A/N: Thank you all so much! And yes, I will continue to thank everyone for following, liking, commenting e.t.c. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I think it turned out for the better. It would have been out sooner, but I've been pretty stressed and busy. So, Enjoy! (Just to be clear, I used a hypothetical character among the Holmes family tree. I have no idea about anything about him, so... lets go with it?)

Warnings: Adult language, reference to sexual activities, and self harm topics. Read with caution.

Chapter Seven: Liar Liar

Pealing eyelids open he couldn't help but feel the Déjà vu; Beeps audible in his ears. Whiteness bleached out everything in the room. The bed he lie on was dressed in white sheets, his dress gown a pale bile color. Four puffy walls enclosed him smeared in a deathly white. A large Earl grey door was placed in the middle of the far wall. The tone of the room screamed only one thing: Psychiatric ward. Immediate panic seized his stomach. Lurching forward he was immediately denied movement; Cold metal ate at his wrists. Attempting to free his hands from the clasps of the cuffs he efforts were futile. He was restrained to his bed enclosed in the remits of hell sent back to haunt him. What had happened to him? Pondering this statement he raked his brain for the events he seemed to be lacking. But to no avail, it was a fail. He couldn't quite place himself into the right situation, and this frustrated him greatly. Tugging viciously at his bindings he let out a snarl.

"Oh dear Brother, Temper." remarked Mycroft, a smirk plastered onto his face. He strolled into the room as if nothing was out of place. "Look what happens when you don't take my advice."

"You have absolutely no right. This is ludicrous!" Roared Sherlock.

"Dare you say, I had every right. You may not run around bleeding obsessively and shooting up whenever you please. Because of your faulty actions, there was no choice but for mum to find out." He paused leaning in towards the chained Sherlock taunting him. "Remember what happened last time sherly, and now you'll be the downfall of her once again." Guilt stabbed at Sherlock. Last time, was a bad time.

"Yes you remember? All that pain you caused her? Her perfect little boy destroying himself for 'Evidently' no reason." Snarled Mycroft air quoting himself.

"I had a reason Mycroft, as you well know."

"Doubtful." He scoffed.

"I demand you let me go!"

"Not a chance."

If looks could kill, Mycroft would be dead ten times over. "Where is John? I want to see him."

"Oh Sherlock. I thought you understood. John doesn't want to see you. Who would want to love a damaged sociopath like you. I told you caring was a disadvantage."

Sherlock froze. If possible Sherlock's heart had shattered all over again. He'd always held onto the glimmer of hope that his deductions may have been wrong, maybe it had been a misunderstanding between them. But, now it couldn't be. Mycroft had confirmed it. He his head like a rag doll. Without looking up towards Mycroft he croaked out a demand.

"Unbind me, and leave."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Sighing dramatically, Mycroft complied. He aught to give him the gift of some freedom. The locks clicked open and the tall brunette curled into a ball onto his side. His famous sulking