I'm so sorry for the delay in an update, just finished my end of year exams. But, here it is. Also, a warning for the next chapter, there will be a character death, but I'll let you know now, it's not John. So, Hope you enjoy :)
Sherlock paced back and forth in front of Johns bed, unable to sit still. The only sound in the room was the reassuring beep of John's heart monitor and the sound of Sherlock's shoes on the cold hospital. He had only been there two hours, and already he would've given anything to hear the sound of John's voice, breaking the silence.
His pacing was interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Mycroft entered the room.
"Mycroft" Sherlock said, in way of a greeting.
Mycroft gave him a small nod, and his eyes flicked over to John's prone form for a second.
"How are you brother mine?" He asked, his usual emotionless expression on his face, umbrella gripped in his hand.
"Fine" Sherlock replied stiffly, straightening a little and matching his brothers expression.
Mycroft stood there for a moment, evidently thinking.
"What happened?" He asked. It unnerved him more than he cared to admit that this had all gone down without his knowledge. Every other case and situation Sherlock and John got into he knew about and he was always on the scene for the worst ones. But this had all happened without his knowledge, until Sherlock had contacted Mycroft himself. He watched his brother, waiting for a response.
Sherlock glanced back at John for a moment, before he resumed his pacing, and recounted the story to Mycroft, missing no details. He almost forgot he was talking to someone, and was doing it for his own benefit, trying to figure out if there was something he had missed the first time. Something that would lead him to Sanderson.
Mycroft looked thoughtful, studying his brother.
"And what do you plan to do now?" He asked, tilting his head just slightly.
"I'm staying here with John." He replied, and while Mycroft knew how fond Sherlock was of John, this rather surprising.
"Here in the hospital? Indeed" He said, as though answering his own question. "You hate hospitals" It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes. Is there a point to this Mycroft?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
"Sentiment. Sherlock" He said, but it wasn't malicious or condescending. Simply stating a fact once more.
"I'm not a sentimental man brother. But as far as I can tell Sanderson's not done with us and I'm not leaving John alone, especially not defenceless." He said, but even he knew there was more to it.
"And how is the doctor?" Mycroft asked, now turning his attention back to John.
Sherlock sighed. "All they've told me is that he's stable for now" Sherlock said, and finally, Mycroft could see a small glimmer of the emotions his brother was hiding.
"I can't loose him Mycroft." The almost whispered words, were a surprise to both the Holmes brothers, and Mycroft's features softened just a bit.
"I'm sure he'll pull through. He's a soldier and an expectant father. I don't think he's going anywhere anytime soon." He said. His hands shifted for a moment and he hesitated, but simply tightened his grip on the umbrella.
Sherlock sighed, nodded and continued pacing. "I'm going to find him. Lestrade's men are out searching but they won't find him anywhere near the scene. He's too smart for that. But it's not going to take him long to figure out John survived, assuming he doesn't already. He's going to be back, and he's thinking like Moriaty which means…..." Sherlock trailed off, eyes widening and once again started pacing.
"Yes, yes of course, yes, oh that's brilliant, perfect" Sherlock looked almost excited, forgetting Mycroft was there for a moment. Usually he would ramble to John, but his brother would have to do.
"Moriaty didn't want to just kill me, that was too simple. No he wanted to destroy me, ruin me. So what if…"
"That is what Sanderson's going to do" Mycroft finished, raising an eyebrow. "I suppose then we need to question just how well Sanderson knew Moriaty, and how well he knew Moriaty's true motives. In the past he's simply committed petty murders and crimes but this is different." He seemed lost in thought for a moment, before adding "I'll be looking into the relationship between the two men, see what I can find, since you'll be here"
Sherlock nodded, but was barely listening now. His mind was working at a hundred miles an hour, trying to deduce what Sanderson's next move might be. This continued for a while, before Mycroft cleared his throat.
Sherlock paused, turning to face him, slightly surprised he was still here.
"Yes?"
"I really must be getting back to work"
"Ok"
They stood there in an awkward silence for a moment. Finally, Mycroft pulled himself up to his full height, brushing his immaculate suit jacket off, and turning towards the door.
"I'll be in touch brother mine" He said, pulling the door open and stepping out, before pausing. "And do take care of yourself." He added, and then he was gone. Sherlock blinked at the door a few times, once again surprised at how genuine that had sounded, before scoffing, and starting to pace again. Probabaly just a formality. After another moment, he stalked out of the room to go find somewhere to buy a decent cup of tea.
It had been two days. Sherlock hadn't slept, or eaten, nor moved from John's side. Mary had been in and out, but could never stay long. Her energy was being drained by the baby, now two weeks away, and Sherlock wouldn't let her stay too long. He wanted to make sure the baby would be okay. The nurses that came in to check on John had urged him to go home, but he had simply glared at them, or ignored them completely.
He had asked Mrs Hudson to ring his laptop and violin when she came to visit, and was currently playing it. The music had always soothed him through his nightmares, though neither man ever acknowledged the arrangement. Sherlock hoped, that perhaps it would bring him back now.
That's what he had been doing when he got the call. Playing one of John's favourite songs, when his phone buzzed.
"Mycroft?" He said, not even needing to check anymore.
"My men are taking Mary to the hospital. She's in labour"
Sherlock froze, eyes darting to John's still form.
"What? She's not due yet. John's still unconscious" There was the barest trace of panic in his voice. Mycroft, however, did not comment.
"Stress induced, they think there may be complications. They'll be there any minute now."
Sherlock barely let him finish, before he was hanging up the phone and rushing from the room, violin bow still in hand. He had only made it a few steps down the hall, when he froze again, and his blood ran cold.
John was flatlining.