Chapter 2 - Understanding

"Sherlock!" the name echoed through the dark screen, the heart beating motion through the air, looking pale as he saw his best friend lying on the bed, his eyes stared at the bleeding drip drip drip drip drip on the floor.

"No. . . " his voice timed, breathing shakily. "No Sherlock, no. . .I - - I am sorry. . . "

Sniffed with an sob, blaming himself for not stop him to do something like this, his head looked down, eyes shut tight, his mind was spinning all around, around around like a go-merry-round ride, trying to figure for how to sort this suituion.

First, he have to straight up, pretends look like he know what to do, the eyes of his examined around the room, searching for the clues. John may not be a great detective as Sherlock was, but he given in a shot. When Sherlock was unconscious, what would John do? Detective and obvession. John's eyes are something to good at, as well as can see far away. Not prefect as Sherlock who caught by the eyes so quickly before John and know what this for and know where is come from and know what is it lead to. John tried to do that. To connect with the clues altogether. But this Sherlock incident might take a while because. . .it's part of Sherlock's illness that John do not understand.

John could see Sherlock's right hand held something. He walked up to him by the side of the bed mattress. There were some blood on the sliver object. John slowly opened Sherlock's fingers to let go of the bloody object. Picked it up. It appeared a sharp blaze knife. What would Sherlock do with this? To connect this, John looked carefully on the bleeding arm on the left side. It appeared it has some flesh bleeding slashes on the arm. It seems Sherlock has used this knife to cut his arm for out of depression. Speaking of the depression, John has remembered something.

Flashback

"Ah, now this is truth."

John calmed down a bit. "Huh?" a confused.

"You said it's my body and do whatever I want. And now you are against it."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, it's just I hate it. I hate how to hear every time you want to cut yourself."

"Then help me."

"How?"

"How? You are a doctor, for god's sake!"

"I am, but I have no patients who have this self-harms before!"

"Then I will be your first patient with a self-harm. What would you do now with it?"

"I-I. . . I am not sure, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat up, walked to his bedroom, and locked his door behind.

Was Sherlock did this on the purpose for make me realize for how to help him when he had self-harm? Or was he showed a deep emoticon and deep sadness that I didn't help him?

John tried to figure out to answer these questions of Sherlock's problem. Depression is a harder part of understanding. His experience with the patients who are depressed have less, less, less to help with. He never done this before. Not even just once. Sherlock was the first person who slowly make him realize about what is true depression is.

John desperately wanted to ask Sherlock for more to understanding about depression, but he realized that Sherlock was already on the edge.

Now what John had to do?

"What can I do? What can I do?" John questioned himself when he stood besides Sherlock's bed, grabbed his head with his both hands, thinking of how to fix this problem.

"Right, I go clean this up then wrap up with the bandage and then when he will wake up, hopefully, I will ask him some questions. But not in. . .pressure way."

John went to get the First Aid box in the kitchen that left there before when Sherlock was healed by the first wounds. Collected the First Aid box, John rushed back to the bedroom and fixed Sherlock with the cleansing wounds. When it was done, John put everything away on the First Aid box. He stood up and slowly turned Sherlock around on the bed so Sherlock can sleep on the back and pulled the pillow under Sherlock's back neck to help him to be comfortable. John picked a box up and took it back to the original storage in the bathroom.

He then went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Opening the fridge, picked a milk, poured it in the cup, placed it on the counter, stirred it with the spoon then took the milk back to the fridge and stirred again and took the teabag out and threw it away to the bin provided and took a cup of tea with him to the bedroom. Slipping into his mouth while he walking to the bedroom, looking at the peaceful face against on the white pillow. John placed a hand into the pocket while the other hand held a cup of tea, slipping it into his mouth.

In the few hours ago, John crossed his arms, head down with the eyes closed, sleepy on the floor, his back lead against on the wall, next to the door. Then the shadowy figure appeared to him, kneel before John. Its hand reached for John's cheek, its thumb stroked it gently. Its voice came out: "John?"

John twitched his eyebrows and moved his face slightly. Blinking his eyes, yawning and rubbed his eyes. Nearly jumped as he felt a cold hand against his cheek. Eyes shot at the hand to the shadowy figure. "Sherlock?"

The mental illness figure smiled at John. "Hello, John."

John blinked. Fourth time. Ok, this was very strange going on here around with Sherlock. Sherlock seems to John that Sherlock pretends that his smile means something that everything is gonna just be fine.

Really, Sherlock? Really?

"Sherlock? I-" he whimpered, confused. "Sherlock, I thought- you, . . . you were supposed be relaxing! Uh. . . .I mean, uh. . . .how. . .how are you?"

"I already did. I slept in few hours, that's all. I feel fine, John."

"No, you are not."

Sherlock's smile slowly faded away into frown. "What?"

"You think it's gonna be ok? No, it's not! You gave me a fright, Sherlock! I thought you were dead!"

