Aftermath

19~Sherlock's POV

Mycroft insists John be checked out by one of the hospital doctors. He says he knows how to keep them quiet, so John's safe.

I laugh.

"John will never be safe. Not as long as I'm around."

"Sherlock, I will watch him. Since you have decided to begin a relationship with him, I have been watching him-and you-more. I worry. Constantly."

I scoff. "Were you watching me during Magnussen?" I fix Mycroft with a glare as he swallows nervously.

"Well, Sherlock..." I continue to stare at him. "Yes. I was."

"And did you know? Did you know I was doing drugs? That I would steal your laptop to protect Mary?"

"No, Sherlock. I didn't. I especially didn't expect you to protect Mary. I showed sentiment. It showed feeling." He spits the word as if it's dirty.

I use to do the same damn thing.

"Well, obviously I have feelings for John, now don't I?"

"Yes, and I can't say why."

"The same reason you have feelings for Greg!" I spat it out in anger. For once in my life, I wish I had kept my mouth shut.

"Sherlock, how dare-"

"Oh, shut up. It's obvious. Dilated pupils, both of you. Now, I refuse to let John be seen by one of these idiots. Especially since they may have been paid off by Moriarty! Get me an outside doctor!"

Mycroft's face is stone. He's angry, but he knows not to push me. He knows what I did just five minutes before he came up. 

He also knows I really care about John, and want the best for him.

"Fine. I will get a doctor from Buckingham Palace. Will that suit you, brother?"

"Yes. Thank you." My voice is softer than a moment before. "And, Mycroft?" He turns to look at me. "I'm sorry, about earlier." I look away shyly.

"It's alright, brother dear. I know you were just a little, on edge shall we say."

"That's not why I said it, and you know it."

I let the matter drop and walk away.

When I get to John's room, I don't want to go in. He'll be able to see it in my eyes. The morphine is helpful, so helpful, but John's face....

I eventually steel myself and walk into his room. John looks up from the book he's reading and looks at me. He smiles, but as I walk closer, his smile falters. "Sherlock..." he sighs.

"I know John, okay? I don't have a problem it's just..." How can I tell him that I'm still haunted? By his screams? By her face? By the scars that criss-cross my body... "It helps." I say, looking into his eyes.

"Helps with what Sherlock?" He's asked before why I still use and never really stopped, but now, seeing him in a hospital bed, I feel like he needs to know. I can't go another day, another minute, another second without telling him. I break into tears, finally letting myself grieve. For the life I could've had, for the childhood I'll never have, and the love it took way too long for me to discover. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong, love?"

"John, I'm sorry." I collapse into his arms, not caring that I was probably crushing his smaller-than-normal frame.

"For what, Sherlock? For using? I told you, I just want you to be careful."

"For using, for leaving you... for everything."

"Shh, Sherlock. It's okay. Shh, calm down, love. It'll be alright."