The day broke, sun piercing through the cloudy day. Shards of light streamed into the hospital room, falling on Sherlock's face. The bright redness of his eyelids elicited them to crack open, peeking out at the world curiously, sleepily. The subtle, steady beep of the heart monitor could be heard in the background.

Sherlock blinked a little harder, blinded by the light as his brain started to whir back into consciousness. His eyes looked away from the window and down at his best friend.

John's head uncomfortably hung by his shoulder, his one hand now resting on his lap while the other remained on the arm of the chair. He had been awake briefly in the night but had awoken to no other consciousness and so he had resolved to try and sleep again in the uncomfy chair. The doctor still dreamt his morning away.

Sherlock's head moved slightly for him to see straight ahead of him. His brow rose at seeing Rita with her head on Mycroft's shoulder and Mycroft's head resting upon her head as they sat on the small couch in the room. Who would have thought his brother to have the affection in him? He mentally scoffed at himself for the hypocritical question.

Finally, he gazed to the right of him, his brow softening as he saw his Elizabeth also resting uncomfortably with her head on the side of his bed as she held his hand. Wisps of hair tickled her cheek but didn't wake her. While one may have assumed this meant she was in a deep sleep, she was not, for the anxieties surrounding her lover's state kept her on the edge of reality.

Sherlock softly squeezed her hand.

Sensing this pressure on her hand, she stirred, her eyes flickering open. She then watched him squeeze her hand again. She sat up still watching the hand before transferring her gaze to his face.

Her mouth fell open with a soft gasp, tears welling in her eyes at being able to look into his enchanting pupils. No words were spoken as the two simply took each other in. Elizabeth wondered if this were reality, if he really was awake. The alternative was too unbearable and so ending their silence she sprung forwards, wrapping her arms around his neck, still being mindful of his wounds as she buried her head in his shoulder.

"You're okay." She breathed.

"I'm sorry." He croaked, his one arm rubbing her back reassuringly.

"You should be." Elizabeth pulled back to look at him again, "You said I was the one who would need help."

"Did you?"

Her eyes fell to his hand as she rubbed the back of her neck, drawing his attention to the ragged black and blue collar that Grayson had marked her with. He gently brushed his fingers across the marks, pain in his eyes at failing to protect her, the one reason why he had followed after her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"They got off worse." She croaked, "Trust me."

At this point, John stirred, the pain in his neck alerting his body that it was time to change positions but as he moved, his eyes flickered open, lazily absorbing the world. He saw Elizabeth awake and sat up and when he looked to Sherlock he saw that he was awake. John sat up quicker, as though his brain had been placed in a slingshot back to awareness.

"Oh, Mate." He smiled, "I told you not to get hurt."

"I tried not to get hurt."

"Running into a knife twice isn't trying to not get hurt."

"I didn't run into it - it ran through me." Sherlock defended.

John chuckled, "I'll see if I can find the nurse," He stood, stretching and as he turned to the door, he saw Mycroft and Rita together. He frowned thoughtfully, "Did you know about these two?"

"All Rita said was that they had never dated." Elizabeth answered.

John nodded, somewhat disbelieving of that statement as he headed towards them. He tapped Mycroft on the shoulder before he left.

"Hm?"

The government sat up suddenly, roughly bumping Rita off his shoulder. She started too after that rude awakening and was about to protest to Mycroft when she saw John smiling at them. The doctor gestured over his shoulder before he left to look for a nurse.

"Sherlock," Mycroft greeted with his classic forced smile, "Good to see you're alive and kicking considering your choices."

Rita rolled her eyes, "Myc, don't be like that."

"Don’t be like what?"

"He has just - "

"Did you just call him, Myc?" Elizabeth interrupted.

Rita shrugged, "Yes, why?"

"Even his own mother doesn't get to call him Myc." Sherlock grinned teasingly.

Dr Rahat looked back to Mycroft, "Really?"

"Yes." Sherlock affirmed, not breaking eye contact with his brother, "Really."

"Why am I the only privileged one?"

Dismissing Rita's question, Mycroft stood, "Good to know you're feeling better, brother mine. I would have loathed being the one to have to inform our parents of your potential untimely passing. I'll see where Dr Watson has gotten to." And with the the elder Holmes moved to leave, pausing at the door.

"Myc! Mycroft! You didn't answer my question!"

Again, that sly smile crossed his lips as he looked to his past fellow drama student, "What question?"

"Mycroft!" She called after him as he left the room. Dr Rahat looked back to the lovers, "Is he always like this?"

"Dismissive? With everyone. Omissive? Now, that's only with you. My brother likes to have an answer for everything." Sherlock answered.

