Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or anything.
Author's note: So we have come to my last chapter. I hope you enjoy and please review, it will make my day! Thank you for reading and I hope you have enjoyed doing so. Thank you for everything!
Sherlock carried John, keeping to a fast pace despite the distance. He tried not to look at the blood soaked scarf that was covering the many wounds and the knife that had been plunged into his brother's stomach.
Strong and brave John Watson (who was in the process of changing his name to Holmes) was surprisingly still conscious. Sherlock continued to talk to him; he needed John to stay awake.
John's head rested on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock could just about make out John's mutterings.
Because of the adrenaline and Sherlock's urgency, they made it to the road a lot quicker than was expected. The taxi was still waiting, as the driver had promised.
The driver's eyes widened when he saw the state John was in from under the street lights. He jumped out and opened the back door for Sherlock to get in.
Sherlock didn't move John around, so he didn't put a seatbelt on and John's limp body sat on Sherlock's lap.
"You're doing so well, John. Just stay awake. The driver will get us to hospital." Sherlock said soothingly after he shouted for the driver to go to the nearest hospital as fast as he could.
The driver drove way past the speed limit, but it was late so there weren't many people around.
The driver parked up and Sherlock quickly made his way into the hospital, John in his arms.
As he approached the automatic doors he heard familiar footsteps behind him and turned to see the whole Holmes family. Mycroft had probably been tracking Sherlock or something.
Sherlock glared at them and held John closer.
John's eyes went from Sherlock to whom his brother was staring at. His eyes met his families but he couldn't say anything. He was in too much pain.
The family looked at John's tired face. John had recognition in his eyes, but his other features just showed pain and fatigue.
"You will stay away from John and me." Sherlock stated firmly and turned to walk into the hospital.
Doctors and nurses quickly swarmed him, he gently lay John's body on a bed and John grabbed his hand just as the doctor's began wheeling him away.
"No, Sherlock, I don't want to be alone!" John shouted.
"I won't leave. I'll wait till you've had surgery and then I'll be by your side as soon as possible. I promise." Sherlock said.
"Brother, I'm scared." John whispered.
"We really need to move." A Doctor urged.
"It'll be okay, John." Sherlock said gently and they lost their grip on each other's bloody hands and John was wheeled away.
Sherlock stood in the waiting room, people around them looking a little shocked at the commotion that had just passed by them.
A nurse put her hand on Sherlock's arm and he pulled away sharply.
"Erm... My name's Sandy. I'm a nurse. What's your name, and what's his?" she asked gently.
After a few moments of silence she pushed a bit more "Sir, I really need your co-operation." She said and led him to a chair. He sat down heavily and she sat next to him with a clipboard, paper and a pen.
"What's your name?" she asked again.
"Sher...Sherlock Holmes." He said hazily.
"And what's the injured man's name?" she asked.
"John. John Watson. But it's going to be changed to Holmes." Sherlock said.
"What is your relation to him?" she asked.
"He's my brother. My twin." Sherlock elaborated.
"Okay then. Well, I'll just give this information to someone so they can get his medical files up and I'll be right back." She said and left.
Sherlock had barely listened to the woman.
All he could think of was John. John's blood was on his hands, on his coat; he could smell it and feel it. John had to be okay. He just had to be. Sherlock couldn't lose him again. But he knew that John was strong, the fact that he had remained conscious all the way here was proof of that.
Somebody cleared their throat in front of him. It was his dad.
Sherlock looked down at his red hands and felt Hamish sit next to him, the familiar comfort of his father by his side did little to reduce his anger for his family. He knew that Mycroft, Rose and Harry were probably nearby, either questioning Doctor's or sat in seats around or something-Sherlock didn't really care.
"Sherlock." Hamish started.
"None of you believed me." Sherlock said, refusing to look at his dad.
"You of all people know that you were making dangerous and slightly irrational accusations back at the flat. We wanted proof, and you could provide us with little of that." Hamish said.
