Chapter 3
2016, Day 2 at home after the hospital
It had been John's turn to do the first night shift after coming home from the hospital. He was relieved that Sherlock had slept through the night without much trouble.
The evening before, Sherlock had rudely demanded that Mycroft or Lestrade needed to get old files from the MI5 database. So John had called Mycroft half an hour after that conversation, determined to do whatever would make this easier for Sherlock.
Mycroft had the papers delivered within the hour, and the younger Holmes had read quite a bit of them immediately.
It was only a few days after the last drug use and Sherlock was still in the first stage of withdrawal, which in this case meant exhaustion, energy loss and a lot of sleeping.
This was the quiet before the storm, John was very aware of that.
He was also very aware that the flat was monitored by Mycroft 24/7, it was another condition Sherlock had to agree to before they had made the decision to allow him to go through detox at home.
From a medical point of view this was not a light decision for John and there had to be rules. There were a lot of those, one of course was that Sherlock was never alone in the flat, no matter what. Another was that he would surrender to any medical choice John or Molly made and that he wouldn't try to leave the flat or try to organise drugs.
There were a few more, all to make sure Sherlock would succeed in getting clean.
Up to now Sherlock had complied to the letter and not even complained, but John saw how bad he really felt, although his friend was obviously trying to hide it.
.
This was the morning of day two at home and John made a cup of tea before he went to wake his charge.
Sherlock's friends had all agreed that he needed monitoring around the clock and therefore they were doing shifts.
The last 24 hours at the hospital had been a catastrophy, not only for the patient but also for the staff. In the end two doctor's playing private nurses and the British government putting their efforts behind an early release left little resistance from the clinic doctors. That was at least the official version.
Medical equipment to monitor the patient had been brought to Baker Street, commandeered by Mycroft.
Molly would arrive soon, giving John the chance to get some sleep, not that he thought he would be able to manage to fall asleep at all, but he knew he should at least try. He was still not really down from all that had happened during the past week.
Culverton had tried to kill Sherlock and it felt as if it had only been hours ago, but John was aware, it was more than two days.
He had lost count and something told him that he had only been allowed to do this shift to wear himself out so he would sleep. He had been at Sherlock's side most of the time at the hospital, the need to make sure his friend was treated properly and watching over him overwhelming and his first priority.
John was sure either Greg or someone else was on standby, ready to step in the moment he'd show any signs of falling asleep or of distress.
More of a farce to make him feel useful and responsible. John doubted Mycroft was this trusting right now.
At the moment, Sherlock was deeply asleep and John decided to let him rest a bit longer. For what was ahead the detective needed all the rest he could get.
Deep in thoughts, John returned to the living room and flinched when he heard someone silently coming up the stairs.
"It's me, Dr Watson," Mycroft said in a low voice.
"What are you doing here?"
Mycroft entered and looked around for a moment, then found what he needed and slowly pushed his ever-present umbrella into the gap between a pile of books and a small table.
After scrutinising his makeshift umbrella stand for a moment he took off his jacket.
"I called Miss Hooper and told her I would undertake her shift. Rosie is with her at your flat, enjoying her familiar environment for a bit."
John sighed.
He was aware that Rosie should be there sometimes, but it was so devastating for him to be there he avoided it.
The lonely nights he had spent there, sitting in the dark with only booze for company had left a shadow on him, as had the worry that he might follow Harry's path soon, failing completely to be a proper father to Rosie, seeing it all go downhill and being unable and lacking the energy to stop it.
He was happy to escape experiencing those kinds of nights.
Holding vigil over his best friend was way better, though filled with an equal amount of distress and dark thoughts.
He frowned, looking up at the other man, who sported his usual as neat as a pin appearance. Suddenly, he wondered if Mycroft was in fact watching over them both.
Was this whole thing a completely different operation for him than it was for all their friends and family?
Was he the second 'patient' in this?
He thought this was about getting Sherlock clean, but now he wondered if this was – for everyone else than him – also a help-John-get-past-his-grief-and-survive-the-experience-mission.
Mycroft had cancelled most of John's meetings and provided a substitute doctor for his surgery.
"Why did you cancel Molly's shift?" the doctor asked suspiciously.
"I will be spending the morning with my brother. Mrs Hudson will provide lunch and take over in the early afternoon... I expect you to get some sleep and pick up your daughter in the late afternoon... and bring her here."
"That's not..." John started, but Mycroft interrupted him by raising a hand.
