Sherlock stood, his eyes shifting from left to right, searching the entire room in a frenzied panic. "JOHN! Where's John? I have to save John! John?" Mycroft grabbed his brother and held him close. Why? Why was Mycroft hugging him when John was in danger. Was..was Mycroft actually crying? He never cried. Never. He was shaking. Mycroft was shaking. Sherlock was suddenly concerned for the health of his elder brother.

"Mycroft...what's wrong? Where's John? I need to see John." Please. I need to see him! John's in danger. John's in trouble!

"Oh Sherlock he's not here. He's fine, safe. I only told you those things to make you come back. I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine." Oh thank goodness. You scared me, I was terrified you would never return. Im too old for this Sherlock.

"Right...I don't understand. Come back from where?"

"You've ...been away Sherlock. Far away, for some time I suspect. In here" He tapped his brother's temple, standing straight but not letting go of his sibling. He had him back. Now he wasn't going to let him out of his sight. Sherlock's eyes widened. He had vague memories of torture, rescue, a plane ride, even Mycroft reading to him. He'd..lost himself? Why couldn't he remember? It was all like a dream...or more likely a horrible nightmare.

"What happened? Tell me...what happened Mycroft?"

The two of them stood, staring at the guest room. Not exactly a room for two energetic five year olds. "They could share the bed I suppose. We could, buy some toys and books. Hire some dvd's." John nodded. It would have to do. They would make up for it by taking them out, to a zoo, movies etc. The twins were due in two days. John was mentally preparing himself. "We'll just have to make do"

"Have you ever wanted kids, John?"

"What?..Well, I suppose, yeah I have. Not sure if I'd make the best dad but, yeah, kids, kids would be great one day."

"Oh shut up. You'd make a wonderful father. I've always wanted children. When I was growing up I even thought of names. Bit silly"

"No, not really. Come on then, what names?" Mary gave him an embarrassed smile. "John.." He grabbed her hand. "Come on, for me. What names?"

"Well, if it was a girl, then Charlotte, after my mother. Charlotte Abigail. If it was a boy then Laurie George. George after my father and Laurie after the character in Little Women. I loved that book as a child...what about you?" John smiled and waved his hand. "No.. no Im not good with names."

"If I had to tell so do you."

"No, it's.. you'd think it's stupid."

"I promise I won't laugh."

"Yeah?..Well I suppose if it was a girl they'd have to have to middle name Harriet, cause of my sister. She'd harass me if I didn't. First name I don't know. Charlotte's nice. So is Annabelle, my mother had a friend by that name, she was wonderful. For a boy..um.." His voice caught in his throat. " For a boy I guess... Sherlock. Sherlock Hamish Watson. " He wiped his eye. "Stupid, told you so." Mary hugged him taught.

"It's not stupid, I think it would be a lovely name."

"Yeah?"

"Of course John"

John had unknowingly brought his brother back to life. Mycroft told himself he ought to do something for the doctor to thank him. While Sherlock rested, having returned to the land of the living had been apparently quite tiring, Mycroft reviewed John's file. So, apparently John and Miss Mary were planning to babysit Mary's niece and nephew for two weeks. If Mycroft's memory was correct, the guest room wasn't exactly child friendly. Perhaps he could be of some assistance.

He opened his phone book and proceeded to make several phone calls.

"John? Someone's at the door. Could you answer it please?"

"On my way!" He grabbed his cane and limped towards their front door. The minute he opened it several men charged in. "Hey, what do you think you're doing? You can't just come in here!" They headed to the guest room and began to take all the furniture apart, taking it outside to a lorry. "Put that down! What gives you the right to march in here and take our stuff!" By now Mary had joined him.

"What's going on?"

"They're taking our stuff, everything in the guest room...it's nearly all gone!" Mary's hand went to her mouth, her eyes narrowed and she proceeded to yell alongside John at the intruders. But then, they started to bring in furniture. One single bed, then another. Bedspreads, toys, books, dvd's, games. Soon the room was fit for two little children. John didn't understand. How? Who?

"Who ordered this?" One of the workmen handed him a letter and gave the order for everyone to clear out. "We'll be back with yer stuff in two weeks Mr Watson."

"Who is it from John?"

"I bet I know" And he was right.

Dear John,

I hope you don't mind, I took the pleasure in arranging for your guest room to be re-furnished so it was suitable for two energetic youngsters. I have raised a child myself, I know how difficult it is, so I shall pay for any expenses necessary during their stay. Enclosed is a pre-paid credit card. Use it wisely.

You may ask why I am doing this. But I made a promise to watch out for you and I intend to keep it. You have done a wonderful thing in writing out your stories, Im sure my brother would have loved them. Confused by them, but loved them nonetheless.

Consider this a thanks for never ceasing to believe.

Mycroft Holmes

"You're staying here. No matter galavanting across the continents anymore. I can't and won't lose you again. Until my men have finished with what you started, you will remain in London. Do you hear me?..Promise me Sherlock" Since his brother's return to reality a few days ago, he'd been quieter than Mycroft had ever seen him. He seemed sad, lonely. He probably was. Mycroft knew who he missed.

"I promise Mycroft"

"Thank you. Now...I don't know the reason why you retreated. But you will need to talk about it and once your memories return, them as well. You should not keep them locked away in your head. You have gone through a terrible ordeal Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock turned his head sleepily to stare at his brother. No longer hollow eyes, but sad eyes, eyes devoid of happiness or hope. "Why? Not going to a psychiatrist Mycroft"

"Im not asking you too, rubbish, the lot of them. Tell me. Talk to me. I am ready to listen. Even if it hurts the both of us."

"Why would it hurt you?"

"Because you're my brother..and I love you. Promise you'll talk to me? None of this stoic, silent warrior nonsense. Talk. To. Me"

"I promise brother."

"Thank you. Now I better pop off to bed."

Sherlock stared at him once more, a look of confusion on his face. "You're not going to continue?" Mycroft's brow furrowed. "Continue what, Sherlock?". His brother removed a hand from the confines of his blanket and pointed to the book on his nightstand. "The book, Mycroft. You said you'd read me the whole thing, I suggest you get too it. Im bored. Read to me Myc". The request sounded so childish, so like Sherlock that Mycroft couldn't help but obey and smile.

"Ok, where were we..."

"The spiders"

"Oh yes!"