Hello, everyone. Here's the second update for today. This one isn't nearly as dark as the last one, but it's still heavily emotional.

MBC and I are both very busy with coursework right now and I'm also working two jobs on top of that, so I have very little time to myself, let alone write for fun.

Like it was said in our last update, we'll be limiting updates to twice a month. Sometimes it may only be once a month depending on how busy we are. But we'll definitely be posting in March as I have a week off the week of the 9th. So that time will be used for writing and updating and de-stressing.

Thank you all for your patience and kind words. We'll see you in a couple weeks.

~TSA + MBC

Warnings for this chapter: drawing heavily on emotions, Sherlock isn't happy about being awake, dream sex, very rough dream sex, biting, minor blood play(?), dream threesomes, Mycroft is a dick, Lily the cat feels, Holmes brother arguments

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and hissed as a blinding light flooded his vision. He was instantly hit by the memories he hadn't been able to delete and a choked scream of agony ripped through his throat. Maybe he hadn't been ready to wake up after all.

John and Greg both looked up from the books they weren't reading and dashed off to Sherlock's room. Greg approached one side and John the other, both whispering soft words to calm Sherlock down, smoothing hands over his cheeks and hair.

'Shhh now, love. It's OK.'

'It's Daddy, Sherlock. It's OK. Daddy's here.'

Sherlock felt an immense anger bubble to his surface as memories continued to hound him.

'Piss off, Lestrade! You too, John! I'm just a machine! Machines don't need comforting!'

Both men pulled back, hurt and confused.

'Machine?'

'Lestrade?'

'Because that's all I am, isn't it? A fucking machine. I can't feel anything!' Sherlock snarled. 'And really, Lestrade. Piss off has a meaning, you know. Now go!'

A baby cried loudly before Greg had a chance to answer. He sighed and left the room, going to take care of his daughter. He picked her up out of her crib and bounced her gently in his arms, the little ginger bundle hiccuping.

'Shhh. It's OK, love. Daddy's here,' he told her softly. She stroked his face with her chubby fingers and smiled up at him. 'Well, at least you still like me.'

John stayed with Sherlock despite his cries for him to leave.

'You've been in a coma for nearly a year,' he said softly. 'Your legs, arms, and core have atrophied. You'll be starting physio to get your strength back. Probably in a couple days. The nurses will fill you in more.'

John's words were only proven right by his inability to move. Sherlock groaned and grumbled a reply along with a 'Fuck off, John.'

'I... OK.' John hung his head and sulked from the room, stopping in the doorway.

'I don't know what happened in your coma dream this time to make you so angry, but... it's good to see you awake nonetheless.'

He left and joined Greg in the sitting room. The man was doting on his daughter, a bottle in hand as she played with his nose.

Sherlock whimpered and closed his eyes. Now that he was here he didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in the dream world.

John held onto his niece while Greg warmed the bottle. She reached out and grabbed at his hair, the blonde locks long and unkempt after a year of not truly caring.

'You'll meet your uncle one day,' he told her, the ginger girl inspecting his eyebrows now. 'When he's stronger and not so angry.'

Try as he might, Sherlock could not get himself to fall asleep. He was wide awake. And the memories were attacking him almost painfully now. He was throwing up over himself before he could really register the nausea.

A medical team came rushing in, cleaning Sherlock up and turning him onto a different side so he wouldn't get bed sores. They then injected him with a sedative and watched as he slipped into a peaceful sleep. They would explain his situation when he wasn't so emotional.

'Fuck!' Sherlock yelled as he was dragged back into his dream world.

'Sherlock?' John leapt to his side and clutched his shoulders tightly. 'What's wrong? Are you OK?'

'They bloody sedated me! Bastards!'

'Why? What was happening?'

'I got a bit emotional...'

'Memories?' John guessed.

'There were more memories than anticipated,' Sherlock sighed loudly.

'And they affected you worse than you anticipated,' John surmised, nodding. 'Well, now that you'll be here for a few hours maybe we can work through some. Want to try?'

'Yeah. But can I get a kiss first?'

'Of course love,' John smiled softly. He moved his hands to Sherlock's face and pulled him down for a warm kiss, both men humming softly.

