Chapter 9

Day 7/8

The ambulance took exactly 8 minutes to arrive at the front door. Alex watched the medics rush inside. It took a while before one of them came back out the front door. Went into the back of the ambulance and came out with a board. Rushed back up and then a car screeched to halt behind the ambulance. It was a response unit, the specialist medic exiting with a bag slung over his shoulder as he rushed inside.

Alex frowned. This seems a bit overkill. Wondered if he got his calculations wrong then shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it now.

He looked at his watch. He couldn't stay much longer but it looked like his plan was going to work. Everyone will be focused on Sherlock's perceived drug overdose. Asking the question why. Wanting answers.

He left shortly after, the ambulance still parked in front of 221 Baker Street with the response vehicle directly behind it.

Sherlock's beard was fully grown. His hair long. His shirt was threadbare, barely serviceable. He looked gaunt; his eyes haunted. He sat in a camping chair, as he greeted Mycroft.

"It has exactly been a year since my disappearance…"

He looked directly at Mycroft. Hands tapping a staccato on his leg. "Myc, please…" He looked to the side and horror replaced the supplication. Oliver stepped into view. "What are you doing, Mr Holmes?"

His brother's hands came up defensively. Palms out. Non-threatening. He was leaning back in the chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Whatever I did…I'm sorry." He was pleading.

Mycroft had never heard his brother plead before. Oliver turned to him, one hand on Sherlock's head.

"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, is it Mycroft? I broke Sherlock. Do you really think he's fixable?"

Oliver looked down at Sherlock, a malevolent smile on his face. Pulled his brother's head back by the hair and encircled his throat before focusing back on Mycroft.

"What do you think, Mycroft? What should we do with him?" He let go of Sherlock with a violent shove. Pulled a file out of his jacket and opened the folder. Ruffled pages.

"No, Myc. I'm sorry…" his brother's shoulders sagged. His head hung. A sob seemed to form. "Help me. Please."

"We can always do day 1 again. What do you say, Mycroft."

He woke up with a start. The image of his brother and Oliver is still too real. He shuffled upwards, leaning against his pillows against the headboard as he switched on his side lamp. Decided that he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. Got up, pushed his feet into slippers and pulled on a robe and made his way to the kitchen and started the kettle for tea.

"You're up early?" Irene said as she sauntered in. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Tea?" he asked instead. "Kettle's boiling."

She studied him. Sat down by the table and ran her fingers through her hair. "This is the third time this week, Mycroft."

"I'm fine, Irene," he said. Pulled cups and saucers from the cupboard above him. Busied himself as he made the tea.

"You forget, Myc. I know you."

He didn't reply as he brought the cups across to the table. Passed Irene hers. Sat down and took a sip.

"Do you remember the video we watched?"

Her eyes darkened. A look of compassion played across her face. A vulnerability she only ever has shown to him. "That was not easy to see," she said softly.

"No." he replied. Sat up straight and met her eyes. "That was the first time I realised how much control Oliver had over Sherlock. That my little brother wasn't going to walk out of there unaffected."

"Something else is bothering you, Myc. Does it have to do with what you and Sherlock are working on?"

Mycroft looked at her in surprise. "I wasn't aware…"

She gave a small smile. "Darling, not much goes on in this house that I'm unaware of."

"Very well. Oliver apparently had side projects. Were you informed when you did your research that there was more than the online betting site?"

Irene furrowed her eyebrows. She was clearly thinking. Going back over her memories; Mycroft took another sip as he waited for her.

"I was aware that he was a dangerous man. That he had fingers in various pots but not so much the details. Surely your own research was a bit more detailed than mine?"

"His assets were extensive. We managed to detangle most of his UK Holdings and to some extent his European ones. But I'm afraid that it's quite possible that we managed to miss one or two. The website's shut down, his clients traced. This had led to some arrests but as you can imagine most of the IP's we traced were to gamblers who lost money on what they thought was just another betting site. Not much to be done except issue warnings and fines." Mycroft sighed. Wiped his forehead tiredly before continuing, "But whatever side projects Oliver had going on, he kept them pretty close to his chest. I couldn't find much beside the website and that he had clients in common with Jim. Apparently the pair liked to share their business contacts with each other."

Share Sherlock. But he didn't say that. Knew that Irene would understand at least that part.

"I can ask around if you want?"

Mycroft took another sip. Contemplated her question. "Discreet?" he queried in the end.

Irene chuckled. "Of course. What else would I be."

Mycroft rose. Took their cups to the sink. "I'll be going into the office. I'll catch base with you tonight?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes. I'll get some feelers out. See what I can find."

