Chapter Three

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"The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane." - Marcus Aurelius

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Monday morning came with a downpour so intense that it had failed to be funnelled by the street drains. Puddles had blossomed into traffic, adding wet friction to the noise of whining pedestrians and assaulted umbrellas. The scent of oil, compost and excrement penetrated everything the water touched.

At Marylebone station, John ran to catch his train, jogging through couples and crowds gathered in the shelter the tube provided. The doctor didn't care that he was soaked to the bone; If he caught this train, he would be at work half an hour early. That would give him enough time to hunt down a towel, change into a dry uniform, and be presentable to Mr. Holmes for his first assignment.

As an added bonus, in the cramped compartment the general populace chose to stand as far from him as they could for fear of the water dripping off of every limb. There was only one exception, and that was a kindly old woman looking at John with her forehead furrowed in thought. He tried not to make eye contact, but they got out at the same stop and started in the same direction.

The wind started to pick up as soon as John left the station. It added a bite to the miserable weather and sent a chill up the doctor's spine. To the left of him, the old woman's turned her umbrella against the gusts. John noticed that her short strides had doubled in pace to keep up with his long ones. She was trying to initiate a conversation and he slowed to let her.

"You're one of the new assistants up at the hospital aren't you?" The lady asked after some time, raising her voice over the sound of the rain hitting her floral canopy.

"Yeah, hired a few days ago. First day today."

She raised her umbrella to capture the both of them under its protection. "You're going to catch your death of cold. Here." She offered him the shaft of her accessory as she stared him up and down. "You hold my umbrella for the both of us and I'll show you where we keep the dry laundry. Does that sound fair?"

John hesitated for a moment and looked at the woman in a new light. There was nothing but good nature in her features, so he couldn't help but nod. With little hesitation, he took her umbrella and held it steady over the both of them, reducing his stride so that the woman wouldn't be out of breath during their walk. "That sounds very fair - and very kind. Thank-you."

The lady beamed. "My name is Hudson. Mrs. Hudson. I work in the kitchens. It's a tough ol' job keeping that lot up at the Hospital fed, but I manage. Today is going to be a good day though. Lasagna. My own recipe!" She went off on that topic for several lengthy minutes while they approached the main entrance. John noticed that people exiting the main doors had to enter a key code in order for the doors to unlock. He wondered how he didn't realize this when he was last there. He must have followed someone out who had held the door – this had John thinking.

"Has anyone ever... escaped?" John enquired as he left muddy tracks down the corridors, making on janitor give him the evil eye as he passed.

"Escaped? Why that's rather silly. This place is rather pleasant, you'll see. Most the patients don't want to leave, and those that do are capable of it at times." Her voice tapered off and a strange expression crossed Mrs. Hudson's face. She looked over her shoulder before looping her arm in John's. "I heard stories though... one of the patients tells me he escapes rather often, but I think he just likes to worry his brother with such ideas. There's no proof... but then... of course, there wouldn't be..." Her sentence trailed into a whisper as John followed her into a room with stacks of uniforms, linens, pillows and towels. She grabbed a particularly fluffy towel and let him rub at his tawny hair while she pulled out different pale blue shirts and matching trousers.

"I think you're a medium..." She muttered all the while. "My husband was a medium..."

John didn't know what to make of her nattering, so he took a few sizes and went to a nearby bathroom to change. On the way out he thanked Mrs. Hudson again, to which she coloured slightly and told him that if he didn't pack a lunch she'd put something aside for him in the kitchen. He only had to enquire for her at lunchtime.

"Don't be shy! Everyone knows everyone around here!" She coaxed as they parted. John didn't get a chance to get in the last word before the woman disappeared around the corner, leaving him alone in the hallway.

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At 8am sharp, John stood alone across from Mr. Holmes in his office, and instantly felt the lighthearted mood he had been feeling earlier became sucked into the whirling vacuum that was his boss' smile.

"Punctual. Very good."

John felt as if he were being praised for performing a neat trick. He merely smiled diplomatically, wishing that Bill could have started on the same day so that there was some semblance of humanity left in the room. With every passing second John wondered if Holmes was something else.

"Shall we get started then?" John was being awkward, and it was rare for him to feel like he was fumbling through a conversation.

Mr. Holmes paid no mind and nodded at the suggestion. The two of them left the office swiftly and John was given a complete run down of his duties.

For the first three hours he was told how the entire asylum operated and who was expected to do what. In the end there wasn't a face John wasn't introduced to, since Mr. Holmes showed John the ID badges of anyone who wasn't on shift. It would have been overwhelming if there wasn't so few on the roster. Besides the cleaning staff, there were only ever four other attendants and two psychologists present at a time. When John asked about the small number, Mr. Holmes scoffed.