Sherlock hummed and smiled. 'Thanks. I really needed that.'

'You're welcome,' John grinned. 'Feel better now?'

'A little, yes.'

'OK. What do you want to do while you're here? Just relax or try to find a solution to deleting the memories you don't want?'

'I'd rather relax,' Sherlock smiled. 'I can barely move in real life because of the damage to my body. I need to move!'

'OK,' John grinned. 'What did you have in mind? A run? My bike? Sex?' He purred and wiggled his eyebrows at his last suggestion.

'Threesome?' Sherlock grinned.

'Summon Greg,' John said, already moving to the bedroom and removing his shirt.

'Oh Gregory!'

Greg came up the stairs and smiled at the sight of Sherlock. He rushed over and hugged him tight.

'Wasn't expecting to see you back so soon,' he said, pulling away and still smiling. 'Where's John? He said he was gonna wait for you here.'

'In the bedroom,' Sherlock smirked. 'Coming?'

'God yes,' Greg purred, pulling Sherlock along by his shirt collar. John was already stripping out of his pants when the two men arrived, the door closing and locking behind them.

'Ah. Greg. Welcome,' John grinned. 'Don't stop on my account. Strip. And I'll watch.' He climbed onto the bed and sat on his knees, waiting for the two of them to strip. Sherlock stripped and moved to the bed, grinning like an idiot.

Greg stripped teasingly slow, working all the buttons on his shirt off before moving to his jeans and undoing the button and zip.

'You two want to do the rest?' he grinned cheekily.

'Can I be at the back today?' Sherlock smirked.

'Who do you wanna fuck?' John asked, sliding off the bed to kneel at Greg's feet, sliding his jeans and pants off in one swift move, his very erect cock springing free. John groaned and licked it from base to tip, suckling on the head. Greg moaned and threaded his fingers through John's hair, pulling him down onto his cock and swallowing him whole.

'Make a decision. Quick,' he groaned out as John started bobbing his head. 'Seems we've kinda started without you. Oh god! John! Fuck, that feels good.'

'Daddy!' Sherlock exclaimed, leaping off the bed and moving behind Greg, pressing his naked form tightly to him.

'Sher– fuck!' Greg gasped sharply when he felt Sherlock pressing a finger inside him while John continued sucking him off. 'Bed! Now!'

Sherlock dragged Greg away from John and all but threw him on the bed in his enthusiasm. His fingers soon got back to work, pumping in and out of the silver haired man.

'Oh! Fuck! God! Yes!' Greg cried, rocking on Sherlock's fingers. 'Fuck me, Sherlock! Fuck me!'

'As you wish,' Sherlock purred, replacing his fingers with his throbbing member.

'Oh fuck!' Greg cried, pushing back on Sherlock's cock, gripping his hips tight to pull him in deep. 'Fuck me without mercy.'

John moved and settled on the mattress, gripping himself and moving his hand along his shaft. He was quite content to just watch for the time being. He moaned softly and winked over at Sherlock, spreading his legs open so he could watch too.

'Don't stop, please. This is a very gorgeous scene indeed. I wanna watch.'

Sherlock gripped onto Greg and began moving furiously, grunting and panting in exertion.

'Oh! Oh my god! Fuck! Don't stop! Make your daddy feel good!' Greg moaned and groaned and whimpered occasionally as Sherlock fucked him, John watching all the while. Sherlock moved faster and harder and moved to nuzzle Greg's neck before sinking his teeth into it.

'Fuck!' Greg cried, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's curls. 'Bite me! Mark me! Fuck, don't stop!' John moaned loudly and moved his hand a little faster, his heart beating a little faster.

Sherlock bit harder, drawing blood and gulping it down greedily, thrusting harder and deeper. Greg's breath hitched and he moaned loudly, closing his eyes and losing himself to the sensations. John whimpered and squeezed himself a little tighter. Fuck, this was better than any porno.

'Is my daddy going to cum?' Sherlock yanked Greg's head back with force and grinned.