"Can you focus on potential associates he might've had? I think we need to be smart about this, Irene. Moriarty's network's spread wide across the world. One of the reasons why we're still busy mopping up. Oliver's might not be as big but he seemed to have made acquaintances in quite a few places. I'm particularly interested in those in the UK."

"Fine, Myc. But it's going to cost you later," she said with a wink. He gave a half smile. "Doesn't it always."

He was on his way to the office when his phone rang. Looked at the time and frowned. It was too early for John to be phoning him.

"John?"

"Sherlock injected himself with an unknown drug. It took ages to get him stabilised enough for the trip to Barts. It's not looking good, Mycroft."

For once in his life Mycroft couldn't get more out than a lifeless what. Images of his brother passed out in doss and flophouses suddenly rushed in. Overwhelming as he tried to process what John had just told him.

"Did you hear what I said," John rushed. Mycroft heard a door slam. Heavy breathing from John. "I'm on my way there now, Mycroft. To Barts. Look, can you meet me there? I've got to go."

John hung up; the familiar drone of a line disconnected in his ears. Mycroft wiped his eyes. Leaned back and he suddenly wondered if looking into Oliver's side project had been a good idea. Clearly his brother had been suffering more than he'd let on. Enough to seek oblivion despite the safety plans he had in place with John and Molly. Wondered how his surveillance of his brother had missed the drug pick-up. He knew it wasn't in his room. His men had searched there diligently before, especially before he'd returned from the hospital. He had watched as they had removed all temptation that Sherlock had managed to hide away over the years.

No. The room had been clean. Of that he was certain.

Sherlock…you idiot. What were you thinking?

"Anderson," he said, leaning forward. Tapped his driver on the shoulder.

"Sir?"

"Change of plans. Barts please. And put a rush on it if you don't mind."

John was in the waiting room when Mycroft arrived. It surprised him to see the older Holmes dressed in a full suit, umbrella in his hand as he walked briskly towards him.

"I was on my way to the office," he said when he saw John's scrutiny. "Opportune but not ideal, of course."

"Of course." John replied automatically as he stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in. "He's still critical, but stable. They want to move him up to the ICU but the beds are full. They're waiting for an opening or he'll be transferred to another hospital."

"What does he need?" Mycroft asked.

"Uh, full monitoring. A dedicated senior nurse at least."

"Very well." John watched as Mycroft walked away to the information desk. He spoke to the clerk and then he made a phone call. It was amazing to John to watch Mycroft at work. The man seemed to have influence everywhere he went. It wasn't long before John recognised one of the senior administrators making his appearance. Shook Mycroft's hand. They moved off and John waited for at least an hour. Fretted but there was no news on Sherlock. Nothing from Mycroft.

Finally, the older Holmes made his appearance. "They have him in a private room. He's got a full complement of staff."

The ride up the lift was uncomfortable. Silent. John was still angry at Sherlock. Couldn't believe that his friend had decided to take this step after all the safety plans they had in place. He still had to phone Molly. Was loath to wake her until he knew more. There was nothing she could do for now anyways but worry. At least give her this one grace of sleep before she returns.

A doctor met them on the floor. Indicated the small staff kitchen to the side of the nurse's station.

"Mr Holmes is still critical. His body temp is elevated and it's climbing. His blood pressure is low. His kidneys look like they're taking strain. There's the tachycardia. We're dealing with it at the moment but given his symptoms and what you described about the fact that he intravenously injected is at least helpful in some regard. It narrows it a bit. We have labs going to try and identify the drug involved." He paused for a moment. Met John's eyes. "As you are aware, Mr Holmes is still underweight. Anaemic. Complications are highly likely with his medical history. I'm sorry to say but for now we'll manage the symptoms as best we can but it's a wait and see approach until he wakes up."

John nodded. His anger stirred anew at Sherlock. The doctor left them in the kitchen. John felt restless. Got up and stalked over to the vending machine. Nothing in there was of real interest and he turned his back to it. Faced Mycroft who had risen from the chair.

"What happened?" The older Holmes asked calmly.

John sneered. Wiped his nose and then ran a hand through his hair as he tried to burn off energy. It wasn't working.

"Sherlock decided to get high. Miscalculated and overdosed. Not hard to understand."

"He didn't just decide to do this out of the blue, John. What precipitated this?"

"I don't know, do I? Who knows what goes on inside his head. There was no indication at all that he'd do this," John said, hands on his hips as he eyed Mycroft.

"My brother's destructive tendencies usually follow a certain pattern, Dr Watson."

"You bloody cock. Don't you think I'd have done something if I'd even suspected. There was nothing. He had a good day." John was angry. He took a step closer to Mycroft, his hand clenched. "This is not on me. Do you understand? Sherlock decided to do this and you of all people should know that when he's made up his mind there's no stopping him."

