Now, it doesn't have to be a real place. In fact, it's probably better if it's not real, that way you can always add rooms and corridors or whatever else you want, whenever you want.
SO IT COULD BE A HOUSE?
Technically yes. But practically, for the information you are looking to store, it would be more appropriate to use something like a mansion or palace.
OH.
Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to picture a palace. All the hallways and rooms, the staircases and hallways. He stayed silent and still for a good hour, building up his mind palace, piece by piece, brick by brick, room by room.
BUT WHAT IF IT GETS TOO FULL?
Then you, how did you put it before? Delete irrelevant information.
OH.
Now, enough of that for one day. You need to get some dinner. I'm sure your mother left out some leftovers.
WHY SHOULD I?
Because you're wasting away, Sherlock. And I know you skipped dinner last night, as well as breakfast this morning.
I WASN'T HUNGRY. FOOD SLOWS ME DOWN.
Dying slows you down. Now go eat.
Sherlock sighed, but didn't argue the matter. He jumped off his bed and went downstairs and into the kitchen, where, sure enough, there was a plate of food waiting for him.
Sherlock microwaved it then began to eat. While he ate he contemplated the day he met John. And by extension the reason he called the voice John.
It was the boy behind the school. What was it he had said about building up muscle and fighting off the bully's?
Sherlock shook his head and got up to put his now clean plate in the sink. There was no point fighting back, it would only anger them more.
Not if you beat them.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
If you showed them that you could take them, that you're stronger, the alpha if you will; then they would leave you alone.
BUT WHATS THE POINT? IT'S A WASTE OF MY TIME.
The voice sighed; Think of it as an experiment. What is the perfect mix of food and exercise needed to build muscle in a teenage male? You could do some background research and calculations into what people think is the best way, then devise yourself a routine of different activities and keep a food diary so that you can keep track of the amount of protein in your diet. But if you are going to go out for exercise, don't talk to strangers. You have been warned about the dangers they bring, just take heed.
Sherlock thought about John's proposition for a while. He had been looking for something new to investigate…
OK, I'LL DO IT. He said with a smile.
"What are you smiling at?" Mycroft asked, coming into the kitchen,
"Oh, just thinking about starting a new experiment." Sherlock said, dropping the smile and replacing it with a blank face.
"You and those experiments, you know no girl will ever want you if you don't start acting normal." He said while opening a packet of crisps he had retrieved from the cupboard,
Love blinds you; there is no real need for it.
BUT…
No need for it.
"There is no need for love," Sherlock repeated half-heartedly, "It only blinds you."
Mycroft laughed, spitting bit of crisp onto his brother, "You obviously haven't seen Tracy McMullan, she's amazing." Mycroft sighed, staring off into space,
"I have seen her, and I'm sure she's seen you. You're a bit hard to miss." Sherlock scoffed,
"What are you implying Sherlock?" the older brother growled,
"Only that sometimes, it's good to preserve food for later. Or maybe let someone else have some for a change."
Mycroft's bottom jaw dropped and he gaped at his brother's rudeness.
"Night brother." Sherlock said coldly, turning and leaving the room.
"N-N-Night."
Sherlock Aged 15 and 2 months
With every step his heart pounded in his rib cage. Every breath caused his lungs to burn and every time his feet hit the hard concrete underneath him he was reminded of how long he had been running.
Stop
I CAN KEEP GOING.
Yes, yes you can. But you could also do more damage than help if you keep this up.
Sherlock sighed and stopped running.
You have done well, but your body needs to become accustomed to the amount of exercise you are doing.
OK
Sherlock bend over, his hands on his knees, trying to control both his racing heartbeat and ragged breathing.
Go home and get something to eat and drink. Preferably water and fruit, but it's up to you.
ALRIGHT
Sherlock felt John leave so he started on the long trek back to his house.
Over the last few months he had become used to following orders from John and often the advice he gave had helped Sherlock; and he found himself happier.
Not happy.
But happier.
The light had helped Sherlock in ways he didn't even know he needed help in. John helped him gain new skills by filling his dreams with lessons in how to read body language. Or how to see people's clothes and belongings and what they could say about the person.
John had been pleased with Sherlock's progress and said it had far exceeded what he first thought and that within a few years he could become one of, if now the smartest person in the world.
Sherlock smiled at that thought.
He like the idea of people liking and respecting him for his brain.
He imagined the look on his brother's face if he did become the smartest person in the world.
He chuckled and started to jog, keeping his head down and his breath even.
"Goof!"
Sherlock realised that because he hadn't been paying attention he had run into something solid.
Slowly he backed away and looked up.
"S-Sorry." He stuttered, not wanting to engage the man in front of him in chat because of the voice's warning,
"Don't worry, no harm done eh?" the man said smiling down kindly at Sherlock and speaking with a distinct Scottish accent,
Sherlock looked the man up and down, assessing what he was wearing.
