AN: It's been so long since I've written any fanfiction! WAY too long D: So I thought I'd start off with a one-shot, nothing too ambitious. This probably won't be very good, I don't know, but I'll try! :D
The Raggedy Doctor
"Sherlock-" John swallowed, the words catching in his throat.
"You need to get it out." His therapist said gently.
John steeled himself to speak the unspeakable. "My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead."
The last word hurt him far more than any bullet wound ever had.
"He's talking about Sherlock again, is he?" The man waiting outside for John asked.
The woman at the reception nodded. "If he only knew the truth about Sherlock Holmes."
The man's expression was unreadable. "That would be unadvisable."
"He's clearly suffering, surely you can see that the truth would be-"
"No." The man cut her off. "Sometimes it is better to tell a lie, than the truth."
The receptionist glared as he twirled his umbrella nonchalantly. "It's inhuman."
"You know what would happen if he knew the truth about Sherlock, and Moriarty." The man stressed.
"Moriarty wasn't real." The receptionist said quietly, unable to finish her thought.
"John must never know." Mycroft said grimly.
The therapist sat there, patiently listening as John talked, telling her all about Moriarty and the final problem. John hardly registered her, as though revisiting every one of those places in his mind, hoping that reliving them might somehow bring Sherlock back from the…
Tears sprung to his eyes as he was unable to complete the sentence, even in his own thoughts.
He noticed the therapist staring at him expectantly, and realised that he had paused and was staring into blank space again.
"You need to talk about this John." She told him. "It'll help you get through this."
John couldn't see how talking about Sherlock's… fall would help him. Talking about it did nothing to change that Sherlock was… gone.
A lump formed in his throat, but he forced himself to continue to talk, telling the therapist about Richard Brook, and feeling a familiar anger and sadness wash over him again.
"I believe in Sherlock." He blurted. "Moriarty was real."
"I never doubted you." The therapist murmured.
Feeling slightly encouraged that she wasn't dismissing his words, he told her about their visit to Molly, and finished, choking, with the fall from the rooftop.
John sat outside, while Mycroft talked to the therapist in private. He could hear raised voices, but they were none of his concern, or so he thought. Talking to the therapist was only bringing back memories that he wished he could forget, emotions that numbed him to his soul.
An angry yell drew his attention back to reality.
"Focus on the voices." He told himself, almost smiling at how insane that sounded.
"… not doing this any MORE!" his therapist was arguing.
"… some sort… agreement." Mycroft's soft, clipped voice was harder to hear.
"No!" his therapist sounded furious. Then her voice lowered, as though she was trying to calm herself. "John… he isn't…. all a lie…."
John resigned himself to accept that nobody would accept that Sherlock had been telling the truth all along, except for Sherlock's closest friends.
"I don't have friends."
John pushed the voice out of his head; the voice that haunted him all day.
The therapist, Mary, had calmed herself down. Relatively.
Mycroft assessed her, and chose his next words with care. "The results are unexpected, but they can be resolved, with perseverance."
"The British Government has no right to do this." Mary said in a controlled voice. "It's inhuman, and John is NOT a lab rat."
"Either we do this, or we lock him up in an asylum." Mycroft said coldly. "This method is far more convenient."
"The man's in a mess! Can't you see that this isn't working out as planned?"
Mycroft said nothing, waiting for the therapist to understand.
Then it hit her. "You were expecting this?"
He smiled.
Shock and anger crossed her face, strongly mixed with pity for John.
"We weren't sure what to expect, but we assumed that something like this might happen." He told her.
She spluttered. "But… It's… He's all… broken and torn on the inside- like a raggedy doctor. Don't you feelanything?"
Mycroft picked up his coat. "My work here is done. I will expect updates on John's progress."
Mary had no choice but to stare after him helplessly. Ultimately, she was under the control of the British Government.
Mary laid back on the sofa, trying to concentrate on the television. Her sister sat down next to her and smiled.
"How'd it go?" She asked.
Mary started. "What?"
"You said today was going to be a big day. All excited. What happened?"
Mary sighed, remembering how, that morning, she had actually believed that she might finally be able to tell John the truth.
Her sister noticed her expression. "All right then. Let's watch telly instead."
They sat for a while in silence, and Mary's sister spoke again.
"You know," she gestured at the tv. "I don't think all these new drugs the government is coming up with are exactly… moral."
"What new drugs?" Mary asked curiously.
"Drugs to cure mental disorders and such. I don't trust them."
"Where'd you hear this?"
"It was in the papers this morning. The government is planning on marketing these drugs, but at very expensive prices. Almost unaffordable, I tell you."
A phone rang.
"That's mine." Mary said automatically, reaching for it. "Hullo?"
"Ah, I feared that you might not pick up." Mycroft's voice greeted her.
Mary's blood ran cold and she hung up.
She grabbed her coat. "I'm going out. Sorry, this is important."
John lay on his back, wishing that he could somehow fall asleep and forget about everything. Sometimes he wished that he had never met Sherlock, if only to be able to cope.
He sat up abruptly, and heard a frantic knocking at the door. He got up and opened the door to find his therapist shivering in the cold.
"May I come in?" She asked.
They sat around a small table, holding a cup of tea each. John stared at his tea, afraid that he was in for another round of therapy.
"I have a confession to make." She said finally. "Please, stay calm."
John nodded unemotionally.
She handed him the morning paper. "Mycroft has finally decided to release a drug to help patients with mental disorders. It alters their perception of things, and helps them to cope."
John smiled faintly. "I could use help coping." He absent-mindedly skimmed through the article.
"…affects the temporal lobes…" he read
"John." The therapist said.
"…hallucinations are not banished, but rather brought into a different view…"
"That's not all." She said, tears springing to her eyes.
"…hallucinations to be realistic scenarios…bettering the life and mental state…."
"It was all in your head." Tears were streaming down her face now.
"…only in an extreme case…"
Mary steeled herself. "John, you were the test case for the drug."
He looked up at her, not wanting to believe.
"Sherlock was a hallucination." She whispered. "None of it ever happened. Everything was in your head."
John searched deep inside himself, hoping that somehow the therapist could be wrong.
But he'd known, deep down, all along.
John Hamish Watson. The man destroyed by war, haunted by the ghosts of his past.
Friendless and desolate.
He had invented an imaginary friend.
And then his hallucinations were his reality.
John Hamish Watson.
A raggedy doctor.
AN: okay wow. That took longer than I expected.
In case, it's not very clear, Sherlock never existed. A lonely army doctor with no friends, he turned to his therapist. Mycroft saw him as the perfect opportunity to test his new drug on. John's imaginary friend, Sherlock, turned into a hallucination under the effects of the drug. And taking the drug for so long affected John's sense of reality. Moriarty and Sherlock, all the scenarios were devised in his head.
The raggedy doctor as the title was a hint that there's an imaginary friend involved ;)
Sorry, but this had to be written.
I hope you had fun because I did, in a twisted way.
Reviews would be appreciated! xD