Can't go back

12

"John? John! Are you alright?" He caught me in his arms, holding me away from him and helping me stand on unsteady feet. I saw Sherlock through half lidded eyes as he bent down to look me in the face. I eventually realized he asked me a question and attempted to answer, only to have mumbled gibberish come out of my mouth. "How long has he been like this?" He asked the cabbie when I didn’t answer.

"Since he got into the cab. I tried asking him about what happened but he wouldn’t tell me anything. Just gave me the address."

Sherlock nodded and supported me with one arm. Digging with his other hand in his pocket he produced a few notes, handing them to the cabbie. "Here. This should take care of it."

The cabbie thanked him and left. Sherlock threaded his arm under my shoulders and tried to help me hobble in. It was awkward and slow, not to mention painful on my ankle. Every step made me wince, and though I tried to hide my pained expression Sherlock saw like he always sees. "Here, hang on a second..." He stopped in the hallway and I stopped with him. Spinning... The hall and Sherlock were spinning and my head was pounding as my eyelids got heavier by the second.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock called, a little too loudly before turning his attention back to me. "Hold on..." he moved my hand to rest on his shoulder before snaking his arm back beneath my shoulder blades. He left one arm there and bent down, placing the other at the back of my knees.

"What’re you- Ah!" In an instant my feet were swept out from under me and I felt like I was going to collapse. Then I was in Sherlock’s arms, being held close to his chest.

There was a sudden rush of blood to my head and I blinked thickly. "Sherlock..." I mumbled, still having issues forming proper words with my head pounding like this. "I can walk you know..."

He rolled his eyes. "With your ankle like that? Besides, you’re injured, you shouldn’t be straining yourself." I let my eyelids flutter closed, deciding it took far more effort to keep them open than was worth it, and pressed a little further into Sherlock’s chest. Everything hurt, but at the same time everything felt... numb. Disconnected. As if my head wasn’t fully picking up on everything. "You’re bleeding. Why didn’t you tell me?" He asked, sounding a little concerned

" 'm... fine..." I managed to mumble out, though not enough to convince anyone, much less Sherlock.

"Honestly John, do you take me for an idiot? You are most certainly not fine, or you wouldn’t be bleeding! Dammit... MYCROFT!" His shouting made me wince, not exactly helping my head.

I felt myself being set gently down and did my best to open my eyes. For the first time I noticed a dark red stain over a small area on my chest. I tried to look around for Sherlock. He was talking to somebody slightly older than himself with red hair and an annoyed expression on his face. They stood a little distance away by the stairs, but their voices carried over to me. "Sherlock, what is it? I have to finish this work before-" he cut off, finally noticing me. "Who’s that?"

"John. You have to fix him." His voice had a slight desperate tone that he seemed to be trying keep out as much as possible. My eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing so I closed them again.

"Fix him?" the older boy said. "Sherlock, that’s not how things work. He’s not some teddy bear that got ripped apart by the dog!"

"Please..." Sherlock half asked, half begged. His voice wobbled just slightly, as if he were holding back tears. After a long pause, the other finally answered.

"Very well. Go get me the med kit. The one from the bathroom, with the bandages." There were heavy footsteps as Sherlock ran off, then lighter and slower ones signaling the older boy was coming over to where I had been placed. With effort I opened my eyes one more time to see the redhead leaning over me, kneeling on the floor next to the couch.