Counting Stars

Where Darkness Dwells

(Summary: Sherlock is crippled after the fall and Moriarty is left with minor brain damage to his hippocampus - When the loves of their lives leave them for a better and more exciting life Jim and Sherlock are forced to seek solace else where until they eventually find it in each other.)

[Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sherlock characters]

Sherlock remained silent as the doctors report was read, word for word from his chart as the ex-detective stared blankly ahead at the pale white wall in front of him, cataloguing each mark and indentation left from past patients, this room was insufferable, as was the hospital itself. He didn't want to be here. It wasn't until he heard his name being called over and over again like a screaming mantra did he snap back into reality, his eyes widening as he saw his brothers face right in front of his own. "SHERLOCK? SHERLOCK? SHER-" Mycroft's screeching-cries were cut short by Sherlock's long forgotten monotone voice, that deepened as it filled with rage. "WHAT?!" Sherlock snarled, his eyes dark as they glared back at every occupant in the room.

Mycroft took the hint and moved away to retake his worn seat beside Sherlock's bed, his hand snaking out to hold the younger Holmes's in a desperate plea for forgiveness and comfort. He didn't know how his brother was going to live with this, how could anyone? The fall had paralysed Sherlock from the waist down, doing inconsiderable damage to his spine, it was unrepairable of course but they could at least try an experimental procedure to stimulate movement, even if it was just a morning erection, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't have it. "Sherlock, are you even listening to what the doctor is saying dear brother?" He enquired in a sickly sweet tone; really he was all that Sherlock had now, John had left him along with Jim's sniper Sebastian - both men exclaiming now that both genius's were crippled they no longer possessed the same level of danger that both companions were drawn too. The bastards! Mycroft thought, gritting his teeth together tightly in a vain attempt to stop from grinding them in a hidden fit of rage.

"No..." Sherlock hissed in a raspy voice as he glared back at his brother, his once majestic silver eyes now a depressing dark grey, they no longer held the light they once possessed, the excitement and intellect. "Why, was he saying something important?" Sherlock stated sarcastically, pulling a face before turning his attention back to the white wall in front of him, it was calming the colour - it was just as damaged and beaten as him, he thought, as tears began welling up in corner of his eyes. "I don't want the surgery, Mycroft. I don't want to feel them. It's bad enough I can't walk and now you want me to do this? I won't have it. At least give me this, I don't want to be placed in an operating theatre again just to attempt something that could make matters worse all to get an erection, but for who or what, Croft? I don't have anyone. Not anymore..." His voice hollowed out as tears started streaming down his cheeks, leaving a glistening trail of water in their wake. "I want to go home..."

Mycroft's heart broke at the sight, his chest aching as his heart began to pound harder in the empty cavity until he could hear the painful drum of life echo in his ears. "I-I'm sorry, Sherlock..." It was all the elder Holmes could say - I'm sorry - Sorry for what? He thought to himself, I'm sorry I couldn't be there? I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. The only two words that seemed to play over in his mind were, I'm sorry.

The indifferent expression faded from Sherlock's pale face, when he heard his brother speak; no longer in a harsh and emotionless tone. No, instead in a broken null of a voice. "I think it would be best if you leave now, brother mine, it bad enough when one Holmes cries but two? That's despicable!" He mused, faking a range of appalled tones as he wiped away his fresh tears with the back of his hand. "Don't be sorry, My, be happy that I'm still alive cause let's face it, you couldn't live without me..." He tried to comfort his elder brother, even though he couldn't look back and face him - he was sure if he did he was reminded of the night of his first overdose, because the older Holmes wore the same tortured expression, Sherlock knew that his brother blamed himself for this, but he couldn't deal with others guilt. Not now, it was already to hard to deal with his own.

Meanwhile...

James moaned as he pressed his naked flesh back against his lovers, their fingers interlacing above their heads as their bodies rocked forward in unison, hips snapping together roughly as their warm lips met somewhere in between. "P-Please, Sebastian..." Jim moaned, begging for more as sweat began to cover his brow, this was perfect, he wanted this to last forever. 

Sebastian groaned as he thrusted his hips forward, embedding himself deeper and deeper before pulling back and doing it all over again, his body driven by lust as well as his mind as he listened to Jim's raspy voice.

The consulting criminal moaned louder as he approached climax, his lips meeting his lover one more time before his heart began to beat violently in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears as it began sounding more and more like the beeping of a machine.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His eyes slowly fluttered open as pain flooded his system, his mind quivering as it tried to process what was happening, and where he was without any prevail. The cold air around him, burning his lungs with every deep breath; the man was confused and somewhat frightened by the bright fluorescent lights that bore down on him, stinging his dark brown eyes as the torturous sound continued to beep near his ear. What was that? Where was he? He thought, his mind drawing blanks as he tried to push himself up from the palliated hospital bed that he laid on. "S-Sebastian?!" He choked out in a mangled scream, trying to call out for his partner, his protector and his lover. Where was Sebastian?