Elizabeth commented, "So do you."

Sherlock shared a look with Elizabeth before smirking at Rita, "I never saw my brother as the so-called 'crushing' type. Who would have thought?"

"You make it sound like we're teenagers, honestly. Your brother and I are friends."

"Silent admirers." Elizabeth corrected, "Maybe he stayed away from you to 'resist temptation'."

Rita protested, "Elizabeth!"

"He - what is it people do when they like someone - " Sherlock looked at Elizabeth to help his thinking process, "They - 'glow'?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"I - "

"He also couldn't wait to get out of here faster without answering the question." Sherlock acknowledged.

The realisation dawned on Rita and she fell silent.

John returned, his brow crinkled, "Hey, is everything alright? I just saw Mycroft leave the building. Said he needed air?"

"I'll - I'll be back." Dr Rahat blinked, heading for the door too, "Good to see you're feeling better, Sherlock."

And with that she was gone too. Elizabeth and Sherlock chuckled with each other over the event that had just occurred. Of all the things to happen in the world, Sherlock definitely least expected this.

"I missed something, didn't I?"

Elizabeth elaborated, "Mycroft may have found love."

"My God, if that man can then anyone can...really?"

"Of course, he is resisting it." Sherlock added.

"Of course."

"But mummy will be so happy." Sherlock mumbled with a childish grin.

John easy intrigued, "So what are the chances?"

"Seeing as Mycroft is stubborn as an ox and Rita is equally stubborn as a mule - ow!"

Elizabeth had whacked him on the arm in offense of the comparisons used, "She is not a mule."

"It's a figure of speech!"

Her eyes narrowed at him until he gave in with a sigh.

"Fine - seeing as Mycroft is as stubborn as a mule and Rita is as stubborn as an ox, I see a lot of resistance. However, Mycroft will be resistant to give in while Rita will be resistant to give up. I think it will be a game of tug-of-war. May the strongest win."

"Right, so you have no idea then?"

"No, I do!"

"You could be a politician with the bullshit answer you just gave." Elizabeth remarked with a teasing grin.

"That's unfair. I've been stabbed. Loss of blood has maimed my deduction process."

She laughed at his determination, "Just admit you have no clue."

"Lack of blood equals foggy br - fine. No. I don't know."

Elizabeth and John chuckled together, amused by the detective's little pout at not knowing the truth of the situation.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Mycroft Holmes was found outside, smoking his anxieties away. Rita and him together? What a joke. Just a silly little presumption of his brother and Miss Parrish. He was fine alone, content with loneliness. He didn't need anyone to tie him down. His sole responsibility in life would be the operation of the country - nothing more and nothing less.

"Alexander Mycroft Chad Holmes, those things will kill you."

Startled by the annunciation of his full name, he dropped the cigarette but sighed his mouthful of smoke when he saw it was merely Rita. Such a demanding tone of voice had made him imagine it were his mother telling him off. How ridiculous for him to not recognise the voice.

"It was low-tar."

"And it was still a cigarette."

He rolled his eyes, "Is my brother alright, Rita?"

"Oh, he's fine." Rita stood next to him, looking down at her shiny heels, "I'm here because I want answers."

"What answers?"

She looked up at him again, "Why am I the only one that gets to call you 'Myc'?"

"Well, would you stop calling me that if I asked you to?"

"No."

"Then there's your answer."

"But you never did ask me. You merely phrased it as a theoretical question."

"And?"

"And so...I want you to ask me to stop calling you 'Myc'."

Rita stood up a little straighter, prepared for the rejection, prepared to prove even to herself that Mycroft Holmes had no interest in her. What a ridiculous notion it would be: Mycroft Holmes, the man with a heart as cold as ice, interested in a lying doctor like her.

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but found no words could leave. His mind mentally repelled asking the question for real. He looked at Rita, saw a triumphant smile on her lips as he closed his mouth again. Now, why was his mind being difficult?

"I - "

"Would you like to get coffee with me some time, Mycroft Holmes?"

"Pardon?"

"Coffee. Would you like to get coffee with me? And I mean the nice kind not the horrible hospital dishwater kind."

"Are you ask - "

"Yes."

Mycroft looked away from her, looked out across the London Street in bewilderment. They were surrounded by so many normal people, all with their own lives and own plans, not at all bothered by the woman asking the not-so-normal man in the suit on a coffee date. There were so many others she could ask and yet she was asking him. Oddly, he found he was flattered.

"Why?" He asked, still without looking at her.

"Well, would you ask me if you had the chance to?"

"...No."

"Then there's your answer."

"What if I say no? I don't want to."

"Then we carry on like normal: you and I meeting once in a blue moon for nothing more than a three-minute catch-up."

