I apologize for the long hold on this. If anyone is OOC please let me know. Thank you to everyone who started following even though I haven't posted in months and thank you to everyone who has followed from the start. This means so much to me.

Seeing his Dad in the hospital bed was not entirely unusual. Seeing his Dad in the hospital bed hooked up to so many wires and tubes and machines that make noise while his Dad just lay there quietly not moving or talking or joking about being part robot was entirely unusual. Andrew's Father would say that Dad would be fine, that all people get hurt, but not all were out of the fight for long; but he didn't want to think about his Father right now. He wanted to think about his Dad and how he had managed to get to St. Barts, but not think about how he had gotten to St. Barts since the story would probably involve a good deal of pain. Andrew spent so long thinking and not thinking about this that he hadn't noticed that he had been standing just inside the door for a solid minute. that he was wasting time by the door when he could be hugging his Dad, something he never thought he would be able to do again.

Slowly Andrew stepped closer to the bed, trying to keep his breathing even, and his nerves down; he couldn't help but to equate this to horror movies and that his Dad would suddenly jerk awake just to scare him. Dad would do that, but hopefully not now, not with everything so strange and odd. Eventually he got to the edge of the bed and there he could see what had happened to his Dad in excruciating detail. His lips were chapped, skin looked pale and raw, hair was still a bit dirty, wrists were an angry red colour, and he was gaunt. All this combined made Andrew start tearing up. Once a sob escaped as well he couldn't have cared less who saw him. His Dad was alive, and that was all that mattered.

"Andrew?" Dad's voice rasped, thick with sleep and dehydration, "Oh, Andrew." Cautiously, Andrew looked again at his Dad's face and released another sob when he saw him smiling softly.

"Dad, I didn't think I was going to see you again." Andrew sniffled in attempts to pull himself together, "I was so worried about you." It didn't work, Andrew barely got the words out before he started sobbing into his Dad's hospital sheets.

"Hush Andrew, look at me," reluctantly he did, "I'm okay. I'm alive, and I will be here for you no matter what, I promise." Dad's comforting words only brought more tears to Andrew's eyes, more tears of relief.

"I missed you. I missed you so much. I had to stay with Uncle Mycroft 'cause the paparazzi kept following Father. Uncle wanted me to be safe." Andrew wiped angrily at his eyes to get rid of all the tears he had shed.

"Well, you won't be staying there anymore. Now that I'm home you won't be going to your Uncle's house again, except on very special occasions." Dad smiled at Andrew again, taking in the wonder that he was back in London and back with his son, "Now, climb up here with me and tell me how you have been since your last letter, okay?"

Andrew wanted nothing more in the world.

When Sherlock saw Andrew and John curled up on the hospital bed asleep, he could have passed out from happiness. Seeing his son again was enough to break heart, but add John to the mix and Sherlock would have happily died right in that moment. Well, not happily since he hadn't yet been able to speak to John, or hold hm, or touch him even; it was all just over exaggerated sentiment anyway. With measured steps Sherlock made it to the edge of the bed before collapsing in to the visitor's chair. Gingerly he held John's hand, it was just as strong as ever, though his skin was wafer thin and sickly yellow, and that pesky tremor was back. None of this mattered to Sherlock, just that John was breathing was enough. Sherlock didn't want to wake John, but he had to see his husband awake.

"John," Sherlock breathed, gently squeezing John's hand, "John, please wake up."

Slowly John opened his eyes, looking slightly disoriented, but for Sherlock seeing his husband's eyes was more than sufficient to send him crying.

"Oh, Sherlock, come here," John rasped softly pulling Sherlock onto the bed with him and Andrew. Surprisingly Andrew didn't wake at the shifting. Sherlock took his spot and buried his face in the crook of John's neck.

"I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again." Sherlock sobbed out quietly. John could feel the tears plopping onto his skin as he held his husband and his son close.

"You know it takes more than a bomb to kill me, we've lived through one of those already." John smiled softly into Sherlock's hair, breathing in the familiar soap.

"I know, I know," He whispered back, "but having some stranger in uniform tell me that you were dead, only your dog tags survived. Then burying an empty casket-"

"Hush now. I'm here and I'm not leaving again," Sherlock could feel John pausing, "but we need to talk about what happened while I was gone."

"John, now is not the time-"

"Sherlock, you promised me you would-"

"Look after Andrew and I did, regrettably I couldn't take care of him at Baker street with all those bloody photographers. Staying at Mycroft's was the worst way I could look after him and it hurt both of us," Sherlock shifted to look John in the eyes, "Please know that had I come up with any other option I would have taken it and never would have parted with him. It was torture for me to be without him and it was torture for him to be alone all the time. John, please forgive me."

Both men dropped silent as Andrew began to stir, John couldn't help but compare this to the times the three of them would curl up together on the couch covered with blankets. Judging by Sherlock's expression he was picturing the same thing, John squeezed his arm softly to get his attention.

"We'll talk more about this later. Let's just get home, all of us, together." John gave Sherlock a half smile and waited for Andrew to wake fully.

"Dad, Father? When did you get here?" Andrew squinted past his sleep to see clearly, "How long was I asleep?" His parents smiled at him pulling him closer into their embrace.

"As long as you needed. Since your brain is an adolescent brain and needs the most amount of sleep in order to develop properly, mostly the Frontal Lobe and the Limbic System." Sherlock answered in a way he thought was helpful, but by the looks of his husband and son it was just amusing, "What? He asked."

"Time, love, how long he was asleep in measurements of time," John's cracked lips broke into a wide humorous grin, "Only a couple hours, Drew."

