Chapter Two
The Parents and Watson Siblings
"Your brother is a right pompous git!" a scratchy voice commented from behind the curtain. There was a faint grunt and then it rattled open. Sherlock got his first look at his roommate and his brain immediately began processing what his eyes saw:
Shakiness, sweating (caused by a mild fever) and rapid blinking (indicative of a headache) all signs of alcohol withdrawal
Broken knuckles, bruised cheekbone and red lines around the wrists (from handcuffs) definitely a provoked response (rather than an ordinary alcohol induced fight)
"Sherlock, right?"
"Yes and you are?"
"Harry!" a man greeted from their doorway. Sherlock noted their similar facial bone structure and decided uncertainly that they were siblings. He was thrown by more obvious differences; Harry's hair was long and thin, like her physical appearance and coloured black; compared to this mans sandy brown, slightly fluffy and very short hair and shorter, bulkier frame.
"Try not annoy your roommate," their guest said quietly. Sherlock ascertained from his posture he was a soldier, a crutch spoke of a recent injury almost certainly from active service.
"I was just introducing myself John," Harry answered with a huff.
At that point a young and fresh-faced doctor arrived,
"Ah you must be here for Harriet?"
"Harry if you please doctor?" she requested firmly,
"My apologies, Harry,"
"I'm her brother Doctor John Watson; can you tell me who Harry has been fighting with this time?"
"WHO said I was fighting?" the angry and sudden shout from the near-by bed made Sherlock flinch and look away from where he had been curiously watching. He was unused to such venom and the shock disrupted his usual elation at being correct. The two doctors didn't react at all.
"You drank enough to need your stomach pumped and you've got a broken cheek bone and broken knuckles; we've been here before," John answered calmly,
"Very good deduction skills," Sherlock praised without looking up then he added his own conclusions,
"Judging from the angle of bruising to the left cheek someone left-handed and over six feet tall. The fact that this one punch broke the cheekbone indicates someone strong: male. The faded make-up suggests a night out and therefore a suitor or date however the cuff marks signify this fight resulted in Harry's persecution so most likely a nightclub bouncer."
"The kid's right – bastard tried to kick me out so I offered to give him a . . ."
John quickly interrupted,
"That was amazing," John hurriedly praised Sherlock and then waved to the doctor to move inside the room. John limped after him; Sherlock watched his progress with curiosity. When both doctors were by Harry's bedside her brother closed the curtain. Not that it made any difference; Sherlock could still hear what was being said. He thought all this was much less boring than having a private room in some stuffy private place with a smarmy doctor and chirpy nurses.
"Do you have to be so crude?" John kept his voice low but Harry still asked him to be quieter,
"Can it Johnny, I gotta headache anyway kids' old enough to be getting 'em 'imself, you certainly were," Sherlock was uncertain as to what they were referring which annoyed him,
"That's from alcohol withdrawal and he is not an adult yet – doctor why is he in this ward?"
"It was what the boy's brother wanted,"
Listening carefully to the conversation Sherlock attempted to ascertain the different emotions: unsophisticated rudeness from Harry and a strange sort of brotherly domineering from her brother. He was interested because it all seemed very different from how his own brother behaved towards him and maybe he would work out what they had been talking about.
"As you guessed your sister needed her stomach pumped for alcohol abuse and required treatment for a broken cheekbone. She has light bruising around her wrist and a small cut on her face."
Mycroft returned at that point and was surprised to see his aloof brother eagerly listening in to the conversation, not even noticing his arrival.
"I take it when you referred to yourself as doctor you meant . . ." Interest.
"MD, yes I worked for the army for a short time," Mycroft stood in the doorway, listened to the conversation and wondered.
"You haven't been able to convince your sister of the dangers of drinking?" Slightly patronising.
"Haven't been able to convince my sister of anything for a long time," Annoyance or resentment maybe.
"I'm right here," Humour from Harry but why?
"There is a treatment facility not far which I think could really help." Sceptical.
"Unless it's NHS it's really not affordable," John said confidently with slight hints of shame.
