6 Months Later

Okay guys, so this story is going to change a bit, don't worry just yet.

This is set 6 months after the last chapter.

They are still at college when this is set, and they are still 'in a relationship' although nothing has really progressed.

I'm adding a trigger warning thing here, because if cancer related things are going to upset you further than this fanfic goes, skip the next 3 ish chapter, or don't read further. But if you're ok, read ahead!:)

Enjoy. – please review!

'I don't feel too good, John.' Sherlock decided to state the obvious as he was pushed and pulled into the ambulance awaiting them outside of the college. 'You'll be fine, it'll just be flu', John reassured, and Sherlock responded by not replying, only raising his eyebrows at the obvious attempt at a lie.

Sherlock had been rapidly deteriorating the past couple of weeks to the point where he had allowed John to ring his brother and the hospital.

Mycroft had already been informed, and was waiting for them in the ward when they arrived. Sherlock was taken through for an X-Ray and possible surgery, and he and John were left alone.

'John' he greeted solemnly. He only nodded in response.

'The doctors say it might be…cancer. This x-ray is necessary, it will show us what's going on. I'm paying them double what's usual to get the results twice as fast.'

John hadn't even considered cancer. Sherlock seemed so young.

'There isn't an age range for it, John' Mycroft continued, seemingly reading his mind. 'Yes, thank you' John replied, rolling his eyes.

Mycroft and John settled down into the rubbery blue armchairs in the waiting room, and the hours that past felt like days.

You couldn't get comfortable in the waiting room. Each wall was painted a different bright colour; red, orange, yellow, green. It was blinding and a bit unsettling. There was a large TV playing children's nursery rhymes at the far end, and it was put up to the highest it could on the sound setting.

A child was sitting in the corner of the room, hunched into a ball on a chair. As John watched him, he looked up from his book and smiled. He had no hair, clearly from chemo, and his skin was gaunt and pale. He looked as if he could just…break.

Yet he seemed to be in a better mood than John was. He told himself to pull it together.

Mycroft was clearly in no mood to talk, and he was shifting between getting coffee and texting. Not the most appreciated company in this situation.

Finally, after 6 hours of waiting, a doctor came out of the white room, wringing his hands. 'Mr…Holmes, I presume?' he asked, looking up at Mycroft expectantly. 'Shall we have a chat in private?' he whispered, purposely glancing towards John.

Before John could stand up and attempt to push this comment, Mycroft help up his hand for him to stop, and whispered in his ear 'leave this to me, John'.

'Dr…?' Mycroft started, pressing for a name. 'Oh' the doctor replied, remembering that they hadn't actually been properly introduced. 'Dimmock' 'Dr. Dimmock, sir' he added, regretting doing so almost immediately.

'Okay, Dr Dimmock. This is John Watson' he pointed. 'He will hear everything you say to me, and he will be placed under the close relatives list – all allowances to see Sherlock provided for. I don't believe I have to remind you how much…help the Holmes family gives to this hospital.'

Dr Dimmock had given up with a small sigh of protest, and was now looking thoroughly worried and distracted. 'Of course, of course, Mr Holmes, Mr Watson'. John had to supress an unsuitable chuckle, and Mycroft noticed and shot him a quick wink, before resuming his previous solemn facial expression. They continued with the previous, more important conversation.

'We believe your brother has Hodgkin Lymphoma. We have removed an enlarged lymph node, and the exact details will be back in a few hours. He is now in recovery. We did this after the X-Ray, as we believe time is incredibly important. Please remember that Hodgkin Lymphoma is often very successfully treated through Chemotherapy. Although we are not sure yet, we believe that Sherlock is now at Stage 3B. This is still very treatable, you may now go through and see him. Chemotherapy will begin tomorrow morning if all is correct and in order'.

'Wait. Side effects?' John asked, cutting over Mycroft's similar question.

