Chapter one: Stupid sentiment
A/N: This is my first fanfiction. Please r&r. This story totally ignores episodes two and three from season three, because I'm not creative enough to incorporate them. So, yeah. Enjoy!
Sherlock sat, sorting through his mind palace. He had finished the case from Lestrade ten minutes ago, and already he was bored. He laid on the couch, hands on his chest, deleting useless information from his mind palace.
He had deleted some information about the history of gunpowder (no need for that since his case was over). He moved on, strolling the white linoleum floors of his mind palace.
He entered a room and started cleaning, throwing away something about Benjamin Franklin, when he turned and there was a box.
No, no, no, he thought harshly. The box is out of place, the box can't be here!
He lifted the box, a small gray thing with peeling paint and a small silver lock. He lifted it up as if it was a specimen, carefully, though unlike a specimen, he didn't want to observe it any longer.
The box, the locked box, the hidden box in his mind. He let no one else see it, but it was where he kept the sentiment, the memories he wanted to delete, but couldn't seem to let go of. Sentiment.
He knew he shouldn't look at those memories, best to lock them in their box and shove them away. He couldn't bring himself to delete them. Sentiment, he thought with distaste. He tried to ignore them. Wont think about that, won't think about that.
The key was a burden in his pocket, suddenly heavy. Sherlock slowly took it out of his pocket and examined it. Silver, matching the lock, sleek and skinny. He slowly unlocked the box. His mind was screaming no, but his heart ached to see the box.
Though he tried, the memories flooded his mind palace. Good memories, sad memories, embarrassing and upsetting memories. All of the memories seemed to be about her this time. Interesting. All about her. He couldn't bear to say her name. Too much sentiment. Stupid sentiment.
The worst memory, by far, was Mycroft's face. The face when he learned. The face when Mummy had told him, the face that puzzled Sherlock. No tears, the Holmes' never cried. But yet, full of... Sadness? But his brother couldn't be feeling sadness... right?
The memories went on and on, and Sherlock mentally scolded himself for letting him open the locked box. It was a bad idea. Caring was not an advantage, and she certainly taught him that. The box in his mind palace, the one he tried not to open. The one no one knew he had.
The memories, still about her, wouldn't stop. He tried, but couldn't shove them away again. She couldn't be in his mind. He had been good at keeping her away for so long.
Get her out, get her out! Stupid sentiment, stupid, stupid! He screamed, almost positive it was only internally. The memories, oh the memories, her laughing, her crying, Mycroft, the face, that face-
"Sherlock?" A voice called. John. He opened his eyes, suddenly pulled out of his mind palace.
"Why are you here?" He tried to ask as normally as he could. Stupid sentiment, he sighed to himself.
"You asked me to... Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked, a confused look on his face. Sherlock realized what he must have looked like, and tried harder to act normal.
"What? Of course I'm alright John!" Sherlock snapped. "What did you need?"
"You asked me to come to help you with a case." John still looked curious to Sherlock's strange behavior, but said nothing.
"Oh, yes, finished that..." Sherlock frowned, looking at the time on his phone, realizing how much time he had spent in his mind palace. "An hour ago."
"Okay," John replied slowly, dragging out the end. "You sure you're okay?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, slightly surprised at how the doctor could see right through him. "Of course. Back to my mind palace." Sherlock closed his eyes until he heard John's feet leave the room.
Sherlock opened his eyes. Why all of the sentiment? Why couldn't he keep the box in his head shut? Why now?
He checked his phone and realized the date. Of course, stupid sentiment, no matter how much he tried to get rid of it, it always came back. It was the day she went missing. Of course.
Sherlock sighed. Sentiment. Stupid, stupid, stupid.