Chapter 2

'It must have been a hard fall,' Mycroft murmured down to John, as the doctor sat there staring vacantly into space.

The older man was puzzled by the ex-army captain's odd behaviour as through the glass observation window, he could spy his brother chatting quietly with the radiologist. There was not a bandage or bruise in sight, and Sherlock was now climbing to his feet completely unassisted.

'Thank you for the message,' Mycroft continued in a quizzical tone.

These words seemed to finally rouse John completely from his distracted state.

'He fell about one storey, but his head took a good knock against the concrete.'

'Hence the CT scan,' Mycroft deduced, gesturing with his ever present umbrella.

John nodded and then sucked in a fortifying breath, 'I don't know how to say this, so I will just say it. Sherlock, doesn't know who he is.'

'What?'

'He doesn't know who he is, nor does he remember me, and I am sure when you say hello, he's not going to have a clue who you are, either.'

It took a moment or two, but now Mycroft understood why John was the way he was, when he first came across him in the x-ray waiting room.

'I think I need to sit,' he muttered as he sank heavily into one of the white utilitarian plastic chairs, next to John.

Eventually, the two men turned around to study Sherlock through the glass window.

'Is this condition... permanent?' Mycroft asked weakly, whereas John shook his head reassuringly.

'I think it's just a matter of when.'

'And is this radiologist a specialist?' Mycroft added suddenly, his need to get ahead of this unexpected crisis coming to the forefront.

John scowled at him,'Sherlock is in no fit condition to fly or travel far distances, so get that idea out of your head. Let's just see what the report says.'

'I don't think you understand...'

'...that Sherlock is vulnerable now,' John hissed angrily rising to his feet, 'That one of his many enemies might see this as the perfect opportunity to do away with him. You don't think I understand the danger he is in?!'

Mycroft too had risen to his feet, 'If you understand the danger, then you should understand that if there is anyway to reverse this, any procedure or drug, we should use it.'

'He just needs rest, and he needs us to watch his six!' John shouted in disbelief, 'he doesn't need drugs. Christ, why did I even call you?!'

'John?'

The two combatants turned at this gentle query to find Sherlock standing in the doorway.

'Are you alright?' he asked, giving Mycroft a hard stare, 'is this man troubling you?'

Mycroft just stood there dumbfounded, as his brother's eyes washed over him with no hint of recognition in their blue depths.

In the meantime, John made a shooing gesture with his hands, 'Go, put your shoes on. This ground must be freezing! It's alright.'

But Sherlock didn't obey, not wanting to leave the man who had found him lying dazed in the street and emphatically reassured him that he was a friend. In the end, John had to walk back in the room and tow Sherlock to the chair that held his clothing while he was being scanned.

Slowly, the consulting detective re-dressed as John passed him his clothing. First his socks, then his pants, and then his shirt. In the meantime, Sherlock surreptitiously passed his hands over the rich material noting its fine quality, before glancing sideways at John who was dressed more simply in department store brands.

Finally, John shook out the fashionable Belfast coat and held it up for his friend.

Sherlock gave him an odd look. 'I don't actually wear that, do I?'

John glanced at the coat automatically as if checking to see what was wrong.

'Yeah, you do,' he eventually said with a confused frown. 'Why do you ask?'

Sherlock gestured with his long fingers, 'It's a bit much, don't you think? Everyone must stare.'

'Well, you look good in it,' John insisted with small grin, as some of the heavy weight that had settled on his chest since Sherlock's fall lightened. He turned Sherlock around, 'and it makes you look taller.'

Sherlock grunted noncommittally in agreement as he fastened the beautiful buttons, but he absolutely refused the scarf, choosing to instead stuff it into one of the coat's voluminous pockets.

They all gathered around the radiologist as he beckoned them to follow him to the nearest light box.