June 13th, 2005
Sherlock's POV
He had awoken in searing pain, mind hurling insult after insult at him as it raced in circles, never slowing and never stopping. All he wanted was his mind to stop racing, to stop feeling as if he was nothing, worthless, alone. Even here and now that is all he can think as he stares out the window, watching the birds that are so much freer than he has ever been. Since waking he had not said a word, no reason to speak and even if he wanted to, he hadn't been able to. Twice he tried to tell his brother to just go, to just let him die, to just stop trying. He knows Mycroft doesn't give a damn about him, hasn't given a damn about him since he left for uni.

Closing his eyes, he tries to force the voices clamoring in his head to shut up. He tries to stop all the facts and everything he has seen, the truth that he knows without question. He knows that the only reason Mycroft bothered finding him or saving him is their parents. He knows that Mycroft does not cared about him. He hates this place, hates all these people and hates himself.

"Sherlock, time to get up and get dressed. Your brother is coming for you today, you are leaving our establishment, that must make you feel better," the orderly states as he steps into the room without bothering to knock.

That pisses him off, but he says nothing, barely even moving in response.

"The sooner you are dressed, the sooner we can release you into your brother's care." The orderly informs him.

His eyes skitter over the orderly. What a boring man. He is in his early thirties, hates his wife and three children, cheating with another orderly, failed out of uni twice. He hates his job. He hates his life. Completely boring.

He hates getting dressed in front of others, but as a suit is laid out in front of him, he decides he can force himself to get dressed if it will get him out of here quicker. Thankfully, the orderly turns away from him, that gives him a moment of privacy to change clothes. Once dressed, he taps his finger tips against the glass, catching the boring orderly's attention.

"Come on," the orderly comments, opening the door and motioning for him to move through it.

Quickly he strides through the halls, almost leaving the orderly who is escorting him to his brother behind as he makes his way to the lobby. Nothing in that room was actually his, and the suit he is wearing must be new because it almost fits perfectly. Still, he is leaving this place and that alone is worth dealing with his brother.

"Sherlock," the doctor grumbles giving him an annoyed expression.

He ignores it, focusing on his brother instead. Unsurprisingly, his expression and stance doesn't say anything. So he must be annoyed to have to take time out of his day to do this. It's not like he asked Mycroft to save him. Actually he would have been happier if he hadn't.

"Sherlock," his brother murmurs, but it is not as annoyed as he expected. Actually, it is rather flat tone, no infection of any sort.

He arches an eyebrow at his brother in response.

"I have arranged for you to stay at my flat, there will be someone there at all times for the time being. For now, my assistant, and," his brother motions to the dark-haired woman to his left, "Miss Morel will be around."

He doesn't say anything, doesn't even consider saying something. A part of him wants to know why Mycroft even bothers. His brother has been too busy for him the last thirteen years, why would this be any different? His brother was not helping because he cared, he was helping out of obligation. As soon as possibly he try and slip away in order to finish the job. It's not like he's wanted anyways.

"Shall we go?" the PA queries, glancing up from her phone, eyes sweeping over him before focusing on his brother. "I believe there is an appointment to be kept."

"Of course," his brother murmurs, "Ready?" the question is directed at him.

He just tilts his head to the side, eye twitching in a fashion he is aware his brother understands.

The four of them quietly leave the rehab. If nothing else, he is happy he is not going to be there any more, the food was horrible, the people annoying and boring, nothing for him to physically do. He was so bored but there was nothing, nothing worth doing. All he wanted to do is fade away.

In the car, the PA and his sitter, for that's what Miss Morel is, sit across from him and his brother. The ride to his brother's flat is quiet, for which he is thankful, he doesn't want to listen to any more voices that are just grating on his nerves. When the car stops, he expects to be at his brother's flat, instead they are out front of a two story building with golden tone bricks and a sign that read 'Golden Silence'.

The two women are the first out of the car, though they did not go far. Leery, he climbs out and glances about, noting the where they are in London and the fact it is nowhere near his brothers flat.

A part of him wants to ask why but his throat seems swollen shut when he wants to speak, so he says nothing at all.

Just as quietly the four of them head inside the building with the two women positioned behind him and his brother so he cannot turn and bolt. He knows his brother's PA is faster and far more dangerous than one would gather from her looks. While the second female is not as good, he is sure, he is also sure she is better than average.

"Mr. Holmes?" a woman comments as she approaches, hands moving in sign as she does so.

His brother turns to face her but she is not looking at Mycroft, she's looking at him. Why is she looking at him?