"Wouldn't go anyway – I like getting drunk," Childish petulance, which Sherlock easily related too especially since the two doctors continued to speak over her.
"Thank you for looking after my sister doctor," Gratitude but that was obvious from his words.
"I have to go now Harry, I'll be back tomorrow." Regret.
"Where you going?" Confusion.
"I have a job interview in a couple of hours." Hopeful desperation.
"Like any hospital is gonna take on a cripple," hostile words but probably accurate, invocative: the prelude to an argument . . .
"Please don't Harry!" Weary … wait where was the expected angry response?
"Whatever. I'll be outta here and ya hair in a little while." Disinterest now.
"I'll be back soon Harry, please stay here and let the doctor's look after you?" Harry didn't answer and John sighed softly.
Mycroft moved over to his brother's bedside just as Doctor Watson stepped past the curtain. The visiting doctor didn't acknowledge either Holmes brother, just limped quickly out the room.
"Thought you would have gone by now," Sherlock said returning his attention to his brother,
"I said I would return – I worry for you,"
"You mean you worry about what trouble I could get into!"
"That is a consideration but it is not my primary concern brother,"
Sherlock looked at his brother sceptically from under his curly hair but remained silent. Mycroft sat in the chair and waited in silence as his brother slowly fell asleep. When he was sure Sherlock was deeply asleep Mycroft held his hand reassuring himself: that his brother was alive, that he hadn't failed him.
For long hours during that day Sherlock slept and Mycroft watched over him. Occasionally Harry muttered under her breath about being bored, missing Clara but mostly about wanting a drink. Occasionally she would shout; confused about where she was and why she was there. A nurse would quickly arrive to sooth her. After a particular vulgar outburst the irritated Lord had asked for another room but was told none were available. Sherlock may be oh so brilliant but the teen was worryingly naïve. Thankfully he slept through the worst outbursts.
Mycroft phoned his colleagues a few times and received a couple of phone calls from his mother and father as they fretted several thousand feet in the air on their separate journeys home. Sherlock, awake when their mother called for a third time, was able to speak to her. Her worry shamed him in a way his brother's couldn't and he ended up very red-faced by the time he hung up. Aware, as ever, to his brother's struggle with emotions, Mycroft didn't comment and Sherlock soon fell back to sleep.
The family doctor arrived and woke him briefly to examine him. This rather pompous doctor talked to his current doctor and read his patient notes. He was forced rather reluctantly to conclude the care was adequate and staying put really was the best course of action. Sherlock tried to mock him (as he always did) but was unable to concentrate and soon fell back to sleep.
Per the doctors instructions (made with Mycroft's guidance) Sherlock was plied with sedatives as well as strong painkillers. They keep him asleep and malleable and still during the long hours of the night. Mycroft sat with him for the duration – he had been very firm with the staff 'visiting hours did not apply to Lords!' It was one of the few times he had been grateful for his family's peerage.
Come mid morning Sherlock finally woke to a fuzzy head and bleary eyes. From the length of time it took to rouse he knew he had not been given just regular painkillers. When his head cleared enough to take in his brothers smirking face he knew who was behind it.
"Must you always interfere in my life!" he ranted, bashing his good arm against the bed.
"I don't know what you mean, dear brother, please calm yourself father will be here shortly."
"He didn't have to come back,"
"But how could he stay when his youngest boy lay in a hospital with bullet holes and broken bones?"
"You're acting like I intentionally got hurt!"
"Perhaps not intentionally but certainly recklessly,"
Sherlock pouted and stayed silent.
"And you wonder why I treat you like a child," Mycroft scorned, gently stretching as he stood. When Sherlock still didn't say anything Mycroft picked up his briefcase. He had tried to read some important files while watching over his brother but found himself unable to focus.
"I must return these to the office; father will be here in less than an hour I trust you won't need anything in the meantime?" Mycroft's brother merely huffed and the young man shook his head as he left his brother alone … with the exception of his now snoring roommate.
Shortly afterwards rapid pain pounded throughout the fifteen year olds body and he wished suddenly for his brother to come back. He panted through the pain for a couple of minutes and after it had abated he chided himself for acting like a baby. Less than five minutes later though the pain returned and so on for over half an hour at which point he couldn't take it anymore and pressed the call button.
