still in.

"Have you eaten?"