Chapter 1: The man on the phone
"Just in case something happens and you can't handle it or, better, him." That was all Greg Lestrade got from Mycroft Holmes as the scary man gave him an emergency contact for Sherlock Holmes, his new consulting detective, like he had titled his position about a week previously. He had started working with Sherlock a month ago, when he had found him and a murder suspect in the same place. One thing had led to another and now he had a genius as a consultant with a very over protective older brother, who had just kidnapped Lestrade and brought him to an old factory. "There are easier ways for you to give me your number, you know." Lestrade tried to sound brave but he knew power when he looked at it and this man could be very dangerous. "It's not my number I gave you; I could never stop my dear brother if he loses it." Mycroft turned around without another word. Not even explaining whose number he had given him and also hoped he would never need.
For all the time Lestrade had known Sherlock, he had never talked about other people. When Lestrade asked him, he confirmed that Mycroft was his brother but did not volunteer anything else on the topic. And this was about everything he knew about Sherlock Holmes' private life. Three years after the scary visit with Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade had almost forgotten the number which he still kept safely in his phone, not knowing he would be needing it today.
An old and banished house was his new crime scene and Lestrade has no idea what could have possible happened for a university professor to end up here with a knife in through his heart. There was no evidence that indicated another person had been in the room; Anderson couldn't find any finger- or footprints of someone else. There was no sign of a break in except for the entry way the professor had chosen: he had jumped through a window. So Lestrade called Sherlock who was bored because his last case had only been a five, and, as he had told Lestrade, it would be nice of him to call for something like a seven or higher or he wasn't interested at all. And how was Lestrade supposed to know what a seven on the 'Sherlock Holmes entertainment scale' was?
Sherlock arrived half an hour later, with a cab as usual, but he didn't look too good. His face was paler than normal, which was already really pale for a human being with a working blood system. "How are you feeling, Sherlock? You look a bit pale." Lestrade asked guarded, knowing that asking Sherlock Holmes something which was not case related was always a dangerous thing, and indeed the response came more aggressive then necessary for a normal question. "I'm fine. Don't ask stupid questions. We are here to solve a crime and not to engage in small talk!" Sherlock walked past Lestrade and entered the crime scene followed closely by the detective.
The room the body of the professor was found in was a mess: the furniture which had been left there by the former owners was ripped apart and pieces lay everywhere. Garbage and dirt covered the whole place. The body itself had blood and mud on it. Sherlock leaned down to the body and started with his examination. Lestrade could see his hands were shaking a bit und he was definitely looking a bit unsteady on his feet. But he didn't comment on the stubborn behavior of his consulting detective. It would change nothing, except cause the mood of the detective to drop to an unbearably deep and dark cloud making staying around him a nightmare with everyone having to suffer its effects. So the DI watched as the detective recovered a small and empty plastic bag from under the sleeves of the professor's shirt. Sherlock opened it and sniffed it. That something so simple would end in a disaster, no one had known.
Sherlock bagged the evidence and continued his investigation. He suddenly stopped midway in his movements. His body froze, except for his eyes which were moving quickly in all directions. "Sherlock…? Everything alright?" Lestrade slowly walked towards him not quite sure what would happen or what Sherlock would do. Donavan, Anderson and a few other officers watched them; they were also surprised by the lack of movement of the never still detective. Everyone knew Sherlock wasn't in any way normal but what happened next couldn't be right and especially not when the one doing it was Sherlock Holmes.
Lestrade touched Sherlock lightly on his shoulder to wake him from his frozen state. The reaction that came was fast. Sherlock took Lestrade's gun out of the DI's holster with one hand and with the other pushed him with an incredible strength away from him. Lestrade was shocked like everyone else as Sherlock aimed the gun between the DI's eyes. But what made it all even worse was that Sherlock's voice was filled with such utter panic, fear and hurt that it let them all hold their breath. "Go away, don't touch me, you only want to hurt me again." Sherlock moved backwards looking every person in the room in the eyes and holding the gun up so no one would dare to move. By the time his back met the wall he had already started to cry. Big tears fell down his face while he kept mumbling not to touch him or hurt him and to stay away.