A nurse arrived promptly as the pain hit again and Sherlock found he was unable to focus enough to make his usual observations,
"Something … anything … the pain!" he panted,
"Alright your notes say you can have a little; don't want a young thing like you getting all addicted do we? It will work straight away … there you are then," she rubbed his arm soothingly for the few moments it took the medication to work. As she noted the dosage on his chart the nurse casually asked,
"Where's your big brother gone then?" Sherlock saw classic signs of physical attraction and frowned,
"Back at work,"
"Oh but he was here all night – seems to me it's rare to find such devotion in siblings." She replied smitten,
"Yes well . . ." Sherlock was interrupted from whatever disparaging remarks he might have made as his father was led into the room by a very senior member of the hospital management. The nurse fled,
"As you can see Lord Holmes we have been taking very good care of your son, his brother demanded nothing less than our best of … everything." The bald man had tired eyes but they still sparkled with compassion.
"Father I'm sorry you were called away from . . ."
"Nonsense boy – sometimes your actions drive me to say things without thinking but I'll always be at your side when you need me,"
Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably and was reminded by the doctor to stay still. Lord Holmes forced himself not to sigh,
"Mycroft returned to his office?"
"Just an hour ago,"
"Neither he nor the police were very specific when they explained what happened?" Lord Holmes prodded,
"…"
"Will you be alright now?" the management doctor was clearly impatient with the family dialogue,
"Yes thank you doctor,"
"Good day," one last smile and nod and he was gone.
"…"
"Sherlock?"
"I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Sherlock said evasively,
"Your brother and the police said much the same thing," the teen remained silent,
"Alright I suppose I'm better off not knowing …" Lord Holmes waited for his son to speak again but was left wanting,
"Just . . . if you need something . . . if you're in trouble . . . I'm here,"
"I'm not daddy I promise,"
Lord Holmes sat in the chair only recently by his elder son and pushed Sherlock's hair off his forehead,
"You make people around you so mad my boy . . ." Sherlock went to interrupt but his father hushed him and caressed his cheek,
"Mad with worry," Lord Holmes didn't have the same insight into his son as Mycroft or his mother did but he could see Sherlock was uncomfortable with such a straightforward declaration of his love, so he lightened the moment,
"Me, your mother and Mycroft at any rate – the rest you just send nuts!"
Sherlock grinned in appreciation and stated,
"I am reasonably sure most were crazy before they even met me! Do you remember Ms Vann? And her attempt to climb the willow tree one spring afternoon?"
"Oh yes – she swore there was a cat up there," Father and son grinned and the rest of the morning passed with sounds of mirth.
Lunch was brought to both men with an apology to its sub-standard quality compared to what they must be used to. The lunch lady actually curtsied to the elder Lord! Miraculously the pair held off laughing until she had left which was just as Mycroft entered. The banter swiftly turned to light-hearted disparaging remarks about the talents of cooking of all three as they shared a rare good hospital meal.
Mycroft was happy to see the delight on his usually stoic father and discontented brother despite the initial stirrings of jealousy. It seemed he was never enough for his brother any more – his time away at university distancing them more than just physically.
It was at that point Doctor John Watson limped into the room again. Sherlock had almost forgotten his roommate and her brother.
"Sorry to interrupt – I'll just collate my sister and get out your way." He said faintly nervous at the presence of three obvious social elites.
"I'm sorry I didn't even realise my son was sharing the room," it might have been dismissive but for an easy smile.
"Father this is Doctor John Watson and his sister Harriet, Harry," Sherlock introduced,
"Pleased to meet you," John stepped forward to shake hands with the recognisable gentleman.
"Doctor Watson, Ms Harry this is my father Lord Holmes and brother Lord Holmes,"
"Sherlock!" Both men chided him exactly the same way so the adolescent rolled his eyes,
"Teenagers," laughed Harry stepping out from behind the curtain dressed in a skin-tight, one-shoulder black top and black jean mini skirt. Sherlock and Mycroft were the only two to notice the splash of blood against the black outfit. Their father was too busy maintaining eye contact and John was trying to avoid seeing all the flesh her outfit revealed,
"My goodness are you sure you're ready to leave?" asked Lord Holmes (the elder) at the sight of her bruised face forgetting he still had not given his name.