'Yes!' Greg cried, his entire body stiffening as he neared his release. 'Nearly there! Fuck! Gonna cum!' John whimpered loudly and squeezed around the base of his cock, staving off his own orgasm for the moment. He didn't want to cum yet. Not yet. Sherlock cried out as he and Greg came simultaneously with loud shouts of each other's names.

'Fuck!' John cried out as he finally allowed himself to cum too, his toes curling slightly from the force of it.

Sherlock giggled and pulled himself out of Greg. 'That felt–' His sentence was cut of by a tingling sensation. 'Uh oh. I think – I think I'm waking up. Sorry to cut this so short.'

'It's fine. We'll be here when you fall asleep,' Greg panted, a goofy smile on his face.

'Love you,' John grinned.

'Love you too,' Sherlock mumbled, waking up slowly like a newborn babe.

A nurse was waiting at Sherlock's bedside, taking his vitals.

'Ah. Welcome back, Mr Holmes,' she smiled politely. 'Good to see you a bit more calm. If you're ready, I can explain your situation to you and your available options to right it.'

Sherlock blinked. That was all he could do. He was too weak to do anything else.

'I think my situation is perfectly clear Miss Hayes.' His eyes scanned the nurse, deducing. Ah, at least he still had his deducing abilities. 'As is yours. Pregnant. And you don't know who the father is. Well, I suppose that's what you get when you sleep around. What? Didn't you know? Hmm. How idiotic. It's as plain as day that you're expecting. A single mother expecting a child starting out in a new profession. I'd say my situation is better than yours, don't you?' He watched as her composure slipped and then felt a strange sense of déjà vu pass over him. He swallowed thickly.

'I know you, I think. Oh god. Whilst I was experimenting I slept with you. Quite a few times too. I–' He eyed her baby bump with curiosity. 'How far along are you?'

'Not too far,' she said quietly, her throat tight. 'You've been in a coma for a year, so there's no chance that you're the father. You needn't worry.'

Sherlock nodded and looked away from the nurse. A little bit of himself felt disappointed, the other half of himself felt relieved.

'You can explain my situation now,' he said in a soft, defeated voice.

Miss Hayes cleared her throat and pulled up a clipboard, reading from it.

'Well, as you already know, you've been in a coma for close to a year. The muscles in your legs, arms, and core have atrophied quite badly. You'll be starting physical therapy this week after we've gotten some real food in you. And we estimate it will take you about six to eight months to regain your strength. And even then you'll have some more to regain to be able to move without the use of a cane.'

Sherlock nodded slowly in understanding. 'And my mental health? I believe I–' He took a deep breath. 'Need help in that department. Can that be arranged?'

'Of course. I can get some names for you if you want and you and your partner can do some research on them. Choose the best one for you.'

'Thank you,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'It's appreciated. May I see John now?'

'Of course. I'll send him in and look up some names for you.' She smiled softly and dashed off to get John. He was asleep in a chair, his niece asleep on his chest. The nurse nudged him gently and he roused slowly.

'Mr Holmes is awake and asking for you,' she explained.

'Hmm? Yes, of course,' he yawned. He stood slowly and put the girl back in her crib, putting her favourite stuffed animal by her. He returned to Sherlock and sat by his bedside.

'You wanted to see me, love?'

'Yes, um, hello,' Sherlock smiled gently at John. 'We didn't get off on the best foot and for that I'm sorry. But you must realise the reasons behind my anger. When the last thing I can recall you saying is "you machine," I was a little pissed off.'

'Yes,' John swallowed, hanging his head. 'Yes, I did call you that. I... I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it back. I wish I had stayed with you instead of running off. I–' He choked on a sob and covered his face in his hands, trying to muffle his cries.

'John,' Sherlock sighed softly. 'It's fine. Really. I'm OK.'

'No! No, you're not OK!' John cried, clenching his hands at his sides. 'You faked your death! You left! You came back bloodied, broken, and with the mind of a child! And you went into another coma! I think it's safe for me to assume that you are not OK!'

'I hate to say it but things could be far worse. I could actually be dead. Look on the bright side. Sebastian and my father at least returned me alive.'

'True. Right. OK.' John nodded and sank further in his chair. 'I just... I feel guilty. I feel like I put you here. And I know it's stupid and unreasonable, but that's how I feel.'