"Oh, good, means I still have time to do things before-wait, where am I sleeping tonight? Am I still going home?" Andrew sat straight up in his excitement only to droop slightly, "Or since Dad is back do I have to go back to Uncle Mycroft's for my safety?" John saw Sherlock's shame in his eyes, though not on his face where their son could see it.

"Andrew, you are going to Baker Street with your Father. I'll be here since, understandably, they want to keep me under observation. I'll be home soon, so don't worry either of you." John pulled them close again, though Sherlock could feel the strain is was on his muscles, there was a slight wavering to them, "Until then both of you are more than welcome to visit me here, in my cell."

"Now, John, I remember hearing someone say that hospitals are not prisons but places of healing." Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow getting Andrew to go along with it.

"Yeah Dad, isn't that what you say every time Father complains about being in the hospital? 'Sherlock, these people are here to help you, so stop complaining and go with it.'" Andrew tried his best impersonation of his Dad, but was so far off all three of them burst into hysterics and John into a coughing fit. The violent coughing sent Sherlock and Andrew jumping off the bed in pursuit of the water on the bedside table that had been pushed aside for the family dog pile. Andrew got to it first and made it back to his Dad's side just as the coughs were subsiding, "Here Dad, there's a straw you can use."

The two of them gathered close to John as he gently sipped the water, once he was done he chuckled softly at both the concerned faces.

"That is what you get for making fun of me," When their looks of alarm and worry didn't go away, "I am fine. Coughing is to be expected when I've been locked away for so long. Besides both of you should know that doctors make the absolutely worst patients. Now, how about you two go home and get some rest and visit me again tomorrow." Neither looked convinced or pleased with being told to leave. It was that moment that Mycroft and Lestrade came in, hoping the family had had enough time together to please them until later.

"This is a touching scene, but dear brother, I need to speak with John alone, regrettably this includes you as well Andrew." Mycroft stood a few feet from the family fingers neatly laced over his umbrella handle, while Lestrade stood casually next to him.

"It should only take a few moments today, we aren't supposed to extend your energy today. We just need to know what happened and we figured that it's not something Andrew should hear, and Sherlock would just get unrestrainedly violent." Lestrade tried to smooth things over for them, "It will only take a few minutes then you can come right back in if you would like."

Sherlock's face crinkled in disgust while Andrew looked angrily at his Uncles, nothing was being smoothed over; if anything Lestrade's implication made them both less likely to leave the room. John pulled his family closer kissing both of their cheeks then releasing his grasp of them. Shocked and silent they got the message to wait outside, wordlessly they left preparing to complain when they got back in the room.

"Andrew is so much like us now it's surprising he isn't actually related to us. He still sometimes wakes up remembering that night, it was becoming nonexistent, but I have a bad feeling that they are going to become more frequent or have been more frequent since I've been gone, dead. What do you need to know?" John moved his heavy gaze from the door to his brother-in-law and close friend.

"I'm sorry John, that this happened, but what happened?" Greg took the visitor's chair next to the bed, Mycroft remained standing pristinely shoulders back face neutral.

"We were out for regular trip around the base searching for IEDs and enemies, we were done, we were going back to base. Hadi Harun was there to escort us back, we were stopping at a village, I think. We hadn't gotten to far when the Jeeps behind mine exploded, we thought there were delayed IEDs, but then our Jeep got attacked by Hadi's men. Smyth, oh God, Smyth is still there! Unless they've killed him, but Smyth might still be alive, but captive. We were taken to caves, couldn't have been too far from where we were attacked. Then one day Hadi came and said I was being sent home. I answered only one question, got asked only one question. Saw hundreds of photos of Andrew alone, Mycroft you will have to do a great deal to make up for that."

"Thank you, John, that's all for now. We'll send Sherlock and Andrew back in." Greg stood to leave, shooting cautious glances at Mycroft, since he had been known to blindly defend himself even when he was wrong.

"No, tell them I fell asleep half way through explaining things and that they should go home. Andrew needs to be home and Sherlock needs to be with him. It's going to be hard trying to patch my family back together after this. Andrew doesn't trust Sherlock since Sherlock sent him to your house, Mycroft, and Sherlock is drowning in guilt and self-loathing because he sent Andrew to your house. I'm not stupid, I know it was your idea to take him. I want to know why." John bit out every word flinging each syllable at the eldest Holmes brother so he might understand even a fraction of John's actual rage.

"I did what I thought was best for your son. It wasn't safe for him to be plastered all over the news and tabloids, you and Sherlock has far too many enemies for that." Unmoved Mycroft replied with his usual lofty tone and passive face, "I got no joy out of it if that's what you were wondering. There was no other way."

"You grew up with both parents, that's easy for you to say," John ground out, "You know what else is easy to say? That I would have done things better had I been here; and that is exactly what Andrew is going to say now that I'm back. Andrew is going to look at Sherlock and say that Dad could have done better, because he needs someone to blame, and Sherlock is there, not you."

"John-"

"Leave, and make sure my son gets home with his Father, Baker Street if you need me to be more specific." Mycroft wanted to continue their conversation, but Greg grabbed his arm pulling him out the door. Greg was good at follow orders, and in this moment he was going to make sure Mycroft was too. The two of them stepped out of the room to the two waiting Watson-Holmes, both expectantly stood ready to go back in.

"I'm sorry he fell asleep while trying to answer, so we are going to take you two home." Sherlock moved to speak, but Lestrade gave him a harsh look, "Look Sherlock, you are going to practically live at his bedside until his release so might as well spend at least one night at home. Besides Andrew can't camp out here like you can spend time with your son and both of you can come back tomorrow."

Fuming with silently both the Watson-Holmes boys followed Lestrade to the car.