"We aren't harbouring criminals Dr. Watson. Many here just need a place to exist where those of high society cannot laugh or jeer. For the one or two of our patrons who are... extremely malcontent with their lot in life, the staff we have on hand will suffice. You will find that most of our guests are quite capable of taking care of themselves."

John and Holmes stopped in the middle of an upstairs hallway that housed ten patients, five on either side of the corridor. There were numbers on the doors - one through ten, as well as name plates. John's attention immediately were attracted to the rooms 1 and 2 for the names etched there were familiar.

"Family members?" John asked as he pointed to the first plate which read Ashling Holmes and then to the second which had Sherlock Holmes printed boldly.

Holmes sighed and turned to face the doors. "A correct observation. The first is my aunt and the other is my brother. You will be acquainted with them and the rest of the wing by the end of the shift. You are to deliver their medication twice a day and ensure that they eat, sleep, bathe and exercise regularly. Very few will require you to actually interfere." As he said this his eyes lingered on the second door. "If you have any difficulty, you should report to me directly."

John nodded and allowed himself to be escorted downstairs where he was dismissed for an hour lunch break. He entered the cafeteria looking slightly disoriented for he didn't know if he were allowed to eat there or not. Luckily Mrs. Hudson spotted him and waved him over to the counter.

"How has your day been so far?" She handed him a bowl of some steaming pasta and a warm scone over the glass.

"Good. Good... a lot to take in, but I'm sure I'll figure it all out soon. Thank-you for lunch."

"We always have plenty left over, so I can sneak you some occasionally... just don't make it into a habit! I have some dessert set aside for you later..." She went on to serve an older gentleman behind John, chatting him up like she were his mum. It made John feel warm towards the woman. It wasn't often you found someone like her looking after you.

As John poured himself a coffee, another attendant came up beside him and started to pour a cup of tea. When she noticed John, she gave him a natural grin and looked at his food tray. "Mrs. Hudson took a liking to you already? You must be something special." Her name was Sarah. Sarah Sawyer. He remembered Mr. Holmes stating that she was in charge of the wing below his.

"I think everyone is special to her." He turned around and watched her teasing a young woman with dyed hair, "Taking care of people seems to be her talent."

Sarah glanced at him and smiled, "What's yours?"

"What...?" John said, taken back by the strangeness of the question.

"If it's standing awkwardly by the beverage trolley, I think you have a real knack for it." She laughed as John went momentarily speechless. She grabbed him by the arm and guided them both to a table by the window. The weather was still horrible, but the flora around the grounds was gorgeous. "Seriously though, not everyone lands this job. Mycroft takes the positions very thoughtfully. I learned he had dredged up my entire family history before taking me on."

"Well, I'm a nobody. Nothing really interesting about me. I just have the skills required I suppose." John took a bite out of his pasta and was transported to the days when his grandmother would make ravioli from scratch. "This... this is really good pasta."

Sarah smirked. "They have the best cooks here, I wouldn't be surprised."

"This is all rather posh isn't it? I didn't think establishments like these existed."

"Normally they don't. This building was built less than a decade ago, funded almost entirely by the Holmes family and managed by Mycroft. Rumours say it was for the benefit of his little brother.

"Sherlock?"

Sarah's eye widened, "You've met him already?"

"No... I was shown where his room is though. He's in the wing I'm responsible for."

Suddenly it was as if a heavy weight had slid between them. Sarah looked away, taking a sip of her tea in order to explain the silence. John watched her face intently, looking for an answer to the strange tension.

"Not good I take it?"

"I was hoping that they'd give that area to Rita, since she has the most experience. We were hoping that maybe she could handle it." She chewed on her lower lip as she glanced back to the doctor across from her, "but it seems cruel of Mycroft to throw you in that wing when he knows that there's been problems in the past."

A wrinkle appeared on John's forehead, "What do you mean problems?"

Sarah sighed. "Sherlock isn't the easiest fellow to get to know. He's like a five-year-old in a tantrum half the time, and the other times he's just plain cruel. Never get on his bad side. The best you can do is ignore him and just do your job around him." She set down her teacup with a heavy clunk. "Then there's the man in room six... Jim. He's all sorts of mad. Maddest one in here, but you wouldn't notice unless you had to mind him.

"Trouble?"

"That whole wing is trouble John."

The doctor took another bite of his pasta and stared out the window. Sarah's reflection interested him. The look of concern on her brow was very endearing. If he wasn't careful, he would be following in Bill's footsteps.

"How did the bloke before me cope?"

Sarah set down her cup and stood from the table. The sound of her chair moving across the polished floor made the hair on John's neck stand on end – at least that's what he told himself, because he wouldn't admit to himself that what she said next had made him want to run very far away.

"He didn't. One of his patient's drove him to suicide."

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