Just a voice in my head.
AN: Was betaed by a friend who also forced me to watch Starkid's Twisted. I hope you enjoy!
Sherlock can hear voices or to be specific, just one voice.
Mummy just thought he would grow out of his invisible friend.
Mycroft is reasonably certain that his little brother is somewhat schizophrenic.
John Watson is just normal; everyone knows that talking about the voice in your head is "not good". He kept it quiet.
As a child, Sherlock would talk about his friend to his brother, saying things like, "Mycroft, John says I should apologize because I was being "a right stubborn pillock"".
"Tell John to watch his language." Mycroft would reply, ignoring his brother's over active imagination.
"I have. I informed him that the English language has much more interesting words and a thesaurus would be of great aid."
"Shut up shut up shut up!"
"Okay, I'm... sorry. You wouldn't be a total waste of space as a doctor."
"No. I'm thinking I'm just getting into it. "I know a song that will get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves..."
"And you won't kill too many of your patients due to your own ignorance about other realms of science. Happy? Good, now stop singing that confounded bit of drivel!"
"No, get your own head. I don't care if your one's boring. Now stop commenting on my life choices."
But over the years, Sherlock's imaginary friend didn't go away, but rather grew up with him. He had his friend through adolescence, and into adulthood. John was his friend, and despite what logic told him, Sherlock knew he wasn't crazy. John was real, he wasn't an imaginary friend. Imaginary friends don't have independent thought. When John enlisted in the army, it wasn't his sister he was worried about breaking the news to. Sherlock would have stopped him if he could, of course he would, why would an imaginary person do something he didn't like?
"Sherlock. I've enlisted. I know you've probably worked it out that I've done it. It'll mean that they'll pick up the rest of the medical fees on the condition that I'll stay at least 7 years. I won't be able to... talk as much on deployment. I'm sorry that... but this the right move for me, I have to do this. Sherlock, please talk to me. Please Sherlock. Just say something, Sherlock?"
Don't hate me, please."I take it from your silence that "John" has finally told you of his enlistment?" Mycroft padded up to Sherlock to peer out with him though the bay window into the pouring night.
"Yes." Go away Mycroft, go far far away and just let me mourn.
"Good, it's time to let him go Sherlock, you don't need him. You never did. "John" knows that, doesn't he, otherwise he wouldn't leave you, wouldn't betray you, would he Sherlock? After all friends don't betray each other?
"Shut up."
"You realise there is a reason why you never looked him up, never went to meet him, your friend, in person. It would be easy enough, after all for a person with your abilities, especially now he's enlisted. But you've never don it. And I know why."
"Shut up, Mycroft!"
"Because you never wanted to face the truth. You never wanted to admit that your "John", your "invisible friend" was never real, just a figment of your own imagination. The only friend you're capable of having."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Just..."
"Just tell you the truth. It's time to grow up Sherlock. You don't need him." Mycroft left leaving Sherlock staring alone into the night.
The connection between him and Sherlock was like a room connecting hotel door. Usually it's kept unlocked so either person is able to open it and enter and talk but either side can lock the door shut and other person can't do anything about it except try to shout loud enough to get the message across. And John was trying. Because he was worried, make that very worried about Sherlock.
"Sherlock, please stop taking it, you're seriously risking an overdose. Please.
"Please stop. I started to show symptoms today it's only because we all so punch-drunk exhausted that no-one has noticed yet. For it to effect me that much, the amounts you must be taking... Please. I care even if Mycroft hasn't noticed yet. Just stop.
"Stop doing this to yourself! Does Mycroft know? How are you paying for this? Sherlock please just talk to me!"
"You begged."
"I what?"
"You begged for me to stop. Spent nights reciting the damage each dose risked doing to yourself. Said it risking overdose. You... may have been right."
"Damn Sherlock! Does Mycroft know where you are?"
"Thought I wasn't listening just because I didn't respond. Why would he... he doesn't care."
"Focus, Sherlock. Get your phone. Text him. Do it now!"
"I'll be.. fine"
"No, do it now!"
"Shhh, phone, number? Can't remember... fuzzy, rooms in a mess..."
"07700 900635" John had to repeat it three times before he got a correct repetition.
"'Croft, John help?"
Despite how many times John shouted, Sherlock didn't respond. He told himself nothing happened, that he had to be OK, but he couldn't believe it. Not really. Sherlock wasn't there, he was gone. The mere thought of Sherlock not being with him caused him to sob uncontrollably, he didn't even care if Sherlock wasn't real. Perhaps this was it, he had finally cracked.
"Sherlock." Mycroft loomed over Sherlock's hospital bed. He tried to be as delicate as possible, even if he thought his brother was crazy, he couldn't be cruel. "Did John... tell you to do this?"
"No, don't be ridiculous! He told me to give it up, that it was affecting his work."
"And you didn't?"
"He told me to, I refused."
"So you did this on purpose, there was no outside interference that lead to this.." with one elegant gesture Mycroft manage to encompass the hospital bed, Sherlock's pale state and Mycroft's own dishevelled appearance.
"Well that last dose was more potent then expected, must have had slightly purer constancy but that can be factored into the dosage with a little work..."
"Sherlock, do you realise how close you were to dying, if you hadn't contacted me when you did-"
"Oh don't be so pedestrian Mycroft, and anyway why would the British Government care when you can just run off and play with the United Kingdom and a couple of other countries too?"
"Because you are my Brother!"
"John was my friend. I thought alone is what protects us. So what, brother dear?"
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Lestrade peered at him as Sherlock doubled over in agony.
"Have you not been eating again?"
"It hurts!Get, Mycroft." Sherlock gasped out between waves of pain that seized his lanky frame.
"You sure? I thought you hated big brother?"
"Do. Complicated. Get him now. Have number on phone."
"How did you know that-"
"Now!"
"John's hurt. Shot. Dying. Help me!" Sherlock's voice was frantic as he begged Mycroft over the phone unaware someone hundreds of miles away heard his words.
"Sherlock?"
He was dying, John realised after-all he was talking to dead people. And Sherlock was dead. Or he never existed in the first place, but did that even matter now? John would prefer not to be alone.
He watched the blood sink into the sand as his vision faded. Strange, he never heard Sherlock cry before...
They said he was doing well. John politely, and silently, disagreed. He had lost his livelihood, his team-mates, his ability to sleep without nightmares, to even walk properly!
He had also lost the hope he would speak to his friend again, that he had regained for a brief second, a moment of wonderful delusion as he lay dying. He had no choice to move on, to try to just keep surviving. He had to keep going. Finding a place to stay that wasn't a dingy bedsit would be a start, he wanted, he needed to stay in London but couldn't afford it... He would have to find someone to stay with.
And hope he found someone worth living for.