June 3rd, 2005
Mycroft's POV
Six months, he thinks as he looks at his brother through the small window on the bedroom door. It has been six months since the overdose. Six months since he was committed to the rehab center to get cleaned up. Six months since he found him just as his body started to shut down, his breathing becoming dangerously labored and his heart racing. Six months since he lived, just barely, through attempting suicide. Six months since his brother last said a word. Day in and day out the once vibrant boy sits there. Eyes alert, furious and dead, a combination that shake him to his core. Sherlock responds to no one and nothing. The only time he will move is when he eats in the morning and when he showers. Otherwise he stays perfectly still, eyes staring off into the distance, looking out the window of his room without seeing anything or seeing it all.
The first few weeks Sherlock was in here, their parents had tried visiting. He wouldn't even acknowledge their presence. Their mummy hated it, she had left every single time in tears. Their dad had stayed quiet, just silently supporting his wife and younger son, though he also thinks it is because he didn't know what to say. Since Sherlock doesn't have friends or even associates, no one else comes to visit.
"Mr. Holmes?" the head of the facility states, tone questioning and pulling him from his thoughts.
"What can I do for you Doctor Lombard?" he inquires as he turns to the short, balding doctor.
"I am concerned about Sherlock's lack of progress. He is past the withdrawal stage, but he has shown no signs of improvement beyond that. Nothing we have tried has worked so far, I do not wish to suggestion having him sectioned, but at this rate I am not sure what else to do." The doctor replies seriously. "However I did reach out to a few of my associates at different institutions to see if any of them have a suggestion that could work, without revealing his name or history, just the current situation. Several of them suggested Golden Silence, a relatively new practice run by a deaf doctor by the name of John Watson. He apparently has had success with unusual cases."
Eyes narrowing, he studies the doctor for a long minute before nodding once, "Doctor Watson of the Golden Silence practice?" he repeats, to make sure he has the right information.
"Yes, we'll continue to treat him, but," the older man's voice trails off and he understands, this is beyond their regular scope, and they have already kept him longer than they normally would for someone responding the way he is.
"Of course, I will make arrangements," he states clearly, mind already going over the details he will need to take care of.
"I will be waiting to hear from you then," the doctor remarks before nodding and walking away.
Sliding the door open, he steps in, eyes never leaving his brother as he greets him, "Good afternoon Sherlock."
His brother's shimmering eyes flicker over him for the briefest of moments then return to watching out the window.
"I am going to make arrangements for you to come live in my flat for the time being," he comments, a small part of himself hoping for any sort of answer or acknowledgement.
Sherlock continues to stare out the window, lips pressed together in a thin line, eyes following a bird as it glides from tree to water fountain before moving on to watching something else.
"I will make an appointment with my tailor, we can have a few suits made for you." He suggests, remembering when his brother was younger and wanted to have a suit too, just because he had one. He spends the next hour trying to come up with something to get Sherlock to say something, anything.
His only answer is stillness in silence, only his eyes move and his chest in slow breaths give any sign he is more than a statue.
"I will return tomorrow," he finally announces, wanting to get out of here, needing to be somewhere else. He can easily watch a man beaten nearly to death, destroy someone with a few simple words, and play the politics game while appearing not to be involved, but seeing his brother like this is killing him.
Slipping out of the room, he quickly makes his way out to the car waiting for him, his new assistant seated in the back seat, eyes flashing over her smartphone.
"I need all of the information you can collect on Doctor John Watson of the Golden Silence Practice," he directs her before closing his eyes and planning everything else. If this doctor is useful, then perhaps he will be able to help his brother. What all will he need?
His house is already clean, though he may need to Sherlock proof it, if that is even possible. Acquiring clothing for his brother to wear. Hire a cook. Possibly hire a person to stick around when he has to work in order to watch over his brother, just to make sure he does not fall back into any bad habits. What else? There has to be more. Yet for all his intelligence he cannot think of ways to help his younger brother.
"I will have the information on your desk first thing in the morning," she replies when he opens his eyes.
"Perfect," he nods, "What is next on the agenda?"
The next several hours are spent working on whatever is in his important files until it is well past ten pm. He considers continuing but decides he needs to rest to deal with his brother tomorrow, and for however long it takes to get him back.
After calling for a car, he grabs his coat and umbrella before heading out.
