Home and Guilt

(Sequel to 'Little Soldier')

Please note this story will not make much sense if you do not read 'Little Soldier' first.

Chapter 1: London, new residence of Sherlock Holmes

The letter was not even a day old or, better, it had been in Sherlock's hands since then. He had received the letter from his first real friend, John. He wasn't really sure about the 'friend' thing since he didn't really have anything to compare it with. His whole life had been a lie until he had been rescued by John and his words showing how much he understood him. He had never met someone who he could really trust, whom he didn't need to be afraid of. John was special and now a few thousand kilometers away in a desert fighting in a war he didn't belong to. John, the caring, loving soldier who had saved Sherlock.

The letter was also meant as some sort of means to ensure that Sherlock wouldn't run away the second the plane hit the ground. It was a message he was allowed to read only when arriving at his new home. Sherlock would wait until they arrived at his brother's house, the place he should call home from now on. Again this is something he cannot compare to anything. His childhood memories were blurry and most of them totally lost during his time with his kidnapper. The monster that had made him do horrible things. 'Don't think about it.'

Sherlock looked outside the window. The grey sky over London and the slowly growing buildings under them were dull and colorless. He had visited London before, of course Mast-, no not Master, Moriarty had business partners everywhere in the world. The capital of Great Britain was no exception. But he had never seen it like he was seeing it now: he supposed this was what coming home felt like.

His brother was sitting in front of him, reading some report of a mission he had coordinated in China, nothing Sherlock was really interested in. He had had enough of missions, jobs, war, terrorism, violence and everything that made him remember what he had done. John had found, with his mere presence, a fantastic way to distract him from all that evil. It wasn't clear to Sherlock how the soldier had done it. But now they were separated and he couldn't imagine a life without the soldier's kind presence.

John knew it too. One of the reason why he had given him the letter was to give him something to focus on, a lifeline to the man who saved him. Not even his brother, who probably was very powerful, had been able to keep John from serving his country. Not that John would have wanted it. He had decided to help people and to do this in a place most people didn't want to be near.

He pressed the letter tightly to his chest; he would open it as soon as he arrived in his new home. His brother had told him he would have his own room and everything that was missing could be arranged to be brought to him. But that wasn't important to Sherlock who had never owned anything that would count as important to him. Except this letter now. It was his and it was important to him even before he read it.

When he arrived at his brother's huge town house, Sherlock began to understand what position his brother must be in and it sounded like his brother had wanted the job to find him. Which he had achieved now. What would be the next step on his brother's to do list?

Sherlock got a tour of the house which ended in his room. His own room which he could use and decorate as it pleased him. His brother had already bought a collection of clothes for him but had also promised to go on a shopping tour with him at the weekend if he wanted something else. The suits, shirts, trousers and everything else were alright. The silky and soft material of his dressing gown felt pleasant under his fingers.

His brother left him alone until dinner. He had time to unpack (not much) and maybe to start feeling a bit at home. Sherlock had waited for that moment. He sat down on his freshly made bed and opened the letter John had given him when they had said 'good bye'.

Dear Sherlock,

I guess you are in your new room at your brother's house now. I was never there, so I don't know what it looks like, maybe you can tell me this and other things when you write to me. So to start with I would like to have you as my pen pal. Maybe you know what this means. It's a sort of friendship where you communicate through letters. And that is what I would like to do with you. I only ever did something like this during my primary school with a girl I met during my holidays, which means I'm not really good at writing letters. But you can tell me all sorts of things, like what you discover in London or about the relationship with you brother, how you feel and what you do every day. You can tell me when something is bothering you, if you are happy or sad. And I will write you about the things I do here at the military base, tell you stories about other soldiers or people I meet on patrol.

I know you are not happy about me staying in a warzone but it's my job and I don't want to change it, even if I know I will really miss you, and am probably already doing.

The time that will follow will sometimes be hard for you: you might feel like you do not belong to that place or you might feel guilty, lost or as if you were missing something which you can't even name. So you can write these things to me and I will help you find your place in this world. You are not alone and you know it. Just never forgot. Ok? I have promised to protect you and I will. I won't leave you alone; a few kilometers between us will not make any difference regarding this.