Lestrade didn't know what to do. There was no way to get closer to the crying detective armed with a gun and he couldn't just shoot at him. Meanwhile Sherlock was sliding down to the ground one hand on his head ruffling his hair, the other still on the gun. This was all so wrong, but when Donavan whispered to Anderson "that she knew the freak would lose it one day" he remembered the number, the emergency number in his contact list.
Lestrade took his phone out of his pocket, walking one step closer to Sherlock and getting his attention. "Sherlock, I'm going to call someone for you so you can calm down a bit, ok?" He scrolled down to the number hoping it would still work. The sound of a ringing phone was never so hard to bear. Until on the other end the sound of a connection took place. The connection wasn't really good, but Lestrade was a police officer and he knew how gunfire sounded and that was the sound he was hearing at the other end. Gunfire and suddenly an explosion. After a few seconds it got a bit quieter and finally a human being answered his call.
"Yes, John Watson speaking." The voice was strong and full of authority.
"This is DI Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard; Mycroft Holmes gave me your number in case of an emergency regarding Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade had never heard of a John Watson and wasn't sure if the battlefield sounds were real or a game. He hoped it was just a game.
"What happened? Is he alright? Please don't tell me he is hurt or has done something stupid." John Watson sounded worried.
Lestrade didn't know what to say, but a look at the crying mess at the end of the room gave him the right idea. "Something is wrong with Sherlock, I don't know what happened but from one second to the next he stopped moving, took my gun, threatened everyone he would shoot them if we came close to him and now he is crying. I don't think he is recognizing me or my voice; it's as if he were trapped in a bad memory or something. But I don't know how to stop it or help him nor do I have any idea who you are to him."
John's answer was a simple list of commands. "Please do me a favor. Call an ambulance, put me on speaker, turn up the volume of your mobile phone to max and bring the phone as close as possible to Sherlock. If I ask you to do something, just do it. Don't ask why. I will try to calm him. He was probably poisoned with something so the paramedics should bring a sedative so they can transport him to the next hospital." Lestrade understood that it was the only way. He told Donavan to call the ambulance and slowly moved in on Sherlock's position, pressed the speaker button and slid the phone on the floor towards Sherlock. It stopped a meter from Sherlock's left foot.
Sherlock first eyed the phone and then lifted his hand (with the gun) and pointed it at Lestrade. The DI held his hands up in the air to show Sherlock he wasn't a threat but it could have ended with a bullet in his head if John had not chosen exactly that moment to speak to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John Watson's voice was much softer than before and full of… full of love, Lestrade would say.
It had a very immediate effect on Sherlock: it looked as if he had completely forgotten that a second ago he had wanted to shoot Lestrade. "John? John where are you? He is coming to hurt me again. Make him go away. I don't like getting hurt. Please John, save me, he is so close. Where are you? John, I'm scared. Help me." He curled into a small ball on the ground, lying on his side still holding the gun. His whole body was shaking, more tears were coming.
"You know where I am, you are counting the days, even the seconds till we meet again. Tell me how long until you can come to the airport and collect me. Sherlock tell me exactly how much time is left till I can give you a hug."
Without looking at his watch Sherlock answered. "Three months, seventeen days, eight hours, twenty six minutes and two seconds. Private military airport outside of London. Mycroft will send a car so I won't get lost on the way."
"That's right. Now tell me where I am and what I am doing."
"You're in Afghanistan, being a doctor in war and helping people. And all that because you said you wanted to be like me. To help people. But John, why can't you do this here, in London? I need you and I miss you. No one is protecting me from him. He will hurt me."
"Sherlock, stop. That's not what I asked. Stick to the facts like you always do. We do it your way. So tell me now, Sherlock where are you and who is with you? Tell me the place and people that were with you before and after you started seeing him."
"I came to a crime scene, an old and rotten building. Lestrade was there and Donavan and Anderson, he always destroys my crime scene and a few others from Scotland Yard and the dead professor. I guess he doesn't count. But they are all gone now, I can't see them. But he is here, and he has others with him to help hold me down. To hurt me. He will call me names and laugh at me. And he will shout at me and tell me to stop crying or otherwise he will hurt me even more. Make him stop, John." Sherlock tried to make himself smaller and Lestrade, completely shocked about all the things Sherlock had said, wanted nothing more than take the crying detective in his arms and comfort him. But nothing was moving in the room except Sherlock's shaking figure.
