Hushed voices and muffled footsteps. John was used to those sounds here, people tiptoeing around like the inmates would jump out at them if they were disturbed. John sighed as he listened to the incoherent babbling of the man behind the nearest door. Locked in a world of his own making, John could certainly understand that the man would talk to himself just as much as if what he saw was reality, but hearing the bloke talk to nothing but the air around him, John couldn't help but wonder what exactly the man was seeing. Hopefully something a bit more hopeful than a psychiatric ward. Maybe his own apartment, where he was free to come and go as he pleased. That was a nice idea. John smiled a bit thinking of the inmate free in his own mind, and that was such a lovely picture John almost didn't notice Lestrade approaching him. John stood up quickly and smiled at him.
"Detective Inspector. Always a pleasure." John said, shaking the man's hand.
"Likewise, Dr. Watson." Lestrade smiled, but his face became grim once more when he heard mumbling from behind the door by to John.
"How's our favourite inmate doing?" Lestrade asked quietly, and John shook his head, whispering, "He's not too good. He was absolutely manic yesterday, throwing things and swearing and screaming his head off. I had to go in and calm him down four times, I couldn't leave his line of sight all day without him going ballistic."
Lestrade pursed his lips and sighed, as if discussing a batty old uncle. "Poor bastard. He really was a genius, so I'm told, and I believe 'em. He's brilliant even now, can't imagine what he was like when he was sane. Wonder what happened to the fellow to make him go round the bend?"
John was silent for a few seconds. When no one knows the answer to a question, it doesn't do to change the topic immediately. After a moment, he said, "I've got to take in his lunch now. You're welcome to come in if you'd like."
"Might as well, he doesn't get much visitors now, does he?"
John picked up the tray with a sandwich, apple, and pot of tea perched precariously on one hand, and unlocked the door with his other. Easing the door open, he moved inside, followed by Lestrade.
The man's long curly brown hair nearly covered his eyes, but he looked up and flipped the hair away from his face, his expression panicked. His face relaxed almost immediately once he saw John, and an altogether distant smile spread across his face, as if he was seeing another world all his own. He rubbed the sleeve of his jumpsuit: a permanent patient who always got shirts too small for his physique.
"Ah, its you John." He said from his position in the corner of the room. "Dropped by for lunch have you?"
"Yes, if that's alright Sherlock?" John asked carefully. When Sherlock didn't say anything, John took it to mean he was free to join him, and moved to sit by Sherlock in the corner, beckoning Lestrade to follow him.
"Sherlock, do you remember Lestrade?" John asked.
"Ah yes, the inspector." Sherlock nodded. "Have you got a new case for me, Gary?"
"It's Greg." Lestrade murmured quietly, but if Sherlock heard, he didn't say anything. Lestrade said louder, "No, I haven't got a case today. Sorry, things are a bit dull these days."
Damn, John thought, I forgot to find a story for him to solve.
"Pity, I've been absolutely bored senseless." Sherlock moaned, knocking the back of his head against the wall. "I lost my temper with a vending machine yesterday, I've become so desperate. If John hadn't been there I doubt that vending machine would be in working order today."
"I don't doubt it." Lestrade agreed, side-eyeing John.
Sherlock slowly poured himself a cup of tea, then offered one to John, who declined. Pulling out his phone, John checked the time and sighed, watching Sherlock. He's going through withdrawals, John thought, noticing Sherlock's shaking hands and sweaty neck, we should never have given him that morphine; he'll never recover now.
Sherlock took a sip of tea and turned to John.
"The girl you had diner with last night is a compulsive cheat and has a husband in Greece, I'd get rid of her, you can do better than her." His words came out fast and had a sudden edge to them, as his language always did when he went into 'deduction mode'. Even though John was used to Sherlock's sometimes frightening ability to simultaneously see but not see John, it never failed to amaze him.
"How do you manage to tell that?" he asked, mostly for Sherlock's benefit.