"John could have died. He could have died, dad." Sherlock finally looked up at Hamish and in the corner of his eye he could see the other three members of his family sat on the next bench, listening intently to Sherlock.
"I know." Hamish said gently.
"No. You don't know. None of you believed in me. But I found him. And do you want to know what I did when I saw Moriarty standing over him, John's blood oozing out of his wounds. I took John's gun and shot him dead. And then I picked John up and walked for miles until we managed to get a taxi here. Do you know how that felt? To hold my brother's small and limp body in my arms and tell him that it was going to be okay when I didn't know that for sure. You will never know how it feels. I had to continue to believe in John's will to live. I believed in John, as he believes in me. Whatever happens, we believe in each other. You have failed us as our parents and as our family. I don't want you anywhere near him. I will look after him." Sherlock stated.
"Sherlo-"Sherlock cut his crying mother off.
"No. I don't want any of you near him. He only needs me." Sherlock said.
The group fell into silence at a loss of what to do.
The nurse returned and knelt in front of Sherlock. She tried to take his hands but he yanked them back.
"Mister Holmes, I just want to remove the blood from your hands. I thought it would be unpleasant for it to remain on you." She said.
Sherlock sighed, closed his eyes and offered his hands to her. She took them and wiped the blood away until the only blood on Sherlock was on his coat, which she told him to remove.
Sherlock put his coat in the seat next to him and said to the nurse "Is there any news?"
"None yet, dear. It should be a few hours before he's out of surgery." She informed him and walked away.
A few agonising hours and an extremely restless Sherlock later a Doctor appeared in the waiting room.
"How is he?" Sherlock was first to stand.
"He's done incredibly well. He was lucky, the knife was small and the wounds don't go too deep. None of his main organs were touched but he lost a lot of blood. He's sleeping now, but I can allow one person in." The Doctor explained.
"I'm his mother!" Rose cried.
"I will go." Sherlock said firmly.
The whole family wanted to see John.
"The rest of you may observe from the window to the private room." The Doctor offered.
Sherlock sped after the Doctor and was led to a private room.
Mycroft, Harry, Hamish and Rose all went to the window but Sherlock walked in.
Sherlock gasped. John had tubes and wires attached to him. There were noises coming from the machines and John wore an oxygen mask that made his breathing loud.
Sherlock slowly came and sat next to his brother. John had been cleaned up and wore a hospital gown. Sherlock took John's hand in his and felt comfort in his brother's warm but limp hold.
Hours droned on and eventually John awakens. He doesn't feel much, they must have given him a lot of pain killers. He feels a bit hazy but he can hear a beeping machine and he can feel a solid hand gripping onto his own.
"John." He heard the familiar and relieved voice of his brother. John turned his head to face Sherlock.
"Sherlock." He said, but his voice was muffled by the mask.
"Why is dad, mum, Mycroft and Harry stood at the window, why can't they come in?" John asked.
Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the glad faces of the family who had realised that John was awake.
"I don't want them in here with you, John." Sherlock confessed.
John turned his full attention to his twin and said "Why?"
"They didn't believe in me. I knew something was wrong, and they thought I was being foolish. If your safety lies with them then you would be dead by now." Sherlock said.
"Sherlock, I understand... why you're angry." John breathed deeply, feeling odd because of the drugs "But it's alright. They weren't to know. Just... thank you for saving me."
Sherlock finally smiled "You're welcome." And then added "Do you want me to let them in now?"
Sherlock opened the door and said "I haven't forgiven you, but John has, so you can come in."
The family entered, gently greeting their son and brother as if he was a fragile piece of glass.
They all spoke, John was obviously a lot less coherent than anyone else, but he tried, bless him. Their parents and siblings apologised and John just smiled and nodded.
John is in mid-conversation with Sherlock when the heart monitor's beeping quickened and suddenly John's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he had some sort of fit. His body shaking violently. Sherlock put the oxygen mask back over John's mouth and Harry ran to the corridor "Help! My brother! Please!"
