John left the room reluctantly, when he saw Mycroft's face through the window, signaling him to leave. He sat up, his hair mussed in all different directions. John stood up, striating himself out and smoothing his shirt. Right before he left, he bent down towards Sherlock's face and whispered while looking him in the eyes:
" Mycroft is going to try to convince you into sending me away. Don't let him."
Sherlock smiled with a playful glint in his eyes.
"I would never think of it."
John grinned back.
" Good."
John reluctantly shuffled out of the room, while Mycroft barged in, slamming the door on a suddenly shocked and worried John. Mycroft turned to Sherlock and spit:
" What the hell were you thinking?!"
Sherlock's face turned to stone.
" This is my life, brother of mine. I will do with it what I wish. "
" You could be dead right now if it wasn't for me. You are not going back to Baker Street."
" You can't control me!"
" I can't leave you in the hands of John Watson. He obviously is incapable of taking care of you."
" He is my flat mate, not my caretaker. That's what he agreed to and you are lucky he does...help me, because he does it merely out of sentiment and friendship."
" It doesn't matter now. It's too late, I have already signed for a nurse to replace Mr. Watson."
" John is staying with me."
" I've already moved his things out."
" If you move John out, I won't solve any of your cases."
" You wouldn't dare refuse the highest-"
" I do dare. John is staying."
" You will attend therapy sessions every Thursday.
" Fine."
" If you don't, I will know about it."
" Fine."
" You will stay at Baker street under one more condition. You will get a drug test every Monday."
" What?!"
" You have proven that your drug habit is more dangerous than ever. If you are clean, you will stay. I will allow nicotine patches only. If you are not clean of drugs you will be transported to a rehab facility."
" Fine."
" I also believe you have affections for John Watson. This cannot continue. Sentiment is a chemical defect."
" Isolation is a chemical defect."
Mycroft glared at Sherlock and stalked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Sherlock laid back down and thought it over.
He would be out in a few days, then they would move back to their flat.
What would be waiting, for once, Sherlock couldn't tell.
John was back at the apartment, staring blankly at the empty space. Everything was neatly swept up and all of his things were in boxes, beside the stairs. Only Sherlock's things were left. John slumped down and put his head in his hands. Mycroft had moved him out.
What was he going to do? Where was he going to go? Mycroft must have forced Sherlock into agreeing. John started to feel sick, because he knew he was right. John was a horrible caretaker who didn't see the signs of any of this because he was too wrapped up in his own problems. He deserved all of this.
John took the letter out of his pocket and reread the crumpled note, tearing up. He hastily shoved it back into his pocket, walking over to Sherlock's now organized desk. He shuffled the papers around until he found the embarrassing photo of himself that made Sherlock smile. He walked over to his chair to sit and take a closer look at it but his chair was missing. John sat in Sherlock's chair instead and stared at the photo.
What was so special about this photo?
Nothing. It was nothing at all.
John let the photo flutter to the ground, grabbed his coat and left.
He felt like nothing at all.