One week later and Sherlock still had not uttered a word. His doctors were pleased with his physical progress, continually telling Mycroft that until the drugs were all completely out of his system, there was no way to tell if they were the reason he was catatonic. Mycroft knew it wasn't the drugs. He knew his little brother. It broke his heart to see him so lost, so fragile.

Sherlock himself spent most of his time curled up in bed or sitting on the window seat, watching the stars. Always in pyjamas and dressing gown. Mycroft wondered if he was actually staring outside or not. Nothing, or very little, seemed to be able to bring his brother out of his mind. He ate if food was placed before him. He would dress himself, or try too. But aside from that he didn't really acknowledge anything. Not even his own brother. Mycroft was at a loss.

He'd tried talking to him. He would sing the song he used to sing to him as a child. He would hold him, hug him, shake him. Kiss his forehead. Beg. Shout, cry. Nothing. So Mycroft spent everyday caring for his sibling. Reading to him, stories, police cases, the newspaper. Talking to him, hugging him. He hoped that somehow, some of this might get through to him.

Please come back Sherlock.

Sherlock sat on the window seat, his back against the wall, his legs folded beside him. He stared out at the night sky, watching the stars twinkle and shine. "Sherlock, come now, it's time for bed." Initially they had discovered that if you called out the number 1895, he would come to you. It had taken a week for him to recognise his own name. Which he barely did anyway. Like now.

Mycroft gently grabbed his brother's shoulders and steered him towards the bed. He was still wearing his dressing gown but that was fine. He helped his brother into bed, sitting beside him and picking up a book. The Hobbit. Mycroft had started to read it too him a few days ago. He seemed to like it. Sometimes he would even appear to smile. Mycroft turned to the next chapter and began to speak. At some point Sherlock had leaned over and rested his head against Mycroft's shoulder. He was still in there, somewhere. Mycroft was certain. He placed one arm around Sherlock's back, kissed the ebony curls and closed the book.

"Sweet dreams Lockie"

It was late but neither of them cared as they walked quietly down the deserted street to their flat. They'd just been to a party, friends of Mary's. John had his arm around her shoulder, holding her close. Mary smiled, a question on her lips, then John suddenly grabbed her hand and spun her around, beginning to dance. A waltz.

"John, what's gotten into you" She tapped him cheekily on the nose. He grinned back and nuzzled hers. "I was jealous of all the other people you danced with tonight. Won't you join me for this one?"

"Oh John~"

Together they danced under the moonlight, slowly, Mary always ending in John's protective arms. How she loved him. More than anything. Which is why she hoped he wouldn't refuse her next request. "John?" She looked up into his kind face. "Hmm?" She wrapped her arms around his neck, his arms settled on her hips. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. "John, my brother and his wife won a vacation to the Bahamas."

"That's wonderful! Good for them"

"..They have twins. He was hoping, and I was too, that we might look after them for two weeks. I..I'd pay for everything of course, it's just, Im not sure who else is available. Of course if you don't want to.. I don't want force you.. I ju-" John pressed a finger against her lips. "Of course we should look after them." He'd always secretly wanted children of his own. This might be good practice.

"How old are they?"

"Five. And they are both absolute terrors."

"Well, I lived with Sherlock Holmes, I think I can handle a pair of five year olds" Mary chuckled, John kissing down her cheek softly. "What are their names?" Mary held him close, both still dancing. "Lily and James."

"Nice names. Let's do this Mary. It will be fun. An adventure"

She smiled and grasped his face with both hands and gently kissed those soft, full lips.

"I hoped you might say that"

A day later and Mycroft sat next to his brother on the window seat and placed a blue book in his hands. "This is your copy of John's second book. We intercepted 'Normund's' mail. Anthea has taken over the blog for now. People were starting to worry. I don't blame them. I can't stop." He expected Sherlock to ignore the book as he did almost everything, so was shocked and elated when his brother's fingers closed over the book and brought it too his chest.

John! John was the key! Why had he not thought of this before? But it wasn't possible to bring him here. He made a promise and he intended to keep it. Still, Mycroft's finger hovered over John's number. Should he? But he promised he wouldn't. Perhaps the good doctor did not need to be here in order to help his friend. Perhaps his name might be enough. He placed his phone back into his suit pocket.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, look at me"

He grabbed his baby brother's face and turned it towards his. "Now listen closely, Sherlock. John is in trouble. John Watson is in trouble. You need to save John. Do you hear me? Save John Watson. Sherlock! Save John! He needs your help!" Nothing..and then, Sherlock's eyes widened and grabbed his brother's shoulders.

"JOHN!"