"This? Ha this is nothing! I did worse than this to ma lil' bro here when he broke my Barbie," she grinned enjoying the sudden discomforted atmosphere.
"Have you got everything Harry?" John seemed impatient to leave.
Before she could answer the door swung open and Lady Holmes swept in,
"Oh Sherlock!" she said and rushed to his bedside – husband barely moving out her way in time. Plates, bowls and trays were moved to the floor before they fell there.
"Mummy I'm fine, the doctors, Mycroft and even my roommate and her brother have all seen to that," he said rolling his eyes,
"Me? What have I done?" Doctor Watson half-asked in surprise,
"You surprised me," was all he said as if that was enough and for his family it was,
"Thank you," Lady Holmes said sincerely.
"Oh well err, your welcome," he said wondering if it was so rare for someone to surprise the teen.
"So bro where abouts do you live now?" Harry had, had about all she could take of family dramatics.
"Harry I'm unemployed and . . ." John spoke slowly, embarrassed again, Sherlock noted,
"Ha I knew you wouldn't get that job, surprised anyone is hiring these days," Harry interrupted, mortifying her brother (as per her role as older sister).
"And live in a one-bed high-rise flat . . ." he trailed off self-conscious of having such a personal conversation in front of the rich and prominent family.
"Is that all your army pension pays for?"
"In London? Yes!"
"Perhaps I have a solution?" Mycroft interjected smoothly. Lady Holmes had been … cooing over her youngest son but turned as her eldest spoke,
"My brother will need a personal doctor for the next six months at least so the doctor's here tell me and you, as an MD, would be more than suitable. My brother has shown more responsiveness to you than even our family doctor. Which means you will probably have more luck in getting him to comply with medical advice."
John was confused: why, if they already had a personal doctor, would they need him?
"He wants you to babysit me because I am incapable of looking after myself and ignore our current doctor," despite Sherlock's petulant tone he didn't look as unhappy at the request as his family expected.
Lady Holmes put aside her worry for her injured son and focused on this man, this doctor, her adult son was suggesting they hire. She took in the crutch, the sleep-deprived eyes that seemed too old and instinctively wanted to help. As he backed away from what came across as charity she tried to work out how to convince him. Luckily her clever eldest had all that worked out,
"Your sister could move into your current flat while you stay with us, we would pay for the treatment for her as well as a good salary for yourself but, believe me when I say, looking after my brother you will earn every penny."
Still the proud soldier hesitated, until the dismay of his sister literally forced his hand,
"Forget it Johnny we don't need no charity from rich folk!" she stalked out the room to the surprise of the Holmes family, John quickly following,
"We? Harry? We?" he questioned as angry as he ever got.
"Yea I'll move in wit you and it'll be good, fine you'll see,"
"No, no I don't think I will," John said softly but firmly and pulled his resisting sister into an empty stock closet.
"You gonna see me homeless Johnny?" Harry seemed to have forgotten she had never told John where she was staying and that she had repeatedly turned down his offer to find a place together.
"Do you remember four years ago Harry?" John's question was quiet but effective – Harry backed off physically and emotionally, moving further into the tiny room,
"Don't Johnny,"
"You and Clara about to get married? Thinking of starting a family?"
"Yea well that was then,"
"And the only thing that's different now is your drinking habit,"
"Shut up! And I got no job now!"
"Don't you remember being happy? Don't you want that again?" there was a pause as Harry was forced to think about what her brother had said.
"Sometimes," she whispered,
"This is our chance! Your chance! Please Harry if not for yourself do it for me and Clara? I'm going grey with worry!" John grabbed her hand and held it, pleading for understanding and hoping she would sort her life out.
"S'not right needing a handout from some tof family,"
"It's a not a handout, it's a job . . ."