"I am aware, but my brother seems to profit from a certain dose of being exposed to the basic needs of childcare – or the child itself. Therefore, it seems a good option. After dinner Mrs Hudson will take over once she needs... bathing," there was something close to disgust in Mycroft's features when he spoke the word, "and you can do another night shift if you please. Greg Lestrade will be ready to jump in in case you don't feel up to it."
John grimaced, then took breath to argue, but...
"You are far too exhausted by the events of the past week, so just comply and do as suggested."
This comment made John actually growl, though he was well aware that decision-making being taken away from him was wonderful. He currently struggled with even the tiniest decision and was well aware it was part of the grief/depression thing.
So, as long as he agreed that this was good for Sherlock he probably shouldn't argue.
Mycroft meanwhile ignored his reaction and worked himself out of his suit jacket. Then he busied himself by opening a large bulky suitcase he had carried. He pulled out another thick manila folder, which he then placed on the coffee table.
"My brother can have this, as long as he gets out of bed to read it. I understood it was necessary he moves around regularly. Something I failed to make him do during past episodes of withdrawal."
John just nodded, tiredly. He actually felt his eyes were sore from being open this long.
"Go and sleep," Mycroft didn't look at him when he went towards the kitchen, "I assume there is water for tea?"
"Yeah," John scratched his stubble. He hadn't shaved since Sherlock had been admitted and it was starting to itch.
"I know where to find the good tea, go to bed."
Quite speechless, John checked on Sherlock and then headed towards the stairs, there was nothing else to say.
He wasn't sure he could manage to sleep but would try, for Rosie's sake.
.
"Sherlock, I brought another one of those files you requested," Mycroft entered his brother's bedroom and pulled away the curtains, it was way too warm and fuggy in there and he wondered how his brother was able to sleep any longer.
Slowly and obviously aching, the younger man turned around, blinking up at him. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. The bruises were still very dark and fresh looking and although Mycroft thought his sibling deserved a punch for his obnoxious behaviour now and then he certainly hadn't deserved this.
Sherlock looked even worse than the day before. And although his eyes had been open for a few seconds, they drifted shut again immediately and Sherlock's breath evened out again, too.
Mycroft didn't stop him. It was actually quite odd seeing his brother sleeping out of his own accord.
Inevitably this brought back distressing memories from the last time Mycroft had seen Sherlock go through withdrawal, over eleven years ago. Once more a familiar heavy weight seemed to settle itself in Mycroft's stomach area. He was well aware what was ahead of them. And he still wondered why Sherlock thought that John was worth all this. But this was his decision and he would respect the choice his sibling had made.
Mycroft was well aware that the fact that Sherlock had survived the past eight years were to a great amount due to the fact that John cared.
The doctor shoved him in the right direction on a regular basis, and Mycroft was of course grateful for that.
He was very relieved that they had Sherlock home and surrounded by people who cared about him.
Sherlock had never had the luxury of having friends before.
The last day in hospital had been a bit of a disaster – Sherlock had a meltdown and the nurses had ignored him help-wise, had even made it worse by not providing things he direly needed because they thought he was clamouring and diverting them from important things - like texting their loved ones. His brother had had a hell of a night without pain meds and in a soiled bed because people were incompetent and lazy.
John had filed a complaint without Mycroft's encouragement.
It seemed some still didn't believe what Culverton had done, were still convinced of the innocence of the self-proclaimed philanthropist, at least that was what Mycroft had read in between the lines when he had read into the files. Some nurse had noted Sherlock just wanted to annoy them and all his issues were psychosomatic and that he loved to be high-maintenance.
Sherlock hadn't spoken about it, but the aftermath of the night's meltdown was hard on him. John had brought earplugs and his own pyjamas to address his most urgent needs.
Those events had been one more reason why Mycroft had hurried to get his sibling out of there.
He did trust John with Sherlock's life in general, just not right now, not fully.
But overall that was probably only a matter of days. John's anger was already mostly replaced by guilt and remorse.
Grief made people do odd things.
Mycroft sat down in a kitchen chair that somehow had found its way into Sherlock's room, watching his little brother.
Once more holding vigil during withdrawal.
Above him, John's movements died down, too.
He hoped the doctor would find rest, he needed it.
Mycroft was glad the time span between this and the last episode of drug-taking had been longer than any time before. But he was also tremendously unsettled about what was ahead of them.
.
A/N:
Sorry for any grammar mistakes, not a native speaker and no chance to acutally speak English in RL.
Many thanks to Ernil i Pheriannath for being there and giving feedback and everything :)
Please leave some feedback. I am desperate to know if readers can relive this.