"You mentioned going out last night, when I asked where you said you were treating her someplace fancy so obviously you were trying to impress someone: a girl. Harry is out of the question, you wouldn't bother treating her someplace expensive knowing she'd get drunk and ruin your night, and you have no other close female relations. If you were just friends with her you would most likely opt to split the price, especially if you were going somewhere where you would spend a great deal of money. So whom would you want to impress by treating to expensive diner? Girlfriend's looking good. The napkin she wrote her number on is still in your pocket, her writing is clean and precise, there were no hesitations on her part, meaning she knows her number well and writes it down for lots of people. A flirt or socialite? Given her husband in Greece and excess of men for the picking, I'd say flirt. 'Husband in Greece? How can you tell that Sherlock?' A cursory glance at your phone showed you and a new girl as your lock screen on your phone. Looking at her left hand, you can see a slight tan line around where her wedding ring normally is, meaning wherever she puts on her wedding ring is sunny and gets herself a good tan. It's almost faded, though, meaning she hasn't seen him in a while. There's an envelope in her purse addressed to somewhere in Greece, along with a 'Happy Anniversary Darling' card, you can see in sticking out the side of her purse. So she's sending a wedding card to a man in Greece. Husband, obviously."
"Fantastic!" John exclaimed. As often as Sherlock did that, it never got any less incredible.
Sherlock looked at John with vacant eyes for a few seconds, but a bashful sort of smile indicated that he registered and appreciated John's compliment. "Elementary," he reasoned.
Sherlock took another sip of his tea and then bit out of his apple shakily.
"Lestrade," he said, "Have you got any cigarettes on you?"
"I haven't, I'm on nicotine patches now," Lestrade said.
"Damn, I could use a smoke right now."
"Mmm." Lestrade cast a look to John, who shrugged as if to say, "You know we couldn't give him anything even if we had some."
"What about cocaine?"
"No of course I haven't! I'm an officer with bloody Scotland Yard, you think I'd have illegal drugs with me?"
"Well I couldn't be sure you hadn't confiscated some you could give me." Sherlock sighed dramatically. He finished his tea and stared into the cup as if it would tell him where to get the drugs he suffered such extreme withdrawals.
After a long pause, Lestrade stood up. "Look, I've got to catch the train and be out of here by 3:20," he said, "and it's 2:05 right now, so I'd better get ready to head off." John stood to escort him out, but they both paused when he heard a quiet, almost pitiful voice from the corner say, "Don't leave yet Lestrade, you haven't had any tea yet." Lestrade let out a slow, deep breath, and turned around. Sherlock looked so innocent, like a child, wide-eyed and blank. He looked up at them, and John felt a pang in his stomach.
"Sherlock, I'll be back to visit next week, I promise. I'll have a," Lestrade fumbled slightly, trying to remember what Sherlock called the riddles he solved. "A… a 'case' for you too, a nice juicy murder, alright?" Lestrade said, turning back to the man, who stood up, teacup shaking in his hands.
"No, don't leave please not now not when we were just beginning to chat!" Sherlock's eyes were focused now: focused on the only two men he recognised leaving him. "Did I say something wrong? Did I do something? No please, don't leave me here alone! I hate it here, I hate it I hate it I hateit IhateitIhateitIhateitIHATEIT SO MUCH" Sherlock's voice grew louder with each word, and Lestrade started to back up, hands held up in defense.
"Sherlock, listen, I-" he started, but Sherlock screamed and threw the teacup as hard as he could against the wall, centimeters from Lestrade's ear. That was the final straw for Lestrade, who ducked and quickly ran from the room, chased by Sherlock's yells of "NO STOP COME BACK I'M SORRY I JUST WANT-" before he broke down and curled up on the floor, muffled sobs escaping him every now and again.
John stood by the door, a hand on the doorknob, before shaking his head and going to Sherlock's side, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Sherlock rocked slightly in his fetal position on the floor, and small tremors shook his whole body. His neck was running with perspiration and his hands shook uncontrollably. His eyes were empty as he sat up and looked at John, tears dotting his cheeks. John gently brushed them away and Sherlock curled up with his head in John's lap, sniffling quietly and finally whimpering, "What did I do? I thought I was being normal. Why does everyone always leave me, John? Why do I drive people away?"
John felt a pang of guilt. He was one of the people who Sherlock believed would leave him one day, never to return. It killed John, and he wanted to tell Sherlock just how badly he wanted to stay, how invested he was in Sherlock. But John still had to leave him at the end of each day, stuck in this hellhole.
"He'll come back Sherlock, don't worry. He always does. And I'm here now, I won't leave you." John said, gently stroking Sherlock's hair. "I'm right here for you."
Sherlock slowly calmed down, and finally fell asleep with John's breathing as his soundtrack.