Doctors swarmed in and ushered everyone out. They all stood by the window waiting anxiously for the news.
Sherlock sat on the floor. He kept seeing how John's eyes rolled back into his head and he started shaking and made odd noises. It was scary. It was at times like these that Sherlock detested his brain's abilities. He couldn't help it but John's fit played over and over again in his head.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, it's alright." Rose knelt next to Sherlock, pulling him to her in a hug.
Sherlock only just realised that he was crying. His whole body was shaking with sobs.
"He's fitting. Again and again. In my head." Sherlock explained through his tears and fell into his mother's comforting hold.
"He'll be okay, Sherlock." Hamish reassured his distressed son.
A little while later a Doctor stood before them in the corridor.
"Doctor Watson had a reaction to one of the pain killers that we gave him. It's quite new, but it is normally very effective. He's stable now and the seizure shouldn't happen again.
A week and a half later Sherlock was helping John take one step at a time up the stairs to 221B Baker Street.
Once Sherlock had John seated comfortably on the sofa with tea in his hand he said "Well, have you thought of the title for this adventure in your blog?"
"The Doctoring detective and the end of a psychopath." John tried.
"Too long." Sherlock complained.
"Hey, I'm on morphine! I'm trying my best!" John laughed, winced, and giggled.
The following morning Sherlock entered John's bedroom with some tea, pain killers and a letter.
He put them on John's bedside table and as he saw John awake he put an arm around his twin's back and gently helped him sit us.
"How are you feeling this morning?" Sherlock asked as he passed John the tea after John swallowed the medicine.
"I always feel sorer in the morning, but apart from that I think I'm getting better." John said, sipping his tea.
Sherlock sat next to John on the bed and took the letter he brought up and said "Guess what came in the mail!"
"What is it?" John asked.
"If I'm not mistaken, it's the letter confirming that you are now a Holmes." Sherlock smiled.
"Well open it then! I want my proper name back!" John said eagerly.
Sherlock quickly opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, his eyes skimming over it.
"Good morning, John Hamish Holmes." Sherlock smiled.
John grinned "That's better. All is as it should be. Moriarty's dead. We know the truth. We don't have to live under threat. And we can get back to solving crimes once I'm better." John sighed contently.
About a month later John's stomach now only had scars.
Sherlock came home early from signing some paper work for Lestrade and he found John sat in the living room on the sofa; he had lifted his t-shirt and was looking at his scars. He didn't look happy at all.
Sherlock felt bad for John. He himself had escaped Moriarty without any physical reminders of him on his own body. Though every time he saw John's stomach he would remember, well, he would never forget. But it must be so much worse for John to have the scars littering his abdomen. They had healed nicely; it could be a lot worse. But Sherlock knew that his brother didn't like them.
Sherlock sat down next to John and said quietly "I'm sorry."
John let the shirt fall and covers the scars as he looked up in shock at Sherlock.
"What?" he asked.
"I said I was sorry. For everything Moriarty put you through. I mean, he wanted me, so he went for you." Sherlock explained.
"I don't think it's just me that has to deal with the aftershocks of this." John said, knowing that Sherlock pitied him.
"Well, you had to give up your cases for a while in order to take care of me, which I know that you sometimes found infuriating. And you lose sleep having to run upstairs when I'm having a nightmare. I can tell that you get a little scared to see me so... scared, which is understandable. We both have to deal with the destruction he caused to our lives. I may not like the scars, but there's nothing I can do about them." John said finally.
"They're not that bad, John. Some people refer to them as a map of strength." Sherlock smiled.
"Thanks, Sherlock." John smiled and rested his tired head on his twin's shoulder.
Their bond grows stronger over the years. They still had rows and disagreements. But they were brothers; they loved each other and they got to spend their whole lives together.
Author's note: Thanks for reading. I will not be doing any more drabbles or stories of the twins, sorry. Please review!