"Right this way," she continues, hand still speaking as she looks at him. Glancing at his brother's she states, "You may wait here, in the first visitor's room, or return later this evening Mr. Holmes." She does not use sign language with his brother.

Mycroft motions to a collection of chairs, and the three move over there, leaving him with the woman.

She smiles at him warmly, motioning for him to follow her before walking at a pace he could easily keep up with down a small hall behind the receptionist.

"Right in here please," she tells him, still echoing everything with sign language.

Squaring his shoulders because he is sure this is just another person who is going to be an idiot or act like he is doing this on purpose, when he is not. Only his thoughts are stopped by the sight of the sturdy blonde, with vibrant blue eyes, standing there at almost parade rest, a slight smile tilting his lips as his hands move. The first is directed to the female who brought him in, which is probably good since he is not paying attention.

Then those eyes turn to him, and steadily, as if it is a normal occurrence, the man smiles at him, and it's like a sucker punch. It is not the type of smile he normally sees on people's faces. It is not fake or shallow or overly emotional. It's accepting and warm. Motioning to one of the chairs, the blonde lifts his head slightly before signing, -Hello Sherlock, my name is John, nice to meet you.-

It is so sincere that he finds himself staring, because no one ever looks at him like that. Who is this person? Without actively thinking about it, he takes a seat, still watching the blonde.

That smile seems to get warmer as the blonde settles into his seat, not saying or signing, merely there. It is unusual. No one sits with him in silence. Everyone tries to fill it with noise, to make him speak, to force something that is just not there. His nerves are on edge because no one does this, and he is waiting for the shoe to drop, the annoyance to begin.

Quietly, the blonde starts tapping at the keys of his computer, occasionally his eyes flicker in his way, but he doesn't feel any pressure. It is odd, just sitting here with someone who is not trying to force him to speak, just sharing a space with someone. Slowly he finds himself relaxing into the chair, eyes roaming around the room in order to learn about the person he is currently sharing a space with.

He is deaf, a full-fledged doctor, prefers muted colors but is not tied to the masculine colors, enjoys music he can feel since he cannot hear, likes to read, has a wide variety of reading interests, and is surprisingly intelligent. There is something more though, no one ever looks at him as warmly as this John has without knowing him. Does the doctor know his history? That he is a waste of human space. That he hasn't spoken or responded except for occasional body motions since he nearly died of an OD? That he hadn't wanted to survive that OD?

Three hours pass with them just sitting there, John quietly typing at his computer, he just watches. The only break from this is when a nurse comes in with water and tea. At that point the doctor thanks her, absently motions to the pot as if to tell him he can have some, but nothing is said in any sort of language in his direction past that.

He almost hesitates before making himself a cup. When he takes a sip, he is shocked when it is not cheap tea but a decent blend.

They share another two hours before a different person comes to the door, this one he has a hard time identifying a gender on, their clothes being rather loose and well kept but not highlight any particular feature.

-Everyone has gone except yourself, Mr. Holmes, and his party,- the person signs in BSL at John.

-Thank you,- John signs in response, -Go home, I will lock up.-

Nodding, the person glances at him one last time before leaving.

It is another hour before he realizes he needs to use the bathroom but that requires him asking where it is. How to ask when he cannot make himself speak even when he wants to?

As he glances about he realizes that a note pad with pen has been set on the front of the desk. Picking it up, he scrawls, Where is the loo?

-Out the door, down the hall to the left second door.- John replies in sign language after reading the note.

He nods, leaving the room to use the bathroom. Afterwards, he washes his hands and stares into the mirror in confusion. Why is this doctor showing so much faith in him? He's quite sure there is variety of drugs he could find, yet the doctor is acting like he is not worried about that. They are just sitting there in companionable silence. It's unsettling and marvelous and a bit overwhelming.

-It is nearing nine at night, would you care to visit tomorrow?- John finally inquires.

He blinks a few times, tilting his head and considering it before nodding once slowly.

-Then I shall make arrangements with Mr. Holmes to ensure you have a ride, and with Ella, to arrange for dinner. Any preference, feel free to write it down.- the blonde comments with another warm smile.

Glancing down at the notepad, he thinks about it a moment before writing in one of his favorite Chinese take away items, but he doesn't actually expect to get it.

-Excellent,- John tells him, -I have enjoyed the companionship. Nice to meet you Sherlock.-

He is dazed as he heads to the lobby and his waiting brother. Today has not gone as expected.


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