"Judging by that kid not an easy one," Harry interrupted,
"A job, a hand up rather than a hand out,"
"If I do this, if I can get better . . . do you think Clara would take me back? It wouldn't be worth it if she doesn't …" John could hear the desperate longing in his sisters' voice and it made his heart ache,
"I don't know Harry she still has feelings for you but you messed up badly,"
"Would you talk to her?"
"I'll take this job, you start that treatment and I'll try to talk to Clara," John organised.
"She liked you, when we argued that one last time she said you were the best part about me,"
"Is that why you shut me out when I found you?"
"Partly, you were just back from that god-forsaken country and managed to be less messed up after being shot and blown up than I was after I s…screwed … u…up," Harry was crying now, shuddering with the force of her emotions John was unsure of how to comfort her. In the end he simply held her.
When she had calmed down her eyes were puffy but dry and John led her back to her room. Lord Holmes and his eldest son had disappeared but Lady Holmes was still by her son's bedside. Harry disappeared behind the curtain to gather her meagre belongings and John hovered by the end of Sherlock's bed uncertain of how to proceed,
"I would be very grateful for the opportunity …" he trailed off as she handed him a business card.
"Come to this address first thing next Wednesday – if your sister lets her doctor know she would like to go ahead my husband will make all the arrangements.
"Thank you very much,"
"Don't thank me yet," she said with a smile – Sherlock was grinning too but his smile didn't seem as reassuring. John half reconsidered as he followed his sister – he didn't know anything about this family. Harry had finished packing and was leaning against the bed,
"Got everything?" he asked rather foolishly,
"I'm not sure I can do this." She lent against the bed rubbing a hand against her bruised cheek,
"Sure you can," John took both her hands in his own,
"It's too hard," She whispered and tried to pull away,
"I believe you can do it. You need to do it!" John counted grasping one of her arms to try and invoke courage and belief. To Sherlock and his mother it sounded as though John needed his sister to be ok more than she did.
"Guess I gotta try." She said looking at the floor,
"I'll go tell the doctor then," she said and paused as if waiting for an interruption to stop her.
"Ok I'll take this and meet you by the entrance," John motioned to her small plastic bag. She left and John, keeping his back to the other room inhabitants, pushed the curtain closed and headed to the door. Sherlock suddenly said him,
"You don't really think she can do it,"
John whirled around in the doorway,
"I forgot you were here," he mumbled tightening his grip on the plastic bag ignoring the comment,
"No you didn't!" Sherlock countered easily,
"True, but I thought you would have enough manners not to listen in," Sherlock laughed short, sharp and unexpectedly but John caught sight of Lady Holmes and felt anxious about his new job,
"Don't look so worried my son is a handful but you seem to have a handle on him," she praised, Sherlock stopped smiling and started scowling at her words,
"I'm not a baby mummy,"
"I know dear but you do act like one occasionally," she patted the bed covers gently which didn't help (although that was an improvement on patting his head so he stayed quiet about it).
"I should go, I'll see you on Wednesday morning," he said and held up the hand with the plastic bag and business card in it – the gesture was cut short by a sudden pain in that shoulder. John grimaced and cradled that arm with the other one (which still held his crutch)
"Goodness are you alright?" Lady Holmes stood up and moved to his side,
"Do you need a doctor yourself?" she looked down the corridor and John worried again about his job,
"I'm fine, just phantom pain from old injuries,"
"War injuries?" she asked pulling together the little she knew about him to formulate a hypothesis – it seemed to be a family trait,
"Yes ma'am," he flexed his arm as if to prove it was fine,
"But you're just a boy!" she protested upset,
"I'm twenty-six!" he proclaimed,
"And that is a boy to me!" she said daring him to comment on her age,
"I really must be going now," he backed away and eased out the room.
"He doesn't know how to take us," Sherlock crowed cheerful once more. Lady Holmes shook her head at her ever-changeable son. Soon the other two members of their small, tight-knit family returned and tried to get comfortable in the room; Mother still in the chair, father leaning by the door and elder brother by the end of the bed, younger brother wriggling around in the bed. When Sherlock noticed his family settling he protested,
"You're not all staying are you?"