The following day, there is a large pile stack of folders waiting on his desk. He spends the first two hours reviewing the files, taking in everything that his PA has collected for him to read on the doctor and his practice. When he is done with the file, he sets it aside, considering the information he has just processed. If what is in the files is correct, and he is moderately certain it is, then Doctor Watson may be able to assist his brother.
Pressing the button on the phone to signal is PA, he comments, "Make an appointment as soon as possible with Doctor Watson, I wish to speak with him about my brother's case."
"Yes sir. Is there anything else?" she replies smoothly.
"No, I will be doing reports until the meeting this afternoon." He tells her, "Notify me as soon as you have the appointment made."
"Yes sir," she agrees.
Releasing the button, he moves on to the next set of folders and begins work in earnest, working through lunch and tea, even though his assistant brings him both. His meeting goes smoothly, almost boring considering how much effort he had to put into the pre-meeting paper work.
After the meeting his PA approaches him with a rather thick folder in her hands, telling him, "I have arranged for you to speak with Doctor Watson this evening at six. It was the earliest available, and does not interfere with your schedule."
He nods, accepting the information, and freezes, that's in thirty-five minutes.
"There is a car waiting for you, I will have the transcripts ready by the end of your meeting and waiting on your desk in the morning." She continues after a brief pause. "I have a copy of your brother's records ready for you, as well." She offers the folder in her hand, expression serious.
"Thank you," he replies.
She nods, turning and heading towards her office while he leaves the building. Sure enough, the sleek black car is idling, waiting for him just outside the door. Sliding into it, he glances at the folder in his hands as the door shuts, knowing everything that is within them, most of it from the last year or so. Of course, there also the accidents from his early teenage years when he was still doing experiments and a few occasions he had to deal with bullies. Sherlock has so many different issues, so many of them old and only recently blooming into something so much worse.
When the car stops in front of a two story building, the driver quietly opens the door.
"Good afternoon sir," she greets him, -Good afternoon sir.-
He smiles slightly, impressed with how smoothly she does both. "Good afternoon, I have an appointment to speak with Doctor Watson," he replies, hands dancing in front of him as he speaks.
Just about beaming, she glances at her computer, hand dropping for a moment to click on the mouse, "He will be with you shortly," she tells him once she has looked at his face again. "Please fill out these forms," the hand that was on the mouse lifts a folder attached to a clip board.
He accepts them, "Of course," he replies, turning and heading towards one of the chairs, he sits down. He settles the file of his brother's records beneath the clipboard and then opens the folder to look through the papers. Quietly he fills them out, his mind recalling everything needed to answer the questions. When he is done, he takes the papers back to the receptionist.
She glances through them, commenting, "It looks like everything is in order."
He is getting ready to turn away when a nurse comes out of the hall, motioning to him, -Mr. Holmes,- "Mr. Holmes."
Turning to her, he nods, moving to her side and waiting patiently.
"I am Ella, head of the evening nursing staff," she introduces herself, then queries, "According to the interview request, you are here on behalf of a family member? Do you have a preferred method of communication?" she speaks aloud and with her hands, though he is startled to see her using ASL instead of BSL.
"Yes," he responds, "I'm here for my brother. I can hear or use sign language, either is acceptable."
She stops signing, but nods and states, "I will put that in the notes, we often get family members of teenagers and adults who have suddenly found themselves in a situation where they need services like this and are the first to seek them out. Right in here," she motions to a door and he steps in, finding himself in what appears to be more like an office than a doctor's exam room.
Sitting at the desk, a sturdy blonde man stands up, "Good evening, I am Doctor John Watson, Mr. Holmes." His hands move in time with his words, eyes focused on his face as he speaks.
"You can use whichever you are more comfortable with, I can use sign language as easily as speaking." He tells the doctor, eyes sweeping over him, studying him. He is everything the file said, and yet he can see there is something more that is missing from the file. Perfect. This doctor might do better with his brother than he could have expected.
-Perfect, I prefer sign language.- The doctor answers, -Please sit, now how may I be of assistance?-
Taking a seat in one of the rather comfortable chairs, he answers in kind, -Any particular reason?-
-I was never a big speaker, even before I lost my hearing, and while I can speak mostly clearly, I occasionally have difficulty with volume, sign language is simpler for me.- the blonde replies smoothly, as if it is something he has been asked before.