'I suppose, in a way, you a played a part in this. As did Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. However, I can see Mycroft hasn't been entirely truthful with you. He is the one at fault. He put me here. Talk to him. You have to talk to my... I would say brother but he isn't my brother. Not anymore.'

'He told me about Moriarty, if that's what you mean,' John said softly. 'About him being your half brother. That... was rather... unexpected.'

'Mmm. Very unexpected. Considering the lying slimeball of a man who was presumably supposed to be looking out for me didn't bother mentioning it to me. Nor did he bother standing up for me. Did he tell you that he chose Moriarty over me? Oh yes. He and Moriarty were close chums. Mycroft is the one you need to blame. He dragged me right up to that ledge and he forced me to fall. Not only that but he used to beat me. Whilst I had the mind of a fucking child. He beat me! It was like living with father all over again. I... I fucking hate him! Fat arsed bastard!'

'He... He did what?!' John's hands were clenched into fists for an entirely different reason now. 'That son of a bitch! I'll kill him! I'll fucking kill him! He chose that... that psychopath over you?! And he abused you when you came back?! I'm gonna fucking kill him!'

'Please don't. I want to do it. I swear that once I've regained enough of my strength back to hold a gun I'm going to put a bullet through his skull.'

'I'll let you,' John growled. 'That fucking traitor!'

'Where is said traitor? Has he been informed that I have awoken?'

'He has. But he's at work,' John growled, standing up to pace about the room.

'Still choosing work over me then,' Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. 'How typical of him.'

'Choosing work over his own daughter,' John growled, seething. 'Greg does all the work, I swear. And I've been helping out too. The son of a bitch made such an argument about being there before she was born so they'd bond in utero, but the... the... fucker wasn't even there for her birth!'

'And here I am, crippled and unable to be a father,' Sherlock sniffled. 'Not that I believe I'd make a particularly good father if I were able to be one. And where is this beautiful niece of mine? Do I get to see her?'

'We'll discuss children later. Marriage before that. If you still want to get married that is.' John softened slightly and smiled over at Sherlock at the thought of their niece. 'Your beautiful niece is in her crib. Want me to bring her here?'

Did he still want to get married? Sherlock bit his lip as he mulled over the prospect of finally getting married.

'I have a lot of things to work through before we discuss anything along those lines. I'm only so calm now because I still have the sedative in my system. In which case this is probably the best time to see my niece.'

'OK. I'll go get her.' John left and returned to the little ginger bundle. She was starting to stir anyway, so at least he wouldn't have to wake her up.

'Hi sweetie,' he cooed softly, picking her up gently. 'Your uncle wants to see you. Come on.' She giggled softly and clutched onto his shirt. John entered Sherlock's room and sat by his bedside again.

'Sherlock, this is your niece, Amelia Timothy Holmes. Amelia, this is your Uncle Sherlock,' he grinned softly. The little girl giggled and squealed, her hands making grabby movements at Sherlock's hair.

'Timothy?' Sherlock mused. 'I presume that was on Greg's insistence.' He smiled at the little ginger haired girl. 'Hello little Amelia. It's so very nice to meet you at long last.' He grinned like an idiot when his niece gave a particularly loud squeal. 'I think she likes me, John. I just wish I was strong enough to hold the little munchkin.'

'I can hold her over you if you want,' John grinned. Amelia was trying hard to wriggle out of John's grip. 'She wants to see you too. I think she likes you.'

'Can you?' Sherlock chortled softly, completely transfixed by the ginger haired girl. 'She's beautiful. I want to see her properly.'

'Of course,' John grinned. He stood and sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed, scootching close and holding Amelia out to Sherlock, keeping a strong grip on her. She squealed and reached out for her uncle, trying to grab at his hair.

'She's even more beautiful up close,' Sherlock exhaled softly. 'She has her father's eyes. Let's hope that's all she gets from him.' He cooed at the infant and laughed gently. 'She's so perfect, John.'

'I love her to bits,' John grinned. 'And she's a big ball of energy. She started crawling last week. Well, trying anyway. She's gonna be a speed demon when she finally does start moving.'

