Falling For You

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John sat Sherlock down.  He refused to allow his love to go and get himself beat up and then return without an explanation.  Sherlock said it was his brother that did this to him.  The bloody nose, the injured arm, and the shattered dignity.  If John had his way, he would have been at Sherrinford's head already for even touching Sherlock.  John was very protective of his love, but clearly it wasn't enough.

The gentle fire pulsed, giving a fragile light to the room.  Sherlock was curled up with his knees against his chest, a blanket thrown carelessly around him, watching the flames lick the logs they lived upon.  His hair was wet too because John had forced him into the bath.  At least now the blood was gone and Sherlock had a bandage on his arm.  John figured they could go to the hospital if they needed to in the morning.

"Tell me what happened," John urged, his voice filled with a hint of anger.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath knowing that anger was not what Sherlock needed now.

"No," Sherlock replied, his voice like a machine.

"Dammit, Sherlock.  You're going to tell me what happened or..." John's voice trailed off and he looked at the ground, unsure of what to say.  Would he break up with Sherlock for being so careless?  No, that wasn't like John at all.  He was in too deep to lose Sherlock, but he was also in too deep to allow him to keep hurting himself simply because he didn't care.  John had enough care inside of him to make up for Sherlock's lack of it.

Sherlock stiffened in his seat, thinking that John was threatening to leave him.  Of course, Sherlock couldn't lose John.  His John. He had to tell him the truth if it was the only way to keep him. 

"Sherrinford.  He... he was waiting for me," Sherlock said sheepishly, unwilling to admit his defeat.

John looked at him skeptically.  "What do you mean?  Isn't he your brother?" John asked.  John had grown up in such a simple world with friends, family, and people he disliked.  Sherlock's world seemed far more complicated.  He lived in a world with criminals, arch enemies, drugs, and old relics of the past come back to haunt his future.

"He was.  But then he was sent off to a mental institution.  He changed his name, went dark, and we never saw him again," Sherlock explained.  

He then went on to tell John about how they had been close and how Mycroft and Sherlock had looked up to their older brother like he was a god, and then how he had killed the one thing Sherlock had grown to love more than Sherrinford himself in hopes to achieve his godly status once more.  But Mycroft had seen him kill the dog, so he beat him up.  He was diagnosed with a mental disorder and gone forever. 

"I'm going to see him again.  He told me to meet him tonight," Sherlock said.

"Where?" John asked, wondering if he would be able to take the place of his love and somehow negotiate with Sherrinford about staying way from Sherlock for good.

"Old warehouse.  Midnight," Sherlock replied solemnly.  

"Won't it be a little bit dark?" John inquired.  

Sherlock grinned.  "It's always dark for Sherrinford."