Mycroft scoffed, "I'm intrigued by what you consider to be 'normal'." He paused, "And what if I say yes?"

"Then we'll see where it takes us, if it takes us anywhere."

They both stayed silent for a few minutes, both watching the world go by. Rita looked at the normal men walk past and all she could think was how dull they may be. Mycroft was the one that stood out to her, always so austere with himself and his feelings. Somehow she was drawn to that, drawn to the challenge of breaking down the walls of the man of ice.

He broke the silence with an answer before pivoting and leaving her there with the single word he had spoken.

Rita smiled.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Later that morning, Lestrade visited as he had said he would.

Rita had left, offering a quiet comment to Mycroft before she did. Mycroft had stayed, feeling obligated to, seeing as his parents were out of the country and had called to say they would be on the next plane back. Both he and Sherlock insisted that they didn't cut their holiday short though. There would be far too much to explain and on top of introducing Elizabeth, Sherlock definitely wasn't keen to see his parents just yet.

John had gone home to fetch Mrs Hudson who had called to say she wanted to see Sherlock.

Elizabeth wouldn't dream of leaving, of course.

"Gave us quite the fright there, Sherlock." Lestrade announced, entering the room with an envelope in hand, "Glad you're okay, mate." He offered the white envelope to him.

Sherlock took it, analysing it silently: cheap paper, scruffy handwritten name, (he opened the envelope to pull out a card), cheap card one could buy from a corner shop.

"Get well soon, you clumsy twat." Sherlock read the front of the card aloud, raising his eyebrow, "Did Donovan or Anderson pick the card?"

"I'm sure you already know."

Sherlock looked over to Elizabeth who was snickering, "Anderson."

"Not the point though, Sherlock." Lestrade tried to bring it back to the main message, "All of us down the Yard wish you the best. How you feeling?"

"Like I've been stabbed - twice." He flashed a cheesy smile, "But other than decently drugged."

Lestrade gave him a stern look and pointed at him, "Don’t make me organised a drugs bust when you get out. Elizabeth, Mycroft, you'll want to keep an eye on him."

"I always have my eye on him, Inspector."

"Alright, stalker." Sherlock retorted to his brother's comment, "Lestrade, isn't stalking against the law now?"

"Not when it comes to you, Sherlock."

"Yeah, we haven't had the chance to speak much about your drug issues actually." Elizabeth frowned at the reminder.

Sherlock looked at her, an air of concern finding it's way into his expression, "Would that be a deal-breaker?"

"Yes."

The detective sighed but made the mental note to stay away from the drugs. It wouldn't be hard to do when he had Elizabeth. She was enough for him.

The silence was broken by a shriek of worry, startling everyone in the room, "OOH, SHERLOCK, WHAT HAVE WE SAID ABOUT PUTTING YOURSELF IN THESE SITUATIONS?"

"Ah, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock smiled at her as she toddled in hurriedly, straight to his bed side.

"How are you, dear?"

"Well."

"Don’t be stupid, of course you're not well. You've been stabbed! And not only once but twice! By who? Tell me who, Sherlock? If I can break one man's ankle, I can break another so you tell me who and I'll sort them right out for you, dear."

Both the brows of Lestrade and Mycroft rose at her admission of a crime as severe as grievous bodily harm. Of course, they only thought it was an exaggeration.

"Well, Mrs Hudson, there's no need for that." Sherlock calmed her, "From what I've heard, Elizabeth's taken good care of them."

Elizabeth smiled sweetly and waved at the landlady from the other side of the bed. Mrs Hudson nodded approvingly.

"Good on you, Elizabeth. No one hurts our Sherlock and gets away with it."

John came in with a shopping bag filled with packs of biscuits, courtesy of Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, perfect." She took the bag from John and placed it on the end of Sherlock's bed, diving into the bag with a little rustle, "Now, I always say the best medicine is tea and biscuits. There's nothing quite like it. I got ginger snaps for you, Sherlock, I know you like them and also custard creams because I know Elizabeth likes them and..."

As the landlady spoke about the biscuits in the bag, Sherlock, John, Elizabeth and Lestrade all shared a look with each other. Mycroft merely rolled his eyes although dreamt of feasting on at least one biscuit. It was sweet of the not-housekeeper to be so considerate.

"Well, I can see you're well-looked after Sherlock, so I shall leave you in the trusty hands of Mrs Hudson." Greg nodded as he headed to the door, "Do get better soon, mate. You know we can’t solve all the cases without you."

"And Inspector, if I may have another word before you go..." Mycroft followed him out of the room.

Elizabeth asked the only question left to ask, "So, who's getting the tea then?"