Author's Note:

This and the next chapter I guess could be considered a bit filler. The story picks back up at chapter nine though. Thank you to everyone who has been leaving reviews!

Lestrade followed Sherlock silently, still holding Mycroft's hand. The Detective Inspector slid into the front seat to leave the Holmes brothers to their conversation.

"How do we tell her?" Mycroft asked as the car started moving. "How do you start a conversation like this?" He kept his eyes forward, only glancing over when he realized Amy was already asleep again.

Sherlock looked over to his older brother. "I don't know. I was trying to figure that out, when I went out." Both their parents had been only children, so they didn't have any cousins. He didn't remember either set of grandparents very well, as they had died when he was very young. So, he didn't have much of a memory of dealing with the deaths or how the rest of the family had reacted.

"Do we just sit her down, then? Tell her everything that happened and explain that Dad died saving John? And the country?" Mycroft smiled weakly at the last comment and was suddenly pale as the car slid to a stop. No. Too soon. He watched Lestrade get out of the car and grab the baby bag, opening the door. "It'll be fine," he muttered as Mycroft stood and glanced toward the house.

"I suppose so," Sherlock replied and then got out of the car. He took little Sandi out of the car seat gently, hoping not to wake her. He then walked up to the house behind his brother and the Detective Inspector. He could hear his mother asking questions as soon as he entered the mansion.

"Boys, what is going on? First your father goes on a special mission, then some of Mycroft's bullies whisked me away to stay with Captain Watson's sister, lovely girl by the way, and now you are all here." Nancy scrutinized her sons, a frown on her lips. She knew something was wrong and dreaded the answer.

Lestrade slipped further into the house silently, not wanting to interfere with anything that was about to happen. It was a family matter and he was merely seeing Mycroft for less than desirable reasons.

"Mum, why don't we go sit down? I think we need to talk." He placed a soft hand on her shoulder, glancing back at Sherlock and swallowing hard. It was now or never. "When's the last time you talked to Dad?'

Nancy narrowed her eyes. "Sweetie, you know your father doesn't check in when he is on important missions. Sit down? What for? Wait...no..."

Sherlock took his mother gently by the arm, led her to the sitting room and over to the couch. He glanced to Lestrade. "Make some tea, won't you? Giles can help you find things. He is the chef and knows where everything is." He looked back down to his mother. "Dad didn't-" he was cut off by a slap to the face. In his entire life Mum had never struck him.

"I hope you are happy. Your own father Sherlock." Nancy got up off the couch, seemingly more angry than sad and left the room.

Stunned, Sherlock let his mother go. He glanced helplessly to Mycroft. "Perhaps you should try talking to her..." He sat down on the couch, confounded.

The sound of the slap jolted Amy awake, a loud cry echoing through he sitting room. She took several deep breaths and let her cries quiet down as Lestrade moved swiftly into the kitchen and Mycroft followed his mother with a last glance toward Sherlock.

"Mum," Mycroft had wanted to condemn her actions because this wasn't Sherlock's doing in the slightest but she was upset. She had lost her husband. "Mum." He managed to move in front of her and wrapped her in a tight hug, slamming his eyes shut. "He died saving John and protecting England," he whispered.

Nancy embraced her eldest son immediately. "Oh dear, I have upset the little one. Sherlock didn't deserve that...I should go apologize to your brother." The corners of her eyes were moist, but she refused to let a single tear fall. She sniffled, straightened and stood up. "He always wanted to die out there you know. He was selfish man in some ways. Did Captain Watson make it then? A little girl like that shouldn't be left without either parent."

"Shhh, baby girl. Grandma is just upset," Sherlock said. He was unsure if he was trying to convince himself or the crying infant in his arms. He rocked her gently in his arms, hoping it would help quell little Sandi."

Amy allowed Sherlock to calm her down, sniffing and curling her left hand into a fist several times.

Sherlock managed a small smile. "See? Everything is fine." He continued to rock little Sandi in his arms.

"It's fine, Mum," Mycroft whispered, pulling away from the embrace and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "John is... alive, for now. ICU. Shot in the shoulder. Tortured both physically and psychologically." He glanced back into the sitting room as Amy's cries quieted. "Dad saved John's life. I think it was for Sherlock."

