Title: Ghosts in the room
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. Any dialog you recognize belongs to Moffat and Co.
Summary: "How could I forget?" he asked as Mycroft released a breath, looking tired and beaten down. Like it had held him prisoner all his life. The fact that there were three, not two. There was more than one ghost in Baker Street, and the time has come to unravel it all.
AN: This was supposed to be a one-shot Sherlock character study but then it turned into a big series 4 rewrite. So spoilers for all of series 4. This fic is my version of the series, exploring more deeply the Holmes family dynamic, Sherlock and the people that made him who he is today.
-/-
Part 1
I need you to promise me Sherlock.
The words of two people closest to him plagued him as he turned away from John's house. It's what he went back to when instead of John he was met with Molly's pitiful eyes, when his friend's words threatened to drawn him.
But really, since when did Sherlock Holmes make promises?
The sudden contact pulled him back from his thoughts. He glared at the person who bumped into him, because there was no way it could be the other way around. John didn't want to see him, according to him he has destroyed everything. As if he didn't know Sherlock, didn't understand that he won't stop until it is done.
Miss me...
The damn words seemed to mock him at the time. Mary was gone. Another person he let into his life left him. A heavy cost he wasn't sure how to repay.
Let's have dinner.
He pulled the collar of his coat around tighter. The crisp air always cleared his mind but this time it just added to the weight on his shoulders. He waited for the light to turn green so he could cross the street.
"Done with visiting the mourning family, dear brother?"
He glanced at Mycroft, who appeared next to him. Always a big brother, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Today he wasn't sure he minded.
"It is above my emotional capabilities as many assume."
He heard the sigh but he didn't want to turn in case his brother could read him. He wasn't sure he had the energy to hide the sorrow from his face. Wasn't sure he wanted to either.
"They never learn and neither do you brother."
The tone was indifferent but he knew better and it was not something he often noticed, but the sympathy was there, or as close as Mycroft will ever get to it.
"I don't need your input today Mycroft, go lead the government or whatever it is you do these days, since you couldn't see the bad seed in your own shop."
"I had my suspicions."
"I'm sure you did." Sherlock couldn't hide the spite in his voice. The cost was just too high.
Save John.
Oh for God's sake, the man didn't even want anything to do with him! How the hell was he supposed to do that? The wind picked up and he felt his body shudder at the cold. Mary believed he could do it.
Go to hell Sherlock Holmes.
He knew what she meant by it but still his brain rebelled at the notion. John will never forgive him for it. Another time he takes the dive into the deep end.
Another fall.
A permanent destination he maybe even desired, needed.
"I see that the death of Mary was a bigger blow than I expected brother. I guess inevitability...Some things are impossible to escape Sherlock."
Mycroft still followed him like a shadow beside him and as much as he liked his company, he couldn't help but despise his presence now.
"What now Mycroft, hm? Again, poor Sherlock... unable to control his emotions."
The fury was there and he couldn't keep it in. Lashing out was the only thing that felt familiar. Warm. The self-loathing that bled in his veins.
"No brother dear," Mycroft said, looking a bit defeated himself for a moment, if it was even possible to acknowledge the man as anything but stoic.
"The humanity. Lately I have trouble seeing things correctly I admit."
He glanced at the phone Mycroft had in his hand. The screen was bright with a simple message, he wasn't going to even begin to understand. His brain had got him in enough trouble as it was.
2pm appointment - Sherrinford
He tried to switch his brain to something else.
"At least you admit it Mycroft. Had enough of you being all high and mighty."
"You are the same Sherlock."
"Oh sod it!"
An expected sigh and a raised eyebrow were almost enough to make him feel like they were kids again and he was in trouble. Mycroft was the first he went to then.
"Real mature."
He really couldn't handle another battle of wits today. He just needed a place to turn it all off.
"Yes I am sure you will say so the next time we see each other."
He was surprised that they made it to the Baker Street already. Relief that he didn't need to hold this mask for much longer overwhelmed him.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him. A sharp gaze from Mycroft had him rooted in his spot.
"Remember the list and do take care, dear brother."
It was as affectionate as the two of them will ever get, but he understood his worry and support underneath. He nodded in return and headed inside.
His feet dragged every incoming step and the stairs creaked with his weight. He felt like them. Moaning at the sudden strain.
He stepped into the flat and his eyes zeroed on the laptop that still blinked the video at its end.