"Of course we are baby," his mother replied slightly hurt and confused as to why he would think otherwise and wondered,
"I thought someone had been with you since . . ."
"Yes, yes, Mycroft and then daddy but I don't see why! In a little while, despite it only being two in the afternoon, I'll be unconscious from all the damn drugs Mycroft instructed those doctor's to force-drip me!" the teen got himself all worked up but all his mother said was,
"He's a good big brother," Sherlock huffed having expected some manner of reprimand to fall on his faultless brother for the needless drugging.
"Thank you mummy – I do try hard," Mycroft said with the implication that Sherlock made the task more difficult (which of course he did). The teenager rolled his eyes and pretended to gag. His family laughed and his animations soon exhausted him. As predicted he soon fell asleep.
Time passed; porters came in and stripped Harry's bed ready for the next patient, Sherlock was given another dose of pain medication, the management doctor dropped in, dinner was brought for the three of them and all the while Lady Holmes interrogated her eldest son over what had really happened. Using his considerable intellect, Mycroft evaded the most unsettling aspects of events while avoiding lying. It was an early insight into the great politician he would no doubt be.
Hour's later Sherlock was disturbed by a nightmare but his mother gently soothed him back to sleep. It was nearly midnight as Sherlock woke fully again nearing a full ten hours later. His mother was the first to notice and she took his hand,
"Sherlock!" she called softly,
"Mama?" that moment before Sherlock's brain fully switched on the teen was so sweet and innocent and HER baby she could tear up with emotion,
"I'm here baby,"
"And so is daddy and Mycroft . . ." but then he always managed to find a way to spoil it. Not that it was his fault of course; he didn't even realise how he acted during that initial period of waking up and wouldn't be able to change it even if he did.
"And any old porter who wants to traipse in . . ." she did wish he would find a way to be less … less of a brat though.
"And anyone off the street!" Sherlock finally finished his mini-rant and stared blearily around at his family – still in the same positions as when he fell asleep ten hours ago,
"Have you not moved all the time I was asleep?"
"Of course we did – mother and father showered and changed and I moved from here to the bathroom several times." Sherlock frowned as he took in his parents' change of clothes,
"Oh," he blushed and tried to work out why he hadn't seen that instantly . . .
"Ohhhh!" pain struck again and he tensed (which only made things hurt more)
"Baby?"
"Press the button for the nurse, he needs more medication," Mycroft instructed rapidly.
"I … do … not!" his words might have been more convincing if he hadn't forced them out through clenched teeth and panted breaths.
"You're so stubborn!" he mother cried as she held his hand, powerless to help him.
"My … best … quality!" he proclaimed as a doctor entered. The pain eased as this, female doctor, administered more drugs.
"Horrible … drug …" he mumbled drifting off. It occurred to Mycroft he was probably referring to the drugs given to him by the hospital staff instead of the drug dealers who injured him but he wisely didn't mention that. His thoughts turned to the dead men who had done this and his hands clenched with the force of his unprecedented violent thoughts.
Lady Holmes caught sight of her eldest son; tight with tension, fearful and almost tearful with worry, and tried to help,
"Mycroft, honey why don't you get Jason to drive you home for a bit? Get some rest?"
"I can't!" Mycroft exclaimed and just the thought nearly sent him into a panic attack. His parents suddenly realised Sherlock was not their only son in pain. They moved closer to him, being careful not to crowd him as he tried to breathe evenly.
"You did the best you could more than . . ." Lady Holmes started to say but Mycroft cut her off,
"It wasn't enough!" the young adult erupted with self-flagellation.
"Oh Mycroft . . ."
"He's like me but not … he's not emotionally capable of handling … everything," Mycroft had a rare struggle with words as he tried to explain his need to look after his brother.
"My dear boy, you are not responsible for him – I am, and your mother is. You already do far more for him than even he realises . . ."
"He asked me earlier – how I coped, how I could see the world the same way as him and still handle everything that entails." Mycroft calmed as quickly as he got agitated,
"What did you say?" Lord Holmes asked curious,
"I said I thought before I acted," his parents half-laughed knowing it was true – to some extent.
tbc