Nancy nodded. "That sounds like him. I know Sherlock thinks Siger hates...hated him but in his own way your father cared about him."

Amy blinked several times before staring at Sherlock, smacking her lips together once before putting her hand in her mouth.

"That's my girl," Sherlock said. He continued to rock her. He heard quiet voices from the kitchen but couldn't make out was being said. He was tempted to go investigate but having just quieted little Sandi down decided not to.

Mycroft glanced at the floor, taking a shaky breath. "Are you alright?" He wanted to have this conversation away from Sherlock, away from the man who hadn't lost somebody close to him. "It's fine to cry, Mum, because I don't know what to do right now." He lifted watery eyes to his Mother and swallowed hard. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to still have a protective father, the man he idolized. He wasn't supposed to be bits and pieces at some British camp in Afghanistan.

Nancy shook her head lightly. "Your father wouldn't want tears shed over him. Especially for dying for what he did. I expect you and Sherlock to give a nice eulogy at his funeral."

Mycroft took several deep breaths, looking away from his Mum for a long moment. "I don't care what he would have wanted," he whispered. "I blame this on John and his stupidity. He knew what he was doing. And Sherlock didn't even tell him Moriarty's men were still out there. We could still have Dad." He jumped slightly when Lestrade entered the kitchen, the baby bag still slung over his shoulder. "Greg," he whispered brokenly as the Detective Inspector embraced him. He glanced nervously at Nancy and smiled.

Nancy gave a small smile. "If you need to cry then do so dear. Your father died doing what he loved. Don't blame it on your brother. With Siger gone, it falls on you to keep Sherlock safe now. Your father's dog tags, were they collected? He wanted them hung in the study. What about his body? Can I see him one last time?"

Mycroft composed himself, looking down at Lestrade before turning to his mother. "We have his dog tags, they are on the way." He paused, debating on telling her everything, but figuring in the end that she deserved to know. "He had Shevchenko pinned on the ground and put a grenade between them." He smiled tightly because it sounded so much like his father that he couldn't not smile. "Pretty effective for not having a funeral, I would think. My men... they found... what we have left will be cremated. Obviously."

Nancy nodded once. "I see. It must have been the only way to stop..." She cleared her throat, tears threatening to fall now. "Brave and fearless. Without a doubt the one man I knew who didn't fear death." Another clearing of her throat. "Would you like to go over his will now or later?"

"He did it to save us. You, me, Sherlock." Mycroft's smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "Later. Let's... we've got little Amy in there and I do believe there is a wedding fast approaching, Mum." He moved forward and embraced her again.

"Right. Of course." Nancy returned her eldest son's embrace, hugging him tightly.

John had slept fitfully, waking every hour or so covered in sweat and near tears. Sherlock. He needed to text Sherlock. The nurse handed her phone off without question.

Can I ask you a question? -JW

He let his head fall back on the pillow and forced himself to ignore the machines around him, pretending he was back at 221B waiting for Sherlock to come back from a quick run to the kitchen.

Sherlock had stayed on the couch with little Amy, all the while wondering what was going on in the kitchen. His phone going off caught his attention and he fished it from his pocket. His brows furrowed in thought.

Sure. Is everything okay? –SH

John bit his bottom lip and slowly started replying, nerves twisting his stomach even though it was a bit ridiculous.

Did it always feel like that? The drugs, I mean. -JW

He had remembered fighting them, trying to stay awake, but once he had given in and decided to relax, it had been a bit of a nice experience.

Mycroft gathered himself and slowly pulled away from his Mother, reaching down to grab her hand. After managing a weak smile he led her to the sitting room, smiling tightly and Sherlock but not meeting his gaze. "Wedding?" He asked softly, moving to sit in a chair across from his younger brother.

Sherlock was staring down at his phone with a frown. He looked up to his mother and brother when they came in. "I'll be right back..." He muttered and handed little Sandi off to his Mum and moved to the kitchen before any questions could be asked. He sat down at the table and finally replied to John's text.

Yes. It was why I started taking them in the first place. –SH

John stared at his phone for a long moment, glancing outside of his hospital room nervously. Why was he asking? Because he wanted Sherlock's input? He hit the buttons slowly.

Why did you quit? –JW

Sherlock stared at the phone again. They had never really talked about his drug addiction before, unless it was John telling him not to start it again. After awhile he finally typed out a reply.