Mycroft sighed. He wiped his forehead tiredly. "Apologies John…" he was silent for a moment. Dropped his hand and straightened. "Where's the list?"

"What list, Mycroft?"

Mycroft frowned. "Sherlock and I have an agreement. Ever since I've found him half dead at a doss-house. He would always have a list on him to indicate what he'd taken."

"Thanks Mycroft. How was I supposed to know to look for one? Does no one in your family actually share information until the last critical moment? It would've been nice to know while I watched the paramedics work on your brother, trying to save his bloody life." John turned full circle. Gave a loud expletive, eyes wide. "Any other little secrets I should know that might just help for any future emergencies?"

"No."

"Really, just this one big secret…" John gave a derisive chuckle. Moved back to the vending machine and gave it a good kick. Then a second and third one. He swore between each kick.

"Dr Watson!"

He stopped. Turned and looked at Mycroft. "That's enough of that. It's not going to help my brother at all if you have a hissy fit. Pull yourself together." Mycroft stated in a voice gone dangerously soft.

"So sorry Mycroft. Keeping up appearances…" John sneered. "You can go and f…"

"Enough!"

His voice trailed off. His shoulders slumped and he made his way to a table and sat down on a plastic chair. Ran a hand through his hair as he took a cleansing breath. Then a second one as he employed the same grounding technique that Giles had taught him to help Sherlock. It helped. The scrape of a chair and then Mycroft was sitting beside him at the table.

"How did he get the drugs?"

John looked up, eyes disbelieving. "You're the one playing big brother, Mycroft. Surely you'd know."

"He wasn't anywhere near any of his usual places he goes to. So how did he get the drug?"

John wiped his face. Leaned back in the chair and frowned. "His room was clean. He had a danger night about 4 nights ago. I made sure to check all his usual places. There was nothing, Mycroft." John was silent. Fidgeted with the tablecloth. "He's been pretty good at letting me or Molly know if he's struggling. I just don't understand why?"

"My brother isn't that complicated. Something must've set him off to take this action. Did anything happen?"

"I don't know Mycroft. Why don't you tell me?"

"What do you mean?"

"This big secret you two are working on. What is that about?"

"It has nothing to do with this?"

"Really. I don't believe you. Something happened the other day when he went off on his own. Something to do with that cold case that Sherlock had looked at. The one with the dead drug lord. This has to do with Oliver, doesn't it."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Refused to meet John's eyes.

"It does, doesn't it? You utter bloody moron."

"I assure you, Dr Watson…"

"No," John said, pointing his finger at Mycroft as he leaned forward. "Enough. This ends now. The secrecy. It's not helping Sherlock. If we're going to help him get through this, we need to work together, you understand. Teamwork is not that hard a concept to grasp, Mycroft. It's going at it alone that has led us to this point. Get it through your thick head. Now, what's going on?"

Mycroft tapped his fingers on his leg. His lips thinned.

"Out with it, Mycroft," John stated softly, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Very well. The short of it, Oliver had sold my brother's ability to deduce to someone dangerous who had used that knowledge to kill at least 5 people. My brother was coerced into creating plans on how to murder these people. Happy?"

John's mouth hung open. "What?" Mycroft was silent, meeting his gaze. "Bloody hell. You're serious."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Why didn't Sherlock say anything?"

"He thought you wouldn't approve, Dr Watson. That you'd be somehow…" Mycroft gave another soft sight, "…disappointed in him. That you wouldn't look at him the same anymore. For some reason when it comes to you, John, my brother cares what you think of him. He couldn't bear…"

"This isn't his fault," John said softly. "Why would he ever think I'd blame him for this…" John rose from his chair. Paced the floor. Stopped and stared at Mycroft. "He really messed with Sherlock didn't he? Messed with his head."

Mycroft met his gaze this time and what John saw there was frightening. Mycroft looked haunted. "More than you know…"

John felt sympathy well up for the first time for the older Holmes. Wondered at the knowledge the older man had carried on his shoulders for the past few months. He moved back to the table and sat down.

"You okay, mate?" he asked softly.

"Perfectly fine, thank you."

"Mycroft…" John said softly. "Enough. Can we not do this dance? Look where it got Sherlock."

"I worry about him, you know." He said softly. "I do care about my little brother, John."

"No one's ever doubted it, Mycroft."

Determination set in and Mycroft rose, adjusting his jacket. "Sherlock will need us now more than ever, John. This case can wait but I fear, not too long. I have this feeling that whatever happened that had my brother take this course of action, that it has to do with what Oliver made him do. I'll get Lestrade involved as well. He was a good man to have after your abduction. He is a man I trust." John blinked. That was very high praise from Mycroft.