'For the chemo? Some. He will have a lowered resistance to infections, he could become anaemic, there is sometimes bruising and bleeding, the obvious hair loss, vomiting, tiredness and some mouth ulcers. Many of these don't happen for our patients, but they are side effects that could occur to him.

'We need to talk to Sherlock' Mycroft ordered, pushing past and opening the door. It led to a ward, and there was a private room at the end, a small white card on the closed door 'S HOLMES'

John took a deep breath and as he was about to enter, Mycroft restrained him, pulling him back. 'I'll be in soon, alright? I need to update Greg'. John nodded, knowing how worried he would be if he was waiting for information.

John stepped inside the large room on his own. There was a single white bed in the centre of the room, various drips and machines huddled around it, and on top of the sheets, lay Sherlock. He was huddled into a ball, as much as the wires and cords attached to him would allow him to, and he didn't move for a few seconds, until John stepped closer.

'John' he muttered, not uncurling, but reaching out a hand in his direction, coaxing him to come closer. 'They took a thing out of me. They think I've got Hodgkin Lymphoma. Quite progressive too.'

John knew all this and didn't want to start a debate with Sherlock over what the percentage of survival would be, so he closed his eyes and attempted to distract him.

'Shut up' John said, brushing his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned contentedly at the intimacy, then leaned back, his eyes narrowing. 'Mycroft?' he asked, no need for elaboration.

'In the hall, calling Greg' John replied, moving to sit down on the armchair by the bed.

'Ah' Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up. 'I need to talk to Greg about the case, I think I've finally sorted it!' he said, swinging one leg from the bed, in order to try and stand up.

'Absolutely not' John finished firmly, pushing him back down onto the bed.

He was surprised by Sherlock's lack of wanting to talk about what was happening. But he didn't, so they talked of other things. What they would do while he stayed here. When they could go and eat. Everything but cancer.

Mycroft finally walked into the room, and he walked towards Sherlock quite calmly, now texting.

'Sherlock' he greeted, looking up to meet the eyes of his brother.

'Myc' Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes upwards.

'You should have told me that you had symptoms before. I could have got you here a week or two ago' Mycroft sighed, desperation unhidden in his eyes.

'Oh shut up, Myc' Sherlock sighed, rolling over, his back to his brother.

John thought this through. Sherlock hadn't mentioned having symptoms.

'You didn't tell me you had symptoms, Sherlock' he said quietly.

'Of course he didn't, John. However he clearly did because he admitted it to the doctor, leading to the assumption of Stage 3B, not stage 3A.'

'Oh' John replied, ruffling his hair. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because I was busy and so were you. I'm fine, anyway'. Sherlock replied, rolling back to face John.

'YOU'RE NOT FINE SHERLOCK. YOU HAVE CANCER!' John shouted, as he threw himself out of the chair, and out through the doors into the hallway.

Sherlock sat himself up, and wondered what to do. He couldn't just stay and let John leave. He looked expectantly at Mycroft, who looked a tiny bit amused by the dramatic scene.

Before Mycroft could argue, he handed his mobile over, and Sherlock quickly found John's number on his brother's phone.

Come back – SH

He texted, and when a response didn't come, he texted a few more times, just to make sure he had been heard.

I need you – SH

John, I'm hungry – SH

John, Mycroft's being an idiot, come quickly – SH

John, I might be dying, don't you want to spend as much time with me as possible? –SH

He knew he shouldn't have sent the last one, it was pushing all the wrong buttons. But it got him a reply, although not a detailed one;

Don't. Stop it. – JW

10 minutes later and John was back, and ready for an argument, armed with food for Sherlock that was bound to go uneaten, a black coffee for Mycroft, and water for him.

He sipped at his drink and started to text his college tutor, until Mycroft stopped him, having already done so himself.

John had been ready to have an argument with Sherlock, but when he had walked through the doors he had found his boyfriend to be sleeping. Mycroft's explanation being an eyebrow raise and one word;

'drugs'.