Mrs Hudson hovers for a short while before Mycroft asks her for some privacy and with a sad face she returns to her flat. The façade drops as she leaves and Sherlock slumps in his chair with a heavy sigh.
'Good work, brother mine. You almost had me convinced.' Mycroft says as Sherlock wipes his eyes on his sleeve. He had been provided with a new set of clothes since the previous day so he was no longer in the blood stained shirt from the previous morning's ordeal, something for which he was extremely grateful.
'The video link. When will it be up?' Sherlock asks and Mycroft smirks slightly.
'It should already be up. A simple video feed so that you can see him, projected from the television set, it doesn't have any sound I'm afraid, and he has his own computer on a stand by the bed so that you can communicate when he wakes up properly. That one he has the ability to switch on and off.' Mycroft walks over to Sherlock's computer and without further ado enters his brother's password and accesses the secure site.
Sherlock doesn't comment on the ease with which his brother accesses his private computer. He has done the same thin to John so many times and he knows well enough that Mycroft is as adept as himself at hacking any computer he finds. They have been doing it to each other since they were teenagers.
The site powers up and an image of John curled up in his bed, turned away from the camera appears on the screen. Sherlock stares intently. John doesn't seem to have moved since they left an hour and a half ago. Sherlock hopes he's asleep.
'You'll provide me with updates?' He asks his brother and Mycroft nods.
'I'll be working partly from the flat. We need to keep up the pretence of you struggling with John's death. A familial presence will be expected. I have spoken to mummy and she's coming down this evening to relieve me. She knows it's a fake so it will be easier for you than having your other friends here to nurse you. You won't have to put on a show.' Sherlock nods at his brother's explanation. As much as he's loath to admit it Mycroft is proving useful.
'So what do you expect me to do? Just sit here and wait?' Sherlock asks bitterly.
'Yes, while I am here you can help me with my work; there will be a lot of calls coming in possible sightings to sift through. Later when John is more awake and aware he will need you, even if it is just over the computer.' Mycroft states calmly and Sherlock reluctantly agrees.
Half an hour later a man dressed as a doctor arrives with an array of computer equipment for Mycroft. 'Officially he's here to see to you.' Mycroft explains as Sherlock frowns at the man producing various electronics out of a medical bag. They soon have something of an office set up on the kitchen table. Mycroft had suggested that he use John's room since John would not be there to make use of it but Sherlock had sternly refused and Mycroft had decided it was best to pick ones battles and moved Sherlock's test tubes and petri dishes to the kitchen counter and taken over the kitchen table.
Sherlock had been glued to the computer screen showing John's room for the first few hours but when the phones started ringing and e-mails started arriving he joined Mycroft at the table to sift through the information. Lead after lead arrived with nothing really useful. Sherlock and Mycroft could sift through most of it without too much effort and discard it as false leads or dead ends.
At five o'clock when they were starting to think it might be time for mummy to arrive Mycroft got a call which made him get up and leave the room. Sherlock scowled after him in frustration as he disappeared into Sherlock's bedroom. He did however decide to ignore his frustrating brother and continue to analyse e-mails figuring that the sooner they worked through the material the sooner they would find Larsen.
Mycroft returned ten minutes later, clearly a shade paler then before and fiddling with his pocket watch in a disconcerting manner. Sherlock stood up to face him. 'What happened Mycroft?' he said in his most demanding voice and Mycroft looked up at him with pity in his eyes. 'Mycroft tell me, is it John?' Sherlock nearly shouted as he stumbled out of the kitchen toward the computer which had sat unattended through the day as they had worked apart from two brief coffee breaks when Sherlock had sauntered over and looked at John who had seemed to be sleeping in the same position all day.
'Don't freak out Sherlock. He's still stable.' There was that word, 'stable' when they had left the clinic all had seemed fine. John had been awake.
'What happened Mycroft?' Sherlock yelled as he watched in terror at the life feed which showed John's bed empty and stained dark red.
'I'm sorry Sherlock. Just half an hour ago they went to check on him when his heart monitor went haywire. He'd upped his morphine and picked his wounds open again.' Mycroft's face was its usual mask of calm but his eyes seemed full of pity as Sherlock slumped in the chair in front of the computer.
'Why?' he whispered 'He doesn't have to now, they're all safe. Why would he do that?' Sherlock sounded utterly bewildered and Mycroft ignored the phone as it rang once again.
'It's not that simple little brother. I suspect part of him genuinely wants to die.' Mycroft offered sympathetically as he approached is brother.
'No.' Sherlock said forcefully watching the empty room where his flatmate should have been sleeping. 'No.' he repeated. 'John's better than that, he's stronger than that.' He shouted at his brother.
'Shush, Sherlock they'll hear you outside.' Mycroft scolded and placed a hand on his brother's arm.
'I don't care who hears me. Just fix this Mycroft. He's not supposed to want to die.' Sherlock yelled and Mycroft was well aware that his words could most likely be heard out onto the street where a few reporters were still huddled.
Trying to save the situation Mycroft resorted to yelling himself. 'Sherlock, he's already dead, there's nothing I can do.' He yelled at the top of his lungs and he knew that Sherlock, even though Mycroft had already told him John was alright was taking the words far too much to heart than was healthy. He clutched at his chest as his breathing picked up and hitched in his throat and Mycroft sighed in exasperation. Not again. He thought as he kneeled before his brother trying to get him to calm his breathing. At least this time Sherlock didn't pass out and Mycroft managed to guide him into his bedroom and make him swallow enough sedatives to knock him out for the night.
When mummy arrived he was sat slumped at Sherlock's kitchen table with a phone grasped in one hand and a live feed of John Watson Strapped to his bed in the clinic, for his own safety, on the computer in front of him. 'Oh Myce' his mother said in a sad voice when she saw him and she rushed over and wrapped her arms around him. Mycroft would never cry, or give voice to his utter frustration, but for just a few moments he allowed his mother to hold him and brush her hand gently across his neck above his stiff shirt collar.