"Yeah, okay." John looked at his watch. Closed his eyes at the upcoming conversation he knew he needed to take but wasn't relishing. "I uh…I need to phone Molly."

"I'll increase her protection detail."

John looked up. Frowned. "You think she's in danger?"

"It's just precaution. Until we know why my brother chose to inject himself with high enough dosage to OD, it would be best to be cautious."

"John, what?"

"I'm sorry, Molly. I really am."

"Where is he?"

"At Barts. Mycroft has organised a private room for him. He's still unconscious. At least he's off the critical list for now. Holding his own. This didn't do him any good. Complications are highly likely due to the fact that he's still underweight and barely recovered from his injuries."

"Uh…okay. What did he take?" John could hear the tears in her voice. Molly was barely keeping it together.

"We're not sure. The syringe he used is at the lab, getting analysed. Definitely some type of hallucinogenic cocktail but there are some other chemical traces…it could be anything really."

"But he didn't say anything. He messaged me last night. Said he was doing better…"

"He didn't say anything to me either, Molly. He had a good day. He was doing good…"

"Uhm okay. Uhm…I…I need to pack. Let the organisers know. I…" he heard a sob. She took a ragged breath. "Why?"

"Wish I knew, Molly. Guess he'll have to answer that when he wakes up."

"Okay. Uhm…I need to go…"

"Molly."

"Yeah."

"We'll get through this, okay. Giles is setting up a plan once Sherlock is awake. He's not going to do this alone. Neither are you."

"Uhm. Yeah…" Molly's breathing hitched. John could hear the effort she took to not cry, " ….Thanks John," she said softly. He disconnected the phone. He was alone in the small staff kitchen where he and Mycroft had been talking. Tears threatened and he wiped his face.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock," he said softly. "Why?"

The phone was still in his hand. In a fit of anger, he threw it at the wall. It broke into pieces, clattered onto the floor. John felt wetness on his cheek and wiped the tears away. He sniffed and he braced himself. Blinked and then the tears were gone. He straightened into a parade pose, his chest out, his hands by his side. Took a deep breath.

Sherlock is going to need you, John. So is Molly. Just bloody get it together and get on with it.

He stood for another few seconds and then he went and picked up the pieces of his phone. Ignored the ball of grief that seemed to centre on his stomach and make his chest ache.

"John?"

The door closed softly. Footsteps sounded and then Lestrade was by his side. "You okay, mate?"

John leaned forward on his haunches, bracing himself with his one hand. His other shaded his eyes as he closed them desperately in an effort to not let go. He heard clothing rustling and then Lestrade's arm was around his shoulders.

"Hey, John…"

"It's shit." He said and felt a tear escape. Then another.

"Pretty much." Lestrade said. Tightened his grip and then John was leaning against him and he couldn't hold anything in anymore.

"Hey, you okay?"

Molly looked up at him, and he put a look of concern on his face. He took her by her elbow and led her away from the bustle of the front desk to a discreet corner of the general area.

"Sorry. Yeah. I need to go back to London."

"What's going on, Molly?"

"Nothing. Uhm…just a family emergency…"

"Do you need me to do anything?" He was silent for a moment, scrutinising her. "What can I do to help, Molly?"

"Thanks Alex. I…I need to still organise a taxi to take me to the airport. I…uhm. My flight is booked in two hours."

"Okay. Why don't you let me organise that for you. I'll order some tea. How does that sound."

Molly gave a small smile. "That would be nice. Thanks Alex. Appreciate it." He gave her a quick smile. Leaned forward and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

"Okay. I'll be back soon. Just leave it with me."

He left her sitting in the corner. Stepped up to the front desk and ordered tea and a taxi. Glanced back at her and gave her another small smile and a wave.

This is too easy. He thought. Wondered for a moment if he should indulge in his fantasies. Glanced at Molly again and then Sue was there by her, enveloping her in a hug. He frowned, annoyed.

This will not do. Sue needs to disappear.

The desk clerk said something and he turned, focused on the man in front of him.

"Taxi has been ordered, sir. Will be here at 10 to take Ms Hooper to the airport."

He thanked the clerk and made his way over to where both ladies were now sitting, Sue having one of Molly's hands in hers.

"Taxi will be here at 10. Tea is on its way," he said softly. Sitting down across from the other two. They did some small talk. Drank tea.

Alex watched Molly as she left at 10. Went back up to his room and smiled for the first time. A broad grin that didn't reach his eyes at all.

His plan was working. And it was bloody good.

Now for Sue…Sue could be his little present to himself for a job well done.