John's eyes widened.
"What?"
Sherlock asked again, "Who are you?" he looked at Mycroft "You as well. I don't know who any of you are."
John looked over at the elder brother who was facing away. He couldn't look Sherlock in the eyes. John wasn't surprised; he was using everything he had to be this close to Sherlock. To the man who he thought died, the man he thought he would never see again, the man who didn't remember him. Sherlock readjusted himself in the bed, sitting up to get a better look at the two strange men in his room.
"What are you doing in my room? I'm going to call a nurse in here to escort you out!"
"Sherlock, Sherlock wait." John immediately tried to calm him down. It seemed to be working.
"My name is John Watson. We're flat mates; we live on 221B Baker Street with , our landlady."
"I don't have a flatmate. I don't live on 221B, I don't even know where that is!"
John closed his eyes and nodded.
"No you wouldn't, would you?"
Sherlock's lip twitched. John kept on.
"I'm an army doctor, I fought in Afghanistan. I was wounded in battle…"
"Why do I care?"
'I don't know why would you care?'
"I'm telling you all of this because you deduced it once. You do know how to do a deduction, right?"
'Don't tell me that you can't Sherlock; please don't tell me that you can't do what makes you special please tell me you can deduce who I am…'
"I don't know! I don't know what's going on, I don't know who you are and I don't care, frankly!"
John felt another part of his heart shrivel and die when Sherlock said that. He doesn't care about John Watson, he doesn't know who John Watson is and he doesn't care. Sherlock Holmes can't deduce. Sherlock Holmes isn't Sherlock Holmes. John gave one more attempt at trying.
"This man behind me, this man is your brother. Mycroft Holmes, okay? He works for the British government; you would argue that he IS the British government."
Sherlock seemed to calm down. He looked back at Mycroft and back at John with a blank expression. John thought that he was trying to remember, trying to figure out who they were. Go into his mind palace or something like that.
"Mycroft, John."
"Yes Sherlock?"
"Would you please excuse yourselves out of my room? You're giving me a headache."
John was taken aback.
"What? Sherlock, no…"
Mycroft grabbed John by the arm. John turned to face him and was met with a sympathetic look.
"Come on John, no use in getting him upset."
John hung his head in defeat and slowly rose to his feet. Normally it would take more for him to leave Sherlock in the state that he's in but, Sherlock wanted him to leave. He'd given Sherlock a headache; he irritated Sherlock, who just came out of a semi-coma. He will leave, but not before he gets his last words out. He turned around to face Sherlock.
"Sherlock, please, remember. Remember who you are."
'Remember who I am…'
"Remember what you do, and remember why…"
John froze right there. He couldn't get those last words out. He knew what he wanted to say, he just couldn't say it. He wouldn't be able to. He can't say those words until Sherlock remembers him. Until he remembers his blogger, his best man, his doctor, his John Watson. He could've sworn he saw the man's face falter for a moment. It looked like he actually cared for a moment, for a short moment. John just hoped that he listened. But then again this was Sherlock we were talking about, he never listens. Mycroft held the door open for him and once they were outside of the room, he closed the door.
"For a doctor, you sure are shoddy with handling with your patients."
"Sorry, what? What is that supposed to mean?"
Mycroft started twirling his umbrella around.
"While you aren't up to my league of intelligence, I'm sure you can see that Sherlock has amnesia, yes?"
John looked away and then back at Mycroft.
"Yes, I can see that. What's your point? "
"My point is that Sherlock doesn't have a clue about who you are, and he probably doesn't know who he is. When you rush in like that and start giving him all of this information, he is going to get overwhelmed and it will become too much for him to handle."
"So what are you saying? Are you saying I should just let Sherlock sit there and not tell him anything about who he is or what we do? Is that what you're saying? Because that's what I'm hearing."
"I'm saying that you can provide him with the necessary information when he asks for it, which shall be fairly soon."
"Why do you think that?"
That smug smile stretched across his lips.
"If I know my brother right, he will want to know everything he possibly can, amnesia or not."
John just nodded and turned around to walk away when he halted, and then spun back around.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Mycroft raised his eyebrows."
"Why is that I'm the only one that cares about him at all, that he's like this? Why don't you care? That is your brother last time I checked."
Mycroft sighed.
"Like I told Sherlock before, caring is not an advantage."
"So you don't care that your brother can't remember who you are?"
"Will caring about him get his memory back?"
John blinked repeatedly and gave a more defensive stance.
"I'd like to think so."
Mycroft chuckled.
"Go back home, John. I'll call you if anything happens here."
John found himself marching out of the hospital with a million and one thoughts swirling around in his head. Sherlock has amnesia, Sherlock can't remember. John has to help him get his thoughts back. And John Watson agrees, he will do anything to get his detective back…