Go to hell Sherlock.
A headache came on and he shook himself to present. He went to get some tea as his body suddenly shook and he collapsed next to the small cabinet. Leaning his head on it he couldn't snap out of it.
The anguish, expectation, anger, and the need to do something to fix this all blended into one.
Look at the poor man.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he shouted.
He didn't need this. He opened the small cabinet and pulled out a syringe. A familiar friend. Before he knew what he was doing he felt the sting and his head lolled back as he lost himself in the patterns on the ceiling.
A seductive gasp from his phone made a familiar sound.
The woman.
He could almost hear her.
"The great detective and here you are, like this. I thought you are better than this."
His head was like a carousel, too much noise and not enough at the same time.
"I am… I am better."
His body convulsed in shock and over stimulation that attacked his senses.
"Then be better Sherlock."
The voice low, yet as always it held his attention. His need for something to prove to himself. To her.
He snapped his eyes open and she was there kneeling in front of him, her hands on his knees and her face inches from his. The comfort of her presence.
"You…" he only managed, his breath mingled with hers. She raised an eyebrow and an amused smile to match.
"Who else did you expect?"
No one. Comfort. His hand was numb, the veins on fire and hands shaking. He was losing his damn mind.
Irene Adler.
He expected many things and this wasn't one of them.
"You aren't real… you're not here. Now." he muttered as he tried to focus on anything but her. He needed to escape but not there and not now.
"Come now Sherlock, you need to let go of the rains. Let the control over your mind slip. Who else is better to lead you through it?"
Even her mannerisms, the slight movement of the hand along his shoulders while her eyes followed the same pattern were there. Her hand came to trace the side of his head as her finger tapped along his brow.
"Who else but the one who spent so much time up in there, hm Sherlock? There's no one else."
He was lost in the moment. His eyes traced her, knowing that it is his mind conjuring her here. Still, he couldn't let go.
"There's no one else." he answered and felt a sudden relief probably because the drugs were taking effect. Still he wasn't sure because that was how he always felt around her. Out of touch and on edge.
"Good," she said as she stood up and glanced around his kitchen that probably looked like a drug lab or something equally alarming.
She raised a brow as she cast a look over her shoulder. He always resorted to the same comfort. The drugs were always there when he needed to escape. Needed to think, make it better.
"How?"
He glanced at her as she was still turned and looking over individual items.
"What?"
"How can you make it better? Mary is gone Sherlock, because of you."
He shook his head, the nausea making itself present as he tried to breathe.
"I…"
She dropped something with a loud bang and turned swiftly, her eyes burning into his.
"You can't Sherlock."
His vision blurred. Damn it all to hell. His cheeks felt wet and suddenly her hand was there tracing along the miserable lines.
Her eyes filled with understanding that he couldn't and wouldn't take.
"I know, I know, I know…" he whispered along as his voice went hoarse from the pain he felt.
"There's no making it better Sherlock. You can only take solace in trying to do your best to make it hurt less with time."
He tried to move himself back to the couch but only managed to fall back to his familiar chair with her in the same position in front of him like last time.
I took your pulse.
Damn it all, why does he always go back to that… He needed to think. Clear his head. He glanced at the cabinet with the rest of the drugs. Her face blurred before him. No, he doesn't need that.
Go to hell…
He was already there it would seem. Tears wouldn't stop and she wouldn't look away.
"I screwed up. I made a mistake."
He felt the pressure of her hand gliding and tracing along his. Just like she did back then.
"There… that wasn't so hard. Now, what are you going to do about it?"
He tried to make it as obvious as he could and in his head it sounded clear.
"Listen to Mary. Go to hell and save John."
She nodded in return, almost looking proud of him.
"Can you take it Sherlock and not go all the way down?"
He doubted it at times but now he confidently smiled and held her gaze.
"If I do you'll be there to bring me back, won't you?"
He traced her cheek as she did moments before and then tapped his finger on her forehead, smiling in confidence. She did the same.
"Where else would I be…?"
Mischief and amusement were dancing on her face and he couldn't help but feel ready for what he needed to do.
"Good," he replied and stood up to get his coat. The game was on and as he looked at the famous businessman showcasing his newest donation to charity, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was wrong. She will be there to tell him otherwise.
With that he left the flat. Things needed to be done. He had two weeks to make it so.