'Oh, she'll be chasing criminals around London in no time,' Sherlock laughed happily. 'Are you going to help your uncle fight crime?'

The little girl squealed again, still trying to grab at Sherlock's hair. John laughed and moved a little closer, Amelia squealing in delight as she was finally able to touch her uncle's face.

Sherlock kissed Amelia's chubby cheek. 'You are such a sweetie,' he cooed. 'Oh yes you are. A widdle sweetie pie.'

'Speaking of widdle sweetie,' John smiled as he saw Lily approaching, her belly sagging. 'Our widdle baba is here to see you.'

'Mow,' Lily purred to announce her presence.

'Hello baba!' Sherlock exclaimed happily. 'Coming up? Do you remember me?'

'Mow?' She wiggled slightly at hearing her daddy's voice. 'Mow! Mow! Mow!'

'OK, baba,' John laughed softly. He laid Amelia by Sherlock and she curled up next to him, clutching his shirt sleeve tight while sticking her thumb into her mouth. John moved to Lily, her belly round and full, and helped her onto the bed. She waddled up to Sherlock and began rubbing all over his face, purring loudly.

'I think it's fair to say that she remembers me,' Sherlock laughed. 'Now I've got two ginger babies in my life. One of them is quite fat. What on Earth have you been feeding Lily?'

'Oh, it's not food that did that to her,' John grinned. Lily was chewing on Sherlock's hair now and rubbing it occasionally. 'Sher did. Mycroft's cat? Got her pregnant. Congrats, Sherlock. You're gonna be a grandpa.'

'A grandpa?' Sherlock huffed a laugh and pouted. 'Don't call me that. You make me feel old.'

'Well, OK. But our baba is gonna be a mama. Took her to the vet the other day. She's only about a month along at this point. She's due in October. And the ultrasound revealed she'll be having three widdle kitties.'

'Gah. Three widdle kitties and a niece.' Sherlock's face split in two. 'I don't think I've ever been so happy. Well, apart from all the memories still clogging up my mind making me suicidal, depressed, and ultra angry at everything and everyone within sight. I should probably get some help for that. Meh. It can wait.'

'You have your ginger babies,' John smiled. Lily crawled over to sniff Amelia's hair. She huffed and returned to Sherlock's chest, laying down on it and looking up at his face.

'Mow.'

'Mmm,' Sherlock hummed. 'But that doesn't mean I don't need help. Cuz I do. I don't want to end up like my brother.'

'I know. And you'll get it. Promise.' He bent over and kissed Sherlock's temple, smoothing his hair out of his face. 'The therapy might not start until you're able to sit up in a chair properly though. I know how you like to talk with your hands.'

Sherlock smiled gently. 'Sometimes I think you know me too well.'

'That's not necessarily a bad thing,' John smiled softly. 'I'll let the nurse come back in and check you over. Then I think you should eat something. Soup and bread to start?'

'OK.' Sherlock swallowed down hard. 'John I – I'm sorry for putting you through so much. I was going to come back, really. I stayed around for a little while. I watched you as you grieved and it hurt. Hurt me. So I left. I sent you a messgae through the front door. Did you get it? "I believe in John Watson."' His eyes teared up a little as he continued to speak. 'I never gave up on you. Well, not on purpose. I went to America and killed a load of bad guys and then Seb came along and captured me. He broke me, John. I became a child, then a teenager. And my god. I started whoring myself out. My second adolescence was so much worse than my first. Can you ever forgive me?'

'That message was from you? I thought I recognised the handwriting.' He laid down by Sherlock's other side, the one Amelia wasn't occupying, and rested his head on his shoulder. Lily sniffed his nose. 'I missed you so much. I never moved on. I didn't want to. You were, are, the love of my life. I wasn't going to move on. And while I wish you hadn't gone and gotten yourself tortured in the process, I'm just glad to see you alive. I love you.'

'You're not angry with me?' Sherlock sniffled. 'I lied to you. I faked my death and watched you crash and burn. And I lied to you again when I was pretending to be someone called Jack. Not only that but I slept around John. I wasn't faithful. I'm just... I'm so, so sorry.'