He knows from the doctor's file that his home life was not the safest, that his ability to use sign language was because of a school tutor and library interpreter. He also knows that there were concerns over how much the doctor could hear, even before he was completely deaf because of the fact he rarely spoke. His school counselor had made a note about selective mutism. That the young John had not spoken to his classmates unless he had to and only spoke to the teachers when directly asked a question. In the notes he had always tilted his head to the side so his right ear is towards the speaker.
Nodding once, he answers the question put forward, -It is my hope you will be able to assist my brother. He overdosed on cocaine, since then he has not said a word, to anyone or anything. All tests that have been run on him have shown that there is no last damage, so it is unknown why he does not speak. Several people suggested your practice might be able to help.-
The doctor studies him for a long moment before nodding slowly. –I will see what I can do.- the blonde states before using his mouse to do something on his computer. –If you would answer the following in a clear voice since you are able and willing, it will record your answers.-
"Of course," he answers with a nod, he knows several secretaries that use similar devices and programs. It is actually a rather clever way to take notes. It allows the doctor to ask questions and get clarification on items, and he probably has a premade list made so the answers just go with that list.
-Excellent, thank you. Let's begin then,- Doctor Watson comments before beginning a barrage of questions about his brother starting at when he was a child and first started speaking going all the way through now.
A nurse brings in a few bottles of water so that they may have something to drink to keep from having a dry throats. It takes nearly two hours to complete the interview and answer all of the questions. When he is done, he cannot believe how much they have discussed and covered.
-Of course I will need to speak with Sherlock. I understand he is not speaking. But I will still need to speak with him. I understand this case is unusual. I will make an outline of a possible treatment plan and have Mindy make an appointment to speak with him.- Doctor Watson tell him smoothly. –Are evening appointments acceptable? It is when I have the most time, and I have a feeling from our conversation that time will be needed. I may also assign one of the interns or residencies his case as well.-
He considers that for a minute before nodding and answering, "Thank you Doctor Watson, the evening works perfectly."
-For now I would suggest moving him from the rehab center to somewhere he will be more comfortable, with supervision, of course. You have indicated that he plays several instruments and enjoys a variety of types of music. Rather than the silence of the rehab, I would suggest that you provide him a place with an ability for him to either play or listen to music. Complete silence can make things worse, even the deaf listen to music, though ours tends to be the type that can be felt instead of heard.- The doctor suggests calmly.
Again he nods, "I will make arrangements immediately," he replies seriously.
His brother might drive him insane, but he still wants him back, no matter how.
Smiling at him, the doctor stands, offering him a hand, his second hand being used to use ASL, -I hope we are able to help. I will call tomorrow or the day after at the latest.-
"You use both types of sign language?" He queries, slightly shocked since he had not expected it.
-Actually, I can use BSL and ASL fluently, and pidgin my way with LSF and Irish sign language speakers.- the blonde replies with his lips quirking in a smile afterwards.
-Impressive,- he replies with ASL
-How many can you use?- the doctor inquires, returning to BSL smoothly.
-I can speak in nine different languages and use three different forms of sign language,- he answers, also returning to BSL.
-That's more impressive than my two languages.- Doctor Watson states as he motions to the door.
A small smile quirks his lips, -I learn relatively quickly, as does my brother.-
-Does he know BSL or ASL?- the blonde inquires, watching for his response.
-I believe he knows BSL but I do not know how long it has been since he used it. We used to converse in it when he was younger.- He answers, remembering that his brother knows six of the same languages he knows because he used to make it into a game. At least, he used to know six languages, he doesn't know if Sherlock still remembers them.
The doctor escorts him out, and he turns, offering the folder he had with him the entire time. –His medical records, from birth to now, every time he has seen a doctor or medical professional.-
-Generally we wait to gather those after the patient has agreed to treatment,- Doctor Watson chides gently, -However I understand why you have them and are offering, so I will accept. Though they will not be used unless I absolutely must.-
That actually pleases him, showing him that the doctor wishes to respect his brother's privacy without having met him. Not enough are like that, many just accept that he is his brother's guardian while he is going through this and take his acceptance as enough.
–I understand.- he comments, -I will be awaiting that call.-
Nodding to the other staff, he leaves, a small glimmer of hope beginning to form. He is desperate to get his brother back, and it looks like he might just have a way to do so. That's a start.
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