Monster
Chapter 1
AN: My very first Sherlock story! The idea to me while I was listening to Eminem's "Monster," and that's where the title came from, but this isn't really a songfic.
It will be pretty OOC, but you'll see why.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. It belongs to BBC and ACD.
Enjoy!
Sherlock buttoned the last button of his purple shirt before pulling on his coat and trying his scarf around his thin neck. He looked in the mirror and sighed. His strange-colored eyes were tired. His dark curls fell limply across his forehead. He was not prepared for this today, but he knew it had to be done. As much as he was dreading this, he was thankful to Mycroft. None of this would have been possible without him and his "minor position in the British Government."
The disapproving-looking woman behind him cleared her throat. He gave his hair a half-hearted ruffle before following her out of the room. The ride in the lift was silent.
Following the woman out of the lift and down the hall, Sherlock tucked his trembling hands into his coat pockets. He put on a blank mask as they came to a stop at room 331. He could hear terrified screams coming from behind the door punctuated with the occasional sob. Neither he nor the woman batted an eye. She pulled a card from her pocket and swiped it before opening the door and allowing Sherlock to enter the room.
The sight that met his tired blue-green-grey eyes broke his heart no matter how many times he had witnessed it. The room was mostly empty, save from a chest of drawers, a bed and the man perched on the bed. The man wore a wrinkled pair of plain blue and white pajamas. His big brown eyes were red and wide with fear. His dark hair looked as though someone had rubbed a balloon over it. He was curled up in the corner of the bed sobbing and begging someone to "make it stop." On the chest sat a tray with two cups, one filled with water, the other with three pills. Two blue, one orange.
It was obvious that this wasn't new to Sherlock as he grabbed the pills and the water before sitting down on the bed.
"James." That one word made the distraught man immediately quiet.
"Sh-sherlock," he whimpered, "M-make them stop. Please, make it stop." Tears streamed from his eyes, and mucus dripped from his nose. He looked nothing like the man he was before.
"Take these and it'll stop," Sherlock said holding out the pills.
"What are they?" James demanded.
"They'll make it stop. They'll make it all stop. I promise."
Sniffling and trembling, James grabbed the pills and shoved them all into his mouth. Sherlock knew it probably wasn't good for him to take them all at once like that, but no one cared as long as he took them. He pushed the cup of water into his hand before he could swallow them dry.
Once the water was gone, Sherlock placed the cup back on the tray and grabbed a tissue from the box on the chest.
"Let me clean your face." He frowned at how quickly the medication took effect. The brown-eyed man was as docile as a lamb as he scooted forward and allowed the other to wipe the tears and mucus from his face.
"Blow," Sherlock instructed, holding a clean tissue to the smaller male's nose. The sound was disgusting as he complied.
The curly-haired make tossed the used tissues on the tray before turning back to the docile man.
"Sherlock?" The voice was hesitant and child-like. A far cry from how it used to be.
"Hm?" The pajama-clad man inched forward until he was pressed against his companion's side
"Th-they don't like me here," he whispered, "They…they hate me. They say things…awful things…I know they're talking about me."
"They're all idiots, love. They're just jealous of how brilliant you are," Sherlock murmured, slipping around the trembling form.
The former consulting criminal continued to tremble for a moment before springing back to look up at the curly-haired man.
"I drew you a picture of me," he said, scrambling off the bed and going over to the chest.
Sherlock couldn't help but notice the way the pajamas hung off of his thin frame. He always seemed bigger, taller in suits. Westwood. Now he looked like a child drowning in those pajamas. He was digging around in the bottom drawer. He grinned in triumph as he pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper. He clambered back onto the bed, tucking his feet underneath him and held out the paper proudly. The taller man almost smiled at the drawing that was presented to him. A man, Jim, clad in a grey suit sat on a bright red thrown. A matching crown sat perched on his head. There was a large grin on his face.
"I'm King Moriarty," Jim said, grinning.
"Does that make me your queen?" Sherlock murmured.
"Hmm, yes! You're my Queen Sherlock, and that means that you can't ever leave me, okay?" The words were spoken lightly, but there was a desperate gleam in those brown eyes.
"Of course," Sherlock said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Jim sighed in contentment and shuffled closer to the other man.
"Has Seb come to visit you?" Sherlock asked, running his long fingers through messy hair.
"No," came the quiet response, "he hates me."
"Why would he hate you, Jim?"
"Cause I'm in here. He hates me for being here."
"I'm sure he doesn't. It's not your fault that you're in here."
"Then why won't he come see me?"
"I-I don't know."
Anything else that might have been said was interrupted by the door opening and the disapproving woman standing there expectantly.
"Jim? I have to go now, okay?" Sherlock said softly.
"I don't want you to go," the smaller male whimpered.
"I know, but I'll come back soon."
"Promise?"
"I promise." He detangled himself from the other man's grip and kissed his forehead before standing. "Promise me you'll try to behave?" he said, running his hand through messy hair once more.
"Promise," Jim whispered, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs.
The moment Sherlock followed the woman out of the room, his mask fell. He looked even more tired than before, and his strange eyes were filled with pain. The ride in the lift was once again silent.
Arriving at room 221, the woman swiped her card and opened the door before holding her hand out expectantly.
Sherlock stepped inside of the room and stripped down to his underpants, not bothering to hand the clothing to the woman. He grabbed the rumpled pajama bottoms and t-shirt from the bed and pulled them on. He pulled a worn blue dressing gown on over it before collapsing onto the bed. He vaguely registered a bracelet being re-wrapped around his wrist before the door shut, leaving him alone in a room almost identical to the one upstairs.
Please review and let me know what you guys think! Like I said, this is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I'm super nervous about it. I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but I'll try to update soon.
ES