The irony behind this idea was just too good to resist. While the first chapter is the main story- this is a oneshot, I decided to add my first draft and a spinet of another in chapter 2. They aren't exactly my favorite, but other people my like them (maybe, I won't blame you if you don't).
People describe Sherlock in a number of different ways: crazy, psychopath, arrogant, proud, insane, egotistical, freak, genius, selfish, bloody bastard, conceited, apathetic, reckless, clever, rude, narcissistic, cold, unfeeling, uncaring, and many, many other ways.
They're right, for the most part. Sherlock never has been or will be one to conform to society's standards- limitations being the more apt description. What good is politeness? Isn't it better to just tell the truth, not lie or hint at it instead? Why doesn't everyone notice the seemingly obvious facts instead of asking stupid questions? And just what is normal anyway?
They're right, but not fully.
The problem is not that Sherlock does not feel.
It is that he feels too much.
The worse part is that most isn't his own.
Ever since he can remember, he has been pressured by other people's emotions. That's the actual reason for his mind palace. Technically, it's not a palace, it's a castle. A castle with thick wall and a moat around it. It's the only way to keep everything out, to stay sane.
He never tells anyone. It's obvious that what he can do isn't normal. And people fear what isn't normal. He knows this. He can feel the discomfort, the shock, the dismissal and disgust and fear when he reveals his intelligence. Always too smart for his age.
He doesn't need another reason for everyone to hate him.
Their emotions hurt. More than the words because while anyone can lie- and he always knows because he always feels them- the intent is the danger. The desire to harm, to injury, to wound, to cause as much pain as possible.
Mycroft tells him that caring is a disadvantage. He believes him. What is the advantage of feeling the other children cruelness- they're all stupid anyway, his Mummy's distant caring- 'that's lovely dear, but not now', his Father's expectations- too much, too heavy, his brother's disinterest- 'loud, messy, unorganized, when will he grow up?, be useful?'?
There is none.
So he builds up his walls, keeps everyone out and his mind safe. He stops trying to fit in- as if he tried that hard anyways because the damage was already done before he knew better so why fight a useless battle? He withdraws- they can't hurt you if you don't let them near you. He sharpens his deduction skills- a weapon against all the stupid people in the world and they're all stupid. He becomes an island unto himself.
Time goes on. He attracts labels and dons one himself- "I'm not a psychopath, I'm a high functioning sociopath, do your research!"
They assume that their words bounce right off of him, that he doesn't care.
But their words- their intents- batter the walls of his castle. Every word, every sneer, every thought of disgust he has to work to keep out, has to protect himself. Cocaine helps for a time, but eventually he is forced to stop. They don't understand that is isn't ruining his mind, it's helping preserve it.
So time goes on and no one ever stops to wonder why he's like this. No one ever realizes that they are as responsible for who he is today as he is. That their emotions fight to overwhelm him with each breath he takes. That his apparent cold and uncaring nature is simply a defense mechanism for his to survive. That if he cares, if he lets down his walls, he'll drown.
Everyone assumes the labels are true.
And then he meets John Watson.
John is unlike anyone he has ever met before. He says amazing and brilliant and means it. He radiates depression, but he also radiates an aura that Sherlock can only describe as pure sunshine. He wants to bask in it. He wants to curl up in John's lap and purr as John praises him. No. He wants to be inside John. To find out what makes him different from the rest of the idiots on this dismal planet.
John Watson is the best kind of puzzle there is. A deceivingly simple one.
Of course he tells him that he is married to his Work. He knows that while he isn't technically being asked out, that John is indeed just trying to be polite, there is some small personal interest involved.
And Sherlock can't risk being involved.
Not only have too many people left in the past, he finds he is uncomfortable with letting people get too close to him. Other people have a way of invading his mind space with their petty feelings and concerns. They encroach on his mind too much and it makes his skin itch. It is a distinctly odd thing to feel disgust about oneself when one is not feeling it. It's not a pleasant experience, to say the least.
He supposes it wouldn't be too bad if he found a person who could accept his peculiar ways, but he has given up on that idea long ago. No one has ever given him a chance.
Not that he makes it easy for them, but still. He refuses to give in to social norms just to have a friend. Alone is what he has and is his best protection. After all, even if he did find someone, who would stick around if they ever found out he was an empath?
But John continues to surprise him. He shakes the depression fairly quickly and continues to shine. Oh, he has a temper and is quick to use it, but it burns itself out fairly quickly. It has yet to last more than a day- and that was a rather extreme circumstance. Sherlock fully admits he deserves that one. He is able to sooth the noise in Sherlock's head without even trying.
He feels the depth of loyalty John soon feels for him and is endlessly surprised by it. Surely he has done nothing to inspire such commitment? There are times he has gone out of his way to be especially unpleasant when he was in a mood.
But John continues to stay and Sherlock cannot understand it. He does not like when he does not understand something. He picks and picks at it until he does. This occasionally leads to causalities, but that generally doesn't bother him. But this is John. He has to be careful with John. He does not want to lose him.
His- cautiously potential- friend.
He is laying on the couch, not moving. Today is one of those days, when the feelings are too much for him and he can't block them out enough to distinguish them from his own. They spin round and round in his head unceasingly.
People call it his black moods.
He calls it agony.