"Ah, that. Apparently, I was supposed be dead. But a cutting left a bunch of blood cells that didn't leave me dying, it just made me unconious."

John gritted his teeth. "Sherlock. . ."

"Yes?"

"You wish to be dead? Do you?"

"Why not? Nobody likes me."

"WHO DO YOU THINK OF THAT?!"

"Anger, John. Anger."

"I don't care! You are just thinking about killing yourself is part of your solution, but it's not! The solution is me, myself and I as a doctor!"

"Then help me."

"You. . . .ahh. . .! What would you thinking, Sherlock! You wanted to make me realize of what of depression. I tried. I tried for my best to understand it! All doctors have the different understandings and different levels of the studying. Me, I am just a doctor who heals people, or tells them what to do when they are in bad condition."

"What about me?" Sherlock asked. "What must I do?"

"Maybe I should research this. I don't know how yet. This is so new for me."

"I feel I wanted to some more."

"Sherlock!"

"What?!"

"That!" he pointed Sherlock's face with the finger. "That attitude! What the hell is that!?"

"Huh? I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me. Sometimes I don't understand myself."

"Sounds like you have a bi-polar."

"What's that?"

"It's like something to do with your emotions mixtures in different times. Like, you are depressed, hurt yourself and then later you suddenly changed the emoticon to be happy, like nothing happened. That's bi-polar. That disorder is very difficult to cope with."

"I take you couldn't cope with me?" Sherlock puzzled.

"Oh, Sherlock. You are my friend. I cannot leave you. It's just I needed a break. But you are more important than myself. I tried to understand it. Now tell me, how are you feeling now?"

"Confused."

"Why? Give it a bit more specific, please."

"That, you couldn't cope with me."

"Oh. . . .well, now this is difficult to understand you. Well, yes, it's because you have a problem."

"You could say I am living in an isolated world."

"Yes, that you don't have friends."

"Yes, and I have an low self esteem, high IQ and a criminal mastermind."

"Go on."

"You know what, forget it. Talking about this is getting boring."

"Eh? Sherlock, you are getting there now. I'm listening. I'm getting closer to it now. Don't think this is your fault. Just think I am care about you."

"Caring is not an advantage, you know that, John."

"That's to you, but I do care. Sit down. Please. Or I swear by God I will force you to sit down."

"Ohh, playing as solider, sounds rather fun." with a smirk.

John showed him a serious face, without showing a mercy.

"Uh. . . okay." Sherlock sat down on the bed quickly, without protesting.

John pulled a swing chair towards the back of the bed, and sat on in, attached both hands together in between of the knees and looked at Sherlock directly. "So Sherlock, tell me, as your doctor, why are you feeling so negative?"

Sherlock shrugged. "That's just me. I am always like that. Everyone calling me a freak. I guess that's how it does."

"That's doesn't make sense, Sherlock. You are always changeable from the emoticons. Well, I know you are not human, but to see by your emoticons, you are actually human. Which it's. . . good. It's really good. It helps me to see it. It helps people to know how you feel. If you don't, then how can we help you with that? You understand?"

"Nope. But anyway, you might go do whatever you were doing before. Just . . . leave me be."

John sighed in frustration. "Fine. This time I will leave you. But don't try to . . . you know. What's happened today."

"That was when you didn't help me."

It clicked in his mind. "That's it! You think it's because I didn't help you so it made you so depressed."

"Well, could be. But it's not the point."

"What do you mean?! Just explain, Sherlock! You are very clever man!"

"Sometimes being clever could improves my depression, but I realized it was not true. Being clever is like showing off. Showing off around people who you are so clever. So clever like the Queen's Royal Adisveal. I am not sure if I were really depressed or just pretends of that. Why didn't I cut myself, John? I don't understand myself!"

"Hmm. Perhaps you hate yourself?"

"That's not the reason."

"Or because it has to do with me?"

"Nope, not you."

"Uh. . . Mycroft?"

"Hmm. . . .maybe?"

"Ok, let's start with Mycroft. What have he done to you?"

"Oh, Mycroft. He's just a wealthy government who can take over the England. He thinks he is better than anyone else. Care about power and money. He is watching me like a eagle, ensure I do not do anything stupid. Sadly, I already did. With these! I am already stupid. Mycroft is using me for helping him through his government work. With my cleverness. I am like a slave to him. I do not want to be involved with his dirty work. I enjoy myself to be in crime scenes. But with him? I would be depressed."

Ding. There's an answer, Sherlock.

"Your first reason to be depressed; Mycroft. I am sorry about that, Sherlock."

"Don't be. It's just Mycroft being Mycroft. He called me a child. Because of my behaviour."

"I am sure he have the reason to call you that. You may be a child, but a child needs a disciplining father."

"Oh please! Don't treat me like a child, John!"

"I-I am sorry, I am trying to help you!"

"Calling me a child isn't helping!" Sherlock whined and reached for the knife and looked at it.

John sighed and placed a hand onto his face.

Now how can I comfort Sherlock?