'I slept around too,' John admitted. 'I got a reputation and I hated it. I absolutely hated it. So I stopped. Until I met you. I'd heard good things about you and I wanted to see if they were true. They were and then some. You were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. And... I suppose I'm a little angry, but right now I'm just happy you're awake and alive.'

Sherlock worried at his lower lip. 'I had little idea of who you were. I just knew that you were the nice man Greg sometimes spoke of and that I simply had to bang you.'

'So even in your other life you wanted me?' John smiled softly. 'We really are made for each other.'

'Yes, yes we are. Can you scratch under my chin? I've got an itch there that simply won't go away.'

'Course.' John scratched under Sherlock's chin and he began to purr like a cat. Lily purred in reply, her tail thumping against Sherlock's stomach, which let out a loud growl. John laughed softly.

'I'll go get you some food soon, OK? I just want the nurse to come back first.'

'I wouldn't count on that. I upset her rather badly. We, well, slept together a few times prior to this whole situation.'

'Oh.' John's face fell slightly. 'She's, um... pretty. I'll just go get your food then, yeah?'

Sherlock nodded and looked away from John in shame. 'Leek and potato soup, please.'

John nodded and slunk off to the kitchen. The nurse was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee between her hands.

'You know you shouldn't be drinking that while you're pregnant,' he told her.

'It's decaf,' she informed him, taking a sip. 'I got some numbers for some psychiatrists. And... I won't be able to continue here.'

'I figured. He told me about your history.' John pulled a can of soup out of the pantry as well as a bowl. 'Thanks for taking care of him though.'

'You're welcome. I'll be sure to get another nurse for you guys later today.' She stood, abandoning her coffee, and gave John a yellow legal pad, names and numbers scrawled on it.

'Thanks,' John said, accepting the notepad. 'We'll talk about these names later.'

The nurse nodded and left, leaving John alone in the kitchen. He sighed and put the pad on the counter, opening up the soup and dumping it into the bowl. He microwaved it until it was hot, grabbing a spoon and some water as well. He put it all on a tray, including the pad with the numbers, and returned to Sherlock. Lily was rubbing her head against his chin.

'Got your food and some numbers for psychiatrists,' he said softly, sitting at Sherlock's side again. He wheeled a table over and adjusted Sherlock's hospital bed so he could sit up enough he wouldn't choke on the soup. 'Oh, and the nurse left.'

'Good riddance,' Sherlock sighed. 'Another part of my past I'd rather just sweep underneath the carpet.'

'Yeah. I'd rather not deal with her either.' John moved a little closer and dipped the spoon in the soup, holding it out to Sherlock. 'Open up.'

Sherlock opened up his mouth and allowed John to spoon feed him. John fed Sherlock quietly, well aware that Amelia was still asleep at his side and Lily down at his feet. It was awkward, but kind of a good awkward. Sherlock was awake, alive, and he was eating. But the damn nurse had to ruin everything by sleeping with Sherlock. Fuck. They hadn't been faithful, but then again John thought Sherlock was dead. What was Sherlock's excuse?

'You're thinking,' Sherlock mumbled around a spoonful of soup. 'What about?'

'Nothing,' John said, removing the spoon. 'It's not important.'

'Really? Cuz you have your "I'm thinking deeply" face on you.'

'Really. It's nothing.' John put another spoonful of soup in Sherlock's mouth, waiting for him to chew the hunk of potato before giving him another one.

'Tell me,' Sherlock pleaded, swallowing another bite of potato. 'Please.'

'I... Hmmm.' John lowered the spoon into the bowl and sighed. 'It's just... when you were sleeping with other people, like that nurse, why did you do it? If you knew I was out there why didn't you just find me?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock shrugged. 'I was finding my feet. I didn't know who you were, not really. And Greg advised me that you were too emotionally unstable for me to announce my presence. I started drugs, again. And well... things got out of control.'

'Emotionally unstable?' John put another spoonful of soup in Sherlock's mouth. 'Yes. I suppose I was. Jack made me better though. A little.'

'You made Jack better too. Well, a little. He was still a whore who took drugs but he was happier.'