John is at the clinic today and he is thankful for it. Not because he would make it worse, but because he has the potential to make it so much better. There are times when he has to use all of his self restraint to stop him from snuggling against John, using him as a shield against the world. Frankly it is only a matter of time before it happens.
He doesn't know how he would explain it to John. There is nothing sexual about it. He has never had any desire for sex. The very thought of it makes him shudder. Not to say anything of the disaster that was the one and only time he actually tried. There may be a romantic factor to it, but that has more to do with his emotions than the need itself.
But he has vowed never to tell anyone about his empathy, so he cannot explain this to John.
He is unsure of how long he lays on the couch before he hears footsteps on the stairs. John is home- by his gait it was a good day- with food as well. The smell of Chinese take away reaches his nose even before John opens the door to the flat.
He sighs when he sees him on the couch. "It's one of those days, is it?" he asks without expecting an actual response. "Any chance of getting you to eat? I have your favorite."
Sherlock doesn't bother to reply.
"Right," he sighs. "Well I suppose now is a good time to get caught up on Doctor Who as any. Budge over," he comments as he moves Sherlock's feet out of the way.
Sherlock merely places his feet back on John's lap.
"Git," John mutters, but doesn't move them as he starts to eat.
Slowly, between the noise from the telly and John's presence, the emotions become less overwhelming. It's not enough for them to become manageable again, but it is certainly better than before.
After John is done eating, he continues watching telly, absently rubbing his thumb across the arch of Sherlock's foot. The motion is soothing, helping the emotions even more. But he can't help but wonder what it would feel like if John were to run his fingers through his hair instead.
Eventually the thought becomes too much and Sherlock swiftly swings himself over to lay in head in John's lap. He has never been particularly good at self restraint after all. He readily admits it's one of his less redeeming qualities, as it were.
"Hello to you too," John says startled. "Comfortable are we?"
Sherlock's only answer was to shift slightly into a better position.
"Git," John declares again. And his tone is most definitely fond. He doesn't say anything else, just goes back to watching the strange man in the blue box. Eventually he does start to play with Sherlock's hair and he has his answer.
It feels glorious. Why he has never actually tried this before he has no idea.
It works so well that he eventually sits up, still leaning against John, and eats some of the take out. How John is blocking out the emotions is beyond Sherlock, but at this point, he doesn't care. This may be the first time he isn't interested in solving a mystery, but it's true. He is just grateful to John that he can. He makes it easier to not get lost in his head.
When he is done, he tunes out the sounds of the telly and focuses on John's breathing. It is a calm steady thing. He slides back down into John's lap, snuggling in. John begins to run his fingers through his hair once again.
He falls asleep like that.
Things continue to go well between the two of them. John stays strong and reliable in his loyalty to Sherlock. Sherlock has stopped trying to understand it for once in his life and simply embraced it. For once, he allows himself to get close, to rely on another human being. It is frightening, how right it feels to the detective.
John even continues to allow Sherlock to essentially use him as a human pillow without much complaint- his grumbling doesn't count, it is more for show than anything else. It is bliss.
Until it all comes crashing down.
It starts with a case, as most things in Sherlock's life tends to. A case involving children, which makes everything that much harder. Emotions always run higher and people that much more likely to take out their frustrations on him, simply because he doesn't let his emotions control him. Breaking down will not help them track the child slavers, not matter what the others think. He needs his logic the most right now.
It takes five grueling days of shouting, sniping, arguing and thinking to find them. The children are terrified when they do. Their fear bombards him. It gets even worse when they pull their guns on them. He feels like he is drowning and has to physically lean against John in order to help block them out.
His walls are shaky right now, with this case coming on the tail end of one of his 'black moods'.
They eventually get the children away from them and arrest them, but before two are shot. Neither are fatal- Sherlock thanks a deity he doesn't believe in because if had felt one of those children die right now, witnesses or not, he would have had a panic attack.
As it is, he practically drags John away, intent on getting home as soon as possible.
He is shaking by the time he gets back to the flat. When they are inside, John takes his hand and leads him to the couch. He lays down and guides Sherlock down on top of him. Sherlock buries his head in John's shoulder and breathes, just breathes. Eventually the shaking subsides and his breath evens out.
"Better?" John asks.
Sherlock nods, not feeling up to talking right now.
"Good. Do you want to talk about it?" he then asks gently, not pressing for answers, but letting Sherlock know that he is there for him.
Sherlock is silent for a long moment before he decides to take the risk. After all, John has continuously surprised him. Why would this be any different? "Empath, walls down," he mutters into John's jumper, not feeling up to a more coherent explanation.
John doesn't say anything at first, just strokes Sherlock's hair. He can feel the doctor's thoughtful contemplation before he chuckles. "Oh the irony," he says, "the horrible irony of it all." He continues to laugh. "I can see it though, I always knew that sociopath stuff was a bunch of crap. I assume the physical contact helps?"
"Just you," he continues to mutter.
"Right. Naturally."
"Natural shield. Sunshine." That is the best explanation John is getting right now, so Sherlock hopes John is satisfied with it.
John snorts. "Nutter," he declares.
"Hmmmm."
"Bad telly?" he asks eventually.
"Acceptable," Sherlock answers.
They continue laying there, neither of them feeling like moving, just content lay there. Sherlock begins grumbling at one point and John just laughs. He press a kiss into Sherlock's curls.
"My nutter," he declares softly.
Sherlock just snuggles closer in answer.