Lestrade came over to the flat, to see if I would help with a case. I was strung out on heroine, almost died. He helped me get clean. Said if I wanted to work cases for him, I'd have to quit the drugs. I still used them from time to time after that. The Detective Inspector knew that I suppose. It's why he came over for that drugs bust on the day we first moved in together. When you looked at me when you realized there were drugs to worry about it, you look so disappointed in me. I didn't want to disappoint you again so I got rid of them. –SH

It was all true. The army doctor was the only person's opinion he really cared about. The look on John's face that night had been the beginning of things that had changed about him since meeting his flatmate.

John read the text multiple times, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. For him. And here he was wondering what it would be like a second time or a third time, if it only got better. Selfish. He was asking because he only cared about himself, about how it would be to him.

It was weird. I was limp and could barely move but it felt like a warm blanket. It felt like... nobody could hurt me despite the situation. -JW

Being honest was the only way he was going get this out of his system. Lying to his future husband wouldn't get him anywhere and keeping all of these thoughts pent up wasn't really going to help him any.

More time was spent staring at his phone. Sherlock thought about calling the phone John was texting from but he wasn't sure if his fiancé would be up to a real conversation. The army doctor was probably weak. Texting was best right now. He finally typed out a reply.

Drugs will do that. False sense of security and reality. They are easy to rely on but hard to kick if your system has become dependent on them. Part of addiction is psychological. If you think you need more, your body will respond to that as well. –SH

The reply he read shook him slightly. Addiction. He'd had one dose. Was he already addicted? John couldn't stop thinking about it. The feel, the wonderful bliss. It was amazing. He shook his head and took a shaky breath.

I... I liked it. -JW

It needed to be said, admitted. He wanted somebody to know and the man who had been addicted before, the man he was marrying, was the perfect person to tell.

Sherlock slumped against his chair as he read the latest message from John.

It's to be expected. Strong drugs like that have a euphoric effect on the body. Do you know what medications they have you on? –SH

He wanted to leave now, to fly and see his fiancé. The temptation was great but he had other obligations here first. He sighed, took out a cigarette and lit up. His mother would have a fit that he was smoking in the mansion but apparently she was already pissed at him anyway so he might as well go for broke.

John lifted his head to look at the bags hanging from his I-V drip and narrowed his eyes to read the print. As expected.

Morphine. Some oral pills that I haven't been really paying attention to. Too much pain to focus anyway. -JW

He shifted against the mattress to ease some pain in his shoulder, wincing at the small jolt to the wound. Maybe that was why he was so focused on his last fix? His first one, really. He was drugged, he liked it. The thought was making him nervous.

Please don't tell me I'm already addicted. I'm scared. -JW

Sherlock thought for a moment and forced a faint smirk. He answered the first text.

The medication is necessary at this point, so try not to worry too much. –SH

He hit 'reply' to the second message. Hopefully by falling into the old routine of two texts at once, it would help ease the tension and fear his fiancé was feeling.

It's difficult to know for sure, since I'm not there first hand to see it. -SH

John managed a smile, stupid and large because of the drugs. Leave it to Sherlock to make him smile, even over text and about a serious situation.

Too high to worry. Bit nice. Lucky this nurse's phone has spell check. –JW

He hit send and chuckled when Sherlock's second text came in. Routine. Normal. It made his stomach twist. He was homesick. He wanted Sherlock.

I really want to kiss you right now. Are you at the flat? –JW

Sherlock smirked a bit more as two messages came through. He answered the first one.

Good to hear from you, even if you are loopy. –SH

Without hesitation he sent another text.

No, at Mum's. If you were here I wouldn't care, I'd kiss you anyway. –SH

John burst out into loud laughter, his giggling high pitched as he struggled to reply. It made his cheeks flush in pain but he didn't care. This was perfect, even if Sherlock was so far away.

So loopy. Had a dream about you while I slept. Snuggling. Liked it. -JW

The laughter died instantly when he opened the second text. Sherlock's Mum. Shit. He had killed her husband. He almost didn't reply but forced his thumbs to move.

How is she? –JW

Sherlock smiled a bit at the first text, happy to be getting John's mind off of things.