A black fleece, a cap, some worn out jeans and a pair of tan work boots. The man's face was ruddy and his eyes sharp and piercing. His hair was ginger and had a matching beard that covered half of his lower face.
Sherlock tried to remember his dream lessons and started to read the man. But it was no use. Both his mind and body was frozen with fear.
The man took a step towards Sherlock.
Sherlock found his feet and tried to push past the 6ft man but the oaf grabbed his arm and stopped him from running.
"What's the matter? I only want to chat." The man said in a sickly sweet voice, "I'm Allen, and you're Sherlock Holmes. Am I right?"
"What do you want with me?" Sherlock spat, trying to wriggle free,
"Tsk tsk, I was a friend of your father's, and I only wanted to meet the son he talked so much about."
"Y-You knew my father?" Sherlock stuttered, stopping,
The man nodded and Sherlock's breath hitched.
"Now, enough chat, it's time for bed." The man said, pulling Sherlock into a headlock, brushing away the boys attempts at escape,
"What?" Sherlock squeaked, "No! Let go of me! Let me go!"
Digging into his pocket Allen pulled out a cloth that Sherlock guessed was soaked in chlorophyll. Shoving the rag onto Sherlock's nose and mouth he smelt the vile odour and held his breath.
JOHN! Sherlock called out with his mind. JOHN!
He couldn't hold his breath and had to breathe in, the scent burning his nostrils. He soon felt his body shutting down and the forced sleep taking over.
JOHN HELP ME! WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME! YOU PROMISED! JOHN…! He shouted frantically, but soon the blackness took his vision and his body along with it.
And not even John's words could wake the sleeping teen.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. But instead of waking up to reality, he woke up in his poppy field.
The sun was high in the sky, just as it always was. His mind palace sat just beyond the horizon, peeking out and showing off its tall towers, just as it always did. He looked around him and found he was lying in the exact spot that he met the voice every night in his sleep.
But unlike in his normal dreams, the light wasn't singing his sleep song, nor was it floating beside him.
Unsure of what to do next, Sherlock got up and started on the long walk to his mind palace. He walked this route with John every night and Sherlock knew it like the back of his hand.
As he walked he let his hands trail through the soft petals of the red flowers surrounding him. As he did this every memory, every conversation, every joke and secret he and John shared came flooding back to him.
All the deep conversations about their dreams and aspirations that they shared while walking through the large field. All the advice the light gave, and the memory of the feeling the light gave Sherlock when he laughed.
The voice used one of the downstairs rooms as a classroom, and in there every night, he tried to teach and show Sherlock everything he knew.
Sherlock smiled at the memories and allowed them to fill his body with warmth and comfort.
It was nothing compared to the warmth John provided by being next to Sherlock. He doubted anything could compare to that. But none the less it made him feel at home.
Soon he found himself walking up the path towards the large wooden doors of his mind palace. Not bothering to knock (seeing as it was his palace) he entered the building.
He looked around the large hallway/corridor he hopped to see the John floating somewhere, but he was met with disappointment as he soon found the hallway to be empty.
He sighed and walked along the corridor and on to the room they used as a classroom.
He pushed open the door and a smile spread across his face as he saw the light hovering in the middle of the room.
But it soon vanished as he saw the light was glowing a vibrant red.
I warned you not to talk to strangers. Why didn't you listen?
I'M SORRY, I…
I can't help you now, it's too late.
I TRIED TO GET FREE, BUT I COULDN'T. WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S TOO LATE?
Silence.
WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO HELP ME? Sherlock tried again, PLEASE, I'M SORRY-
No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I can't help you this time.
The light started to fade away and Sherlock stood, rooted, his mind swirling with confusion.
WHAT?
Be strong Sherlock, I'll be back for you…Stay strong…Please, for me….
And then the voice was gone and Sherlock was alone in the room.
Sherlock started to panic, running to where John had been, feeling around him, trying to find his friend.
But suddenly Sherlock felt cold. No, he felt freezing.
He looked down and saw that his clothes were dripping wet and his hair was no longer in soft curls but soaked through and dead strait.
Again confusion rushed through his mind and the walls of his palace began to melt away.
NO! He screamed,
He rushed to one of the walls and tried to keep it together, but it was in vain.
PLEASE! JOHN HELP ME! I NEED YOU!
"No one is coming to save you now. So wake up and shut up."
Sherlock's eyes flew open for a second time.
But instead of being greeted with his beautiful dreamscape, his eyes met with those of his capture.
"John…."
Hi guys! Sorry this took so long to publish, been a bit lazy 0.0 and sorry it's so short too, but I hope you liked it anyway! :)
S.M.2