You told me that you would 'delete' everything that you have done until the day we met. You will start at the level of a child. You have never gone to school or learned anything outside the things Moriarty taught you. But see it as a new start, a fresh beginning. You brother will provide you with a few teachers and you, with your big brain, will learn the things you need for a normal life in just a few weeks. You can trust him. He is your family and will do everything to help you.

There is another thing that you will have to expect in London. Your life was characterized by very long suffering, even if it did not always feel like that to you. But it will have left behind a few scars. More than a few. Scars that not only cover your body but also your soul and for that I'm sure you will get some kind of therapy. Like most soldiers after they have done their tour of duty. You don't need to fight it or feel sick or ashamed about it. This is something to help you. I know about your dreams, it wasn't something I could miss when we slept in the same room. They will come back to you, your dreams and I hope you will be ready when they hit you. This is another reason why you should give therapy a go and a chance. Mycroft will find the right person for you. Don't worry.

Try to live the life you want, a life without pain and fear and hate and death. Find your own way in your new life that has now been given to you. Don't be afraid of the future, welcome it and find your place in life. I believe in you. I know you can do it.

I'm looking forward to hearing about your first impressions of London.

Always yours

John

Sherlock read the letter over and over again and pressed the crumpled pieces of paper over his heart and let himself fall back on his bed, enjoying the softness. He hadn't noticed how nervous he was about his new life but John's words were calming and gave him something to focus on. On a life with his brother and with John as his friend, a friend he could tell everything to.

John was by his side, he wasn't alone and there would be people who would help him to find his place. Thoughts about university came into his mind. Something Moriarty told him was unnecessary. There he could learn things he was interested in, things that would maybe get him a job he wanted (not that at this point Sherlock knew what he wanted) and people his age, thirsty for knowledge like himself. A place where he could find friends. And then tell John everything about his life.

When Sherlock looked over to the clock on the wall it was nearly time for dinner. He folded the letter and put it in the drawer next to his bed. His brother was waiting for him with dinner and maybe Sherlock would ask him if he was allowed to take a few books out of the library to read tonight.

Mycroft was already sitting at the table, a file in his hand. He was always working and busy. It was part of his life like it had been Sherlock's to think 24/7 how to please Mas- Moriarty and work as hard as possible to make him happy and not get caught in his anger.

"How is your room Sherlock?" Mycroft looked up as Sherlock entered a smile on his lips.

"I …" Sherlock realized he hadn't really looked around his room or at his new stuff. He had just read John's letter. Now he got nervous again. Was it something his brother had expected of him?

Mycroft felt the stress beginning to build up in his little brother. He knew about the letter. It was nothing you could ignore when the only thing his brother had done for ten hours was to hold onto this letter like dear life. "It's alright Sherlock; you have plenty of time to do that. Would you like to sit and have dinner with me now?" He showed him the way to his chair with his hand hoping to take way some of his fear. He had to be more careful in future how he said things.

"For the next few days we have to do a few things like bringing you back alive, legally spoken. You have to meet a few people but I will be with you in every meeting. There are also a few things that you have to learn in order to live without problems. I will introduce you to a few people and you can choose who you want. The last point is that I would like you to visit a doctor on regular basis, someone you can talk to, who will help you understand what has happened to you. You can also talk to me of course but there needs to be someone who is specialized in that area." Mycroft stopped looking at his little brother who was following every word he said but not answering.

"Or would you like to just stay here for a few days before we start with the program?" Had he said something wrong? Mycroft wasn't sure.

"No, it's fine. It's just you made all this appointments and meetings and everything for me and I don't feel ready to…" Sherlock stopped. For what was he not ready? Living, going on with his life? Or was he afraid this was all only a dream? It was not his strong point to talk about weakness or unsteadiness. Not that he had been allowed to show it until now. "I'm fine. We can start tomorrow with the 'being alive again' part."

Mycroft watched him closely. Of course there were many new things and difficult things to do but his brother was trying to tell him that he was not ready yet but did not say so in order to please me. This was something else that would have to change but they would start with small things. The rest of the dinner was quiet, not uncomfortable, but there wasn't much talking involved.

His first night in his new room with one of the books he had found in Mycroft's collection was filled with many hours of reading and sleepless thinking about his future. In the early hours of the morning Sherlock got up, took John's letter out of the drawer and started to write his first letter ever to a friend, the first one he ever wrote with his own hands and found it relaxing. Relaxing enough that as he had finished it, he fell asleep with his head on the desk and one hand on the finished letter to his friend.