Good. Just keep dreaming about me. About all the things I am going to do you when you get there. –SH

The second text made the smile twitch into a frown. Damn. He shouldn't have mentioned his mother.

She is fine. Wants to talk about the wedding later. I'll be sure to let her know what our plans are for when we stay at her place after the wedding. –SH

There. Hopefully that would keep his fiancé distracted.

John had the decency to blush. And to wish his drug-induced erection away. Sherlock was just teasing him now and John was completely focused on it.

Wedding night. -JW

He smirked as he replied, proud of himself for remembering. Then he read the second text and even giggled. Sherlock. Perfect. Love. His thoughts were short but happy. He hated it.

Please don't. Loud. Hates me already. Killed your Dad. –JW

Damn it. With everything going on, Sherlock had forgotten about their deal.

Right. Well, that doesn't mean I can't tease you. And you will like every second of it. –SH

The second text made his frown return. Distracting John was more difficult than usual.

She doesn't hate you. She is holding Amy right now and if that was true, she wouldn't. –SH

Little Sandi. Maybe that would help. He got out of the chair so fast, that it fell over with a clatter on the floor. He went to the sitting room and dialed the number his fiancé had been texting from. "John, your daughter wants to talk to you." He put the phone on speaker, sat down on the couch next to his mother.

John had been mid-reply when the phone had started ringing. He answered it with a slow 'Hello' and then stumbled over his thoughts at what his fiancé said. What was he supposed to say? "Hi, Amy." He swallowed and sighed, his head falling back. "It's Daddy. I love you. So much." His voice was low and he was focusing intently on his words. "You are a beautiful young lady and I can't wait to see you," another pause and he hesitated. "Hello Nancy," a deep breath, "I am truly sorry for your loss."

Good, hopefully this would work. Nope. Sherlock sighed quietly, of course John would keep bringing that up.

Nancy smiled when she heard her future son-in-law talk to Amy. A small frown formed at the last words. "Siger was a military man. Occupational hazard."

Not good. Nancy's words weren't what he had wanted so he jumped back to something he knew would make him happy. "Hi Sherlock. How are you?" He took a deep, shaky breath and laughed softly. "How's Amy treating you? Big crier? Does she eat a lot?" After a moment and opened his eyes. Happy. Stay happy for Sherlock. He could mope when he was off the phone. "Are you behaving for Papa, Amy?"

Sherlock took the phone off speaker and walked back to the kitchen. "I'm fine. Little Sandi is great. She cries sometimes but that is to be expected. She does eat a lot." Good. He wanted to keep John focused on anything else than what was going on. "I miss you. I look forward to seeing you soon."

Focus. Happy. The drugs were upsetting John. He couldn't think straight and couldn't form full sentences in his head. "I miss you. I miss hugging you and being close to you." Rambling. He took a deep breath. "I missed your voice. I didn't think I was going to make it and my last wish was to hear you," his voice was low. He was tired but fought to keep talking to his fiancé. "Will I see you by the end of the week?"

"Hopefully. You sound tired. You should get some more sleep. You need to get your strength back." Sherlock was tired himself, but it was all just stress related. The worry and fear in the past several hours was starting to catch up to him. And his father's death. Instead of dealing with it, he was just ignoring it. Just easier that way. All this talk about drugs with John, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea.

The other man was right but he didn't want to get off the phone with Sherlock. John wanted to talk to him all night. There was a moment of silence on the phone. "I go back in for surgery tomorrow," he muttered, clearly agitated. "They shattered my shoulder. Worse than the left one. Need to go back in and fix, so..." He exhaled loudly through his nose and forced the tears to stop falling. "I'll be out all day tomorrow. Won't wake up until the day after. Be there? Your face is the first thing I want to see when I wake up."

"I'll see if I can make it. Mycroft wants to bury Dad as soon as possible so it may be tomorrow then I'll fly out first thing afterward, all right?" Sherlock wanted to fly out to see John right now. For now, he needed something else to keep his mind preoccupied. The idea of drugs returned. It would be a good distraction from his current thoughts. His fiancé would be disappointed in him for sure. That look of disappointment during the drugs bust. Damn it. How the hell else was supposed to deal with all of this?

"Alright," John replied softly. "I'm going to sleep, okay? I love you." He ended the call and let his hand fall forward on to the mattress, falling asleep almost instantly.