"Okay, Sherlock, listen, you can only hear me because DI Lestrade called me. Do you understand? If Lestrade wasn't there, you would not hear my voice. It's logical, right? I can talk to you from a battlefield at the other end of the world because I am the one who can calm you down. You came in contact with some kind of drug that makes you feel fear and brings out your worst nightmares. I need you to calm down or the stuff you poisoned yourself with will harm you. I have a really important question, Sherlock. Do you trust me?"
Sherlock's head moved up, fear in his eyes. "Of course I trust you. You're the only one I trust with my life."
"Perfect. Then you need to trust me more than ever before. I want you to let go of the gun you are still holding. DI Lestrade will come to you now and sit next to you. And I don't think he would feel safe with you when you have the gun in your shaking hands. And the best way to end this scary situation is for everyone to feel safe. Alright Sherlock? Trust me when I tell you that the man who is coming to you won't hurt you."
Lestrade nearly missed his turn to move. But as Sherlock let go of the gun, he sat next to Sherlock on the ground, not touching or speaking just sitting and waiting for John Watson, who apparently was someone Sherlock had known for a long time, to continue talking. "Sherlock, Lestrade will put a hand on your shoulder, nothing more. I know you don't want to be touched but it will be your connection to reality." Sherlock's body froze as Lestrade put his hand on his shoulder. But he didn't run away.
"Sherlock, can you feel his hand? He is your friend and his hand will hold you in the real world. The nightmare you are having is nothing more than a dream and a dream can't hurt you. He is not coming. Lestrade will take the gun now. So he can protect you, in case someone comes to hurt you. I have to share my job of protecting Sherlock a bit with him." Lestrade took his gun back, happy there was one thing less threatening in that room.
Sherlock just obeyed. He stopped moving and speaking completely. His eyes were half closed and he was crying less. John's voice was back, as he knew how long it would take Sherlock to get used to Lestrade's hand. "Sherlock, you need to go to a hospital, a doctor has to examine you. The drug you were exposed to could be dangerous. I know you don't want to. But do it for me. I'm far away and can't help you. Lestrade has called an ambulance and the paramedics will give you a sedative so you can sleep a while. I'm sure you haven't slept for days; it will be good for you. While you sleep, Lestrade will watch you, so no one will get a chance to hurt you and after you have had a small nap, you will wake up feeling better und than you can call me. Promise me you will call me. Or I will be worried and can't concentrate and I could make a mistake on a patient or on the battlefield. So call when you wake up." While John was speaking, Sherlock was given a sedative without a fight. His eyes start closing and he fell asleep a few seconds after John had finished his last sentence. But he whispered a "…I promise…" before he faded away.
The paramedics took Sherlock away and Lestrade picked up his phone following them, knowing on the other side was someone trusting him to stay at Sherlock's side.
Lestrade pushed the speaker button again and held the phone to his ear. "Still there?" "Yes, please keep him safe and stay by his side. I don't want him to wake up alone. And you have to give him your phone when he wakes up. The number you called is a special emergency number, a high government thing, Sherlock has no way to reach me without it." John sounded sad and tired. All Lestrade could do was to promise him to do it and then he ended the call.
Lestrade watched the sleeping detective. He had learned today more about Sherlock then all the years before. Not all were things he wanted to know. But there was one important thing. Sherlock Holmes had someone special in his life, someone who cared for him, someone he trusted more than his own senses, which had been telling him he was in danger.
Sherlock woke a few hours later, still a bit out of it. He couldn't really remember what had happened, except the one thing: that he had promised to call John. And Lestrade was glad to help with that. It was a short conversation but a smile appeared on Sherlock's face the minute the connection between both men was there. That smile was so much better than the crying and scared face that was burned inside the DI's mind forever. If Lestrade were ever to find out who had hurt Sherlock, the word 'punishment' would get a new meaning.