That Ship Has Sailed

John & Sherlock

Figuring out how to use the emotions he felt was difficult. He'd never been good at human emotion, but this was different. He actually felt something this time. He wanted to be able to show it, but he had no way of doing so.

So, he stood there, un-moving, staring.

Mycroft walked up behind him and paused, standing beside his brother for a few minutes in silence. He then reached out his hand and placed it on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock turned his head to the side, but didn't look at Mycroft.

Mycroft simply stood, his hand resting on Sherlock's shoulder. Whether he admitted it or not, he hated seeing his baby brother hurting the way he was, even though Sherlock didn't show it, either.

Suddenly, "You two are quite the pair."

Mycroft let go of Sherlock and Sherlock stood up a little taller, balling one hand into a gentle fist, Mycroft taking hold of his cane with both hands now. When they turned, they saw a nurse standing there. She had a name tag that read 'Billy' and a clipboard in her hands.

"Are you going to stand there or are you going to bother to move closer or check how he's doing?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Mycroft interrupted, "If you don't mind, we prefer to do our mourning in private."

"Well if you don't mind, I'm going to check on my patient."

Mycroft stood to block her, but Sherlock grabbed his arm and dragged him a foot to the side, letting Billy pass. Mycroft was angry at being told what to do, but he relented for the sake of his brother, though neither wanted her there, as they wanted to do just as Mycroft had said and mourn in private.

Billy finished and left the room without another word and Mycroft shut the door.

"Sherlock," he said, turning back around, "I hope you realize this is your fault."

Sherlock didn't respond.

"If it weren't for that stunt you pulled--"

"Don't you think I know that?" Sherlock snapped, almost shouting at Mycroft. He glared at him with nothing but anger in his eyes, leftover bruises still on his face from his latest mission overseas.

"You could have told him, Sherlock," Mycroft retorted, "You know they like--"

"You do realize that we are, in fact, human, Mycroft," Sherlock fumed, stepping closer to his brother, standing tall, "We were conceived, born, and raised. We were children. We were young. We've felt love and loss, just like the rest of them."

"Speak for yourself."

"Oh, shut up, fatty," Sherlock said angrily.

Mycroft glared.

"There. See? Emotion. You got angry when I called you 'fatty' because it's a sensitive subject for you. Don't you see, Mycroft? Yes, our IQ's are much higher and we are highly functioning, but we still feel," he grabbed Mycroft's collar and shook him, "So, yes, I realize fully that this was my fault!"

Mycroft stared for a moment, waiting for Sherlock to release his collar. When he did, both took a step back.

"Well, now you've done it," Mycroft said as he fixed his collar, "You've gone and woken him."

Sherlock turned around quickly, his gaze snapping to the figure in the bed. Mycroft didn't say another word, but when he left the room, he called one of his people to guard it for as long as Sherlock was there.

Sherlock watched as John stirred.

John turned his head, his fingers twitching. When he woke fully, he brought his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes and cursing under his breath, "Dammit - why couldn't they leave me the fuck alone? Why - why--"

"If they'd left you alone, you would have died."

John froze. He let go of his eyes and they opened quickly. He pushed himself up on his pillows, shaking his head, "No, no - you're not - am I - did it work? Am I dead? Are you - are we - in the afterlife?"

Sherlock moved forward, "No, John," he spoke steadily, "You were found. Rescued. Brought here. You're alive."

"Then how are you--am I dying? Are you here to--"

"Not dead," Sherlock interrupted, "Never was."

John shook his head, "No - Sherlock - you can't--"

"It was to protect you. Moriarty would have shot you if I didn't. It was the pool all over again, John, I hope you'll understand - I did it so you would live. Now, I see I should have told you the truth."

"I wanted to die, Sherlock," John's voice cracked.

"I know, John. It's my fault and I'm sorry."

John shook his head, "I don't care."

"You must. I lied. I broke you. I wish it could have gone another way, but it had to happen the way it did."

"How did I survive?"

Sherlock paused, "What do you mean?"

"How did they find me in time? I jumped in the river."

"They didn't," Sherlock said quietly, "I found you."

John paused, trying to remember what happened. He then looked up, "You jumped in after me? You saved me?"

Sherlock paused and nodded, "Yes."

"Why?"

"John, I'm not like you. I'm not--" he drew a deep breath, "I'm not strong enough to watch my best friend die. I couldn't let it happen."

Sherlock paused, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry."

John was surprised at the level of dismay his friend was portraying. Sherlock fell against the side of the bed, one arm around John and John leaned forward, burying his face in Sherlock's coat. 

"Thank you," John said.

Sherlock looked up and John saw his eyes were red.

"Thank you," he repeated.

Sherlock rested his head against the man and John held him. At that moment, he didn't care if anyone entered or saw. He didn't care if they'd regret the embrace the next day. He didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that Sherlock was back in his arms. He saw him. Felt him. Heard him.

Even if it was the afterlife, and he really was dead, John was glad to have seen Sherlock at least one more time.