A/N: DEAR TROLLS, THE AWFUL SPELLING IS ON PURPOSE.
I REALLY WANT YOU GUYS TO LOVE THIS!
I wrote this one night over break and I cried. Real tears. Superpicante angst!
Thanks to everyone who has helped me to get to this point, including the person who helped me with formatting. Let this tear-fest begin!-Lily
Progris Ruport 1
My nam is Sherlock Holmes. My bruther Mycroft ses if I git the surgrey on my brane I cn b smart. I wan to b smart becus mummy wil b prowd ov me.
I jus no i cn b smart. i am so hapy to hav this oprtunty. Doctur Nemur is exsited to hav me. i thnk i wunt to lurn sicolugy. i wnt to reed peeples branes lik Mycroft. Mycroft is the best bruther evur becus he alwyse lovd me evun if i teld him i hate him. im glad Mycroft is my bruther. he can teech me mor then a teechur. mabee i wil make him sum cake wen i get smart. Mycroft liks cake. i go into surgrey today! i am wateng in the wateng room. i am a litle nervus becus they sed i mite die in the surgrey but then i remembrd that mummy is in Heaven waching me and if i die i wil b with her. i reelized that if i die i dont care becus im stoopid an nobudy liks me.
the nurs wunts me to com back to the surgrey room. i cant wate to b smart!
Sherlock Holmes
"John?" Sherlock asked, running about the sitting room, frantically searching for his phone, "Where is my phone? Where did I put my phone?"
John looked up from the blog he was writing, seeing Sherlock's frenzy. With his lips pursed, he cocked his head at Sherlock.
"Are you okay? You're acting strange," He asked, running a hand through his hair.
As unpredictable as Sherlock was, this was especially erratic. Sherlock had been forgetting things, the conclusions to cases came slower than before, and he had taken to losing objects (especially his phone). Like any friend, John worried. He hated this behaviour, and spent the majority of his free time on the Internet searching for an answer as to why his behaviour was so peculiar. All of the signs pointed to Dementia. John cringed every time he read the word, terrified that it was Sherlock's fate.
Shaking his head, Sherlock muttered a "Fine," and continued searching. He looked up when he realized that John was staring at him. "What?" he asked irritably.
John pointed to the kitchen. "You plugged it in five minutes ago."
Sherlock shrugged and went to the kitchen to retrieve his phone. When he returned, John was staring at him.
"Sherlock, I'm worried about you," he said, staring intently into Sherlock's light eyes. Sherlock smiled a falsely reassuring smile. "I'm okay, John. Really."
John left it at that, because he knew that if he prodded any more, Sherlock would get upset with him.
Sherlock retreated to his room, where he pulled an old, leather-bound notebook from under his bed. He looked at the first page- the one that he had written on the day of the surgery. He was so tired of writing the Progress Reports, but he turned to the next blank page and began writing anyway.
Year Two- Progress Report 10
The effects of the surgery are wearing off. John is starting to suspect that something is wrong. I know that soon I will be who I once was. I have to tell him, but I do not want him to know, and I certainly do not want him to see me like that. I want to stay who I am. For John. He needs me. And soon, I'll need him more than ever. I'll be a burden.
I am so sorry, John.
I'm so sorry.
Sherlock Holmes
I'm not sorry. -With Love, Lily
