DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK
_ Sherlock shook John awake. The former army doctor jerked upward with a gasp and a right hook. Sherlock leant away from the hook easily and then sat down beside his friend.
"Sherlock?" John asked obviously, then glanced at his clock, "It's three in the morning? What is it?" Sherlock didn't answer as he knew John would pose the proper question next.
"You found out where he is for sure?" John asked and then began tugging the sheet off and swinging his legs down the other side of the bed. Sherlock still had not moved.
"Sherlock?" John asked his voice more confused now. He came and sat next to Sherlock. There was silence for a few seconds.
"I know where he is for sure," Sherlock said, "But…" he paused so that the sentiment that was choking him would not spill from his eyes.
"But he may not be alive when I get there," Sherlock managed to finish with only a hint of tears in his voice.
"You don't know that for sure…" John began. Sherlock silenced him with one look.
"You saw the videos John," he said in a slightly condescending tone, "You saw his condition at the end. He…he can't survive that. The fact that he was still moving at the end of it surprised even me. He…He was never able to sustain much physical activity for long. It is just not in him John. The fact that his body and mind is bearing up under so much strain…" At the last word Sherlock gulped for air, "All because of me." And those last ones were whispered. His vision blurred and hot tears streaked his cheeks.
He reached up to wipe them away violently. John grabbed his hands and held them still. Sherlock thought about pulling back but decided to hell with Mycroft's years of training him to be stone. He leaned forward to rest his head against John's chest. The solid, steady thumping of John's heart was soothing.
"It's not your fault Sherlock," John said.
"It is my fault," Sherlock countered, "He is suffering because of me."
"Look I am not saying he isn't," John said, "But it is not your fault. He cares for you, Sherlock. He is willing to place himself in harm's way to protect you. Even if it isn't a real you. It's nobody fault but that bastard that put him in that situation. So are you going to sit here and blame yourself or are you going to manhandle Lestrade into searching for you brother?"
Sherlock looked up at John. He expected the army doctor to be wearing a frown on his face but instead John had the most caring, gentle look. Sherlock thanked fate, luck, and God for sending him John Watson even if he didn't believe in either of them.
"Now where is he?" John asked.
A half hour later Sherlock and John was standing in Letrade's office.
"Are you sure this time?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Yes I am sure. I gave you more specific directions this time didn't I? And I gave them to you before we set off off. So would you please get a move on? This one is most surely your division," even as he said the words Sherlock felt the pang of loss course through him. But he could not deny it. Mycroft was most likely dead. For the first time in years he hated the fact that he needed data to solve a case. The last bit of data that he was sent was enough to solve the case but too much for him to handle. To see Mycroft burn himself, cut himself, crawl over broken glass and be seared with hot irons all in a false attempt to save a hallucination of Sherlock had hurt the consulting detective far more than he wanted it too.
Lestrade sighed and made the call. He glared at Sherlock.
"This better not be a waste of time again Sherlock," He said, "and I really hope that this is not my division." Sherlock said nothing as he moved behind Lestrade with John in tow.
An hour later they were at the group of buildings that Sherlock deduced. He felt an unusual dread steal over him. He didn't want to go down and find his dead brother.
"Stay here this time," Lestrade said, "I don't want you advising my men over their shoulders again."
"They needed it," Sherlock countered but stayed, secretly glad at the Detective Inspector's directive. John stood next to him.
"They'll find him," he said.
"I know," Sherlock said, "I told them he was here." They lapsed into silence as the officers split up and began their searching.
"Want to bet on which building it is?" Sherlock said just to say something.
"Really Sherlock?" John exclaimed, "Betting on your brother? Middle one."
Sherlock smiled a little. John could never resist a bet. And besides it gave him something to do before his nerves jumped out of his skin. Not like that would even happen but it just felt like it.
"So obvious that you would choose that one," Sherlock smirked despite the pounding of his heart, "It's the one to the far left." Just then, the officers from the other buildings ran out and entered the one on the far left. The world lurched wildly for a second and then everything stood out in extreme clarity. It was that moment before he was proved right. A few tense minutes later Lestrade came out of the building and nodded to Sherlock.
"See I told you," Sherlock said with a voice that didn't sound like him own, "I was right." He turned away and felt himself leaning dangerously to one side. John caught him and held him against his chest.
"Sherlock," he said. The word conveyed worry, concern and condolences.
"I was right," Sherlock muttered, "Mycroft is…"
"He's alive," Lestrade's voice broke in. Sherlock spun to look at the Detective Inspector.
"What?" he asked, his voice sounding thick and choked.
"He's alive," Lestrade said. And before Sherlock knew what he was doing, he was running towards the building.