'I felt like I was his only client for a while there,' John said softly, eating a spoonful of soup himself.

'I suppose I made a lot of people feel like that.'

John looked down and fed Sherlock another spoon of soup. So he wasn't his only client? Great. That was–

'Are you sure you were clean? Because we had a lot of unprotected sex, and not all STDs, or STIs, whatever the fuck they're called these days, show visible symptoms.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I was barely aware of being alive, John. I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that.'

'Fuck,' John groaned, running a hand down his face. 'I'll make an appointment to get us tested.'

'Mmm. I think that would be for the best.'

'Yeah. OK.' He looked at the soup bowl, nearly empty. 'Wanna finish this? Or are you good?'

'I'll finish it,' Sherlock said, opening his mouth nice and wide.

'Damn, I wish you were opening that wide for my prick right about now,' John mumbled, putting another spoonful of soup into Sherlock's mouth. 'Though that may not be wise right now.'

Sherlock blanched and paled. 'John I– though I was sexually active after the torture incident, I couldn't remember much of what happened. Now that I can I do not want to take part in any sexual activities.'

At least not in real life, a small voice supplied.

'Oh. Right. Of course.' John put the last spoonful of soup into Sherlock's mouth and stood to leave. He put the bowl in the sink and only returned for Amelia, putting her back in her crib. He collapsed on the sofa and held a pillow over his face, screaming into it. What the fuck was wrong with him? Talking to Sherlock about sex when he couldn't even move. Especially with the risk of possible STDs. Fucking idiot!

Sherlock sighed loudly, blinking up at the ceiling. He felt a presence from close by and frowned. 'Is that you John? Look, about what I said. Just let me explain, please.'

'I'm not your partner,' Mycroft said softly. 'Though if you want him he's screaming into a pillow right now.'

'I'll be screaming into a pillow if you don't bloody leave, Mycroft,' Sherlock snarled.

'Ah. I see time hasn't changed your feelings about me. Shall I send John back in? It seems you two have something to discuss.'

'No. Don't send him back in. Don't fucking talk to either of us. I hate you. John hates you. Just fuck off. Even Amelia probably hates you. Why? Did you beat her to shit too?'

'I would never lay a hand on my own daughter!' Mycroft growled. 'Contrary to what you believe, I am not an abuser! I got a stronger dose of bipolar medication and I'm better than ever. And for your information Amelia loves me. She's my flesh and blood after all.'

'Since when did that mean shit to you? Flesh and blood? No. I'm your flesh and blood and I want nothing to do with you.'

'Fine,' Mycroft spat. 'Get some rest then. For tomorrow your physical therapy begins.' He stalked from the room and grabbed Amelia from her crib, trying not to wake her. He took her upstairs and put her in her crib in his and Gregory's room. Gregory was nowhere to be found, so he was probably outside having a beer. He'd gotten into the habit of drinking outside so Mycroft wouldn't be tempted, something the elder Holmes was grateful for. He changed into his pyjamas and got into bed, opening his book and reading.

'Fucking fat ass! I swear to god I'll kill you when I can move again! Idiot! Abusive dickhead! Father point two!' Sherlock screamed and choroused, loud enough for Mycroft to hear.

Amelia woke screaming, kicking and crying at the top of her lungs. Mycroft sighed and shoved the covers off himself, stalking downstairs and back to Sherlock.

'Shut the fuck up and go to sleep!' he yelled. 'You've woken Amelia and now she won't go back to bed for ages!'

'Fine! The brother waiting there for me won't be such a dickhead!'

'Fine!' Mycroft stalked off and went back to Amelia. She was still crying and Mycroft took a few deep breaths before going to her.

'Shhh. Shhh, it's alright little one,' he cooed softly. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. 'Do you want me to read you a story?' She hiccupped slightly and her crying eased. 'OK. A story it is.' He went over to their bookshelf, now littered with parenting and children's books, and picked out one about a puppy. He sat down on the bed and laid back, propping his little girl on his chest and opened the book, reading her back to sleep. He put her back in her crib and tucked her in, turning her hanging mobile on to help her stay asleep. He crawled into bed himself, wishing Gregory was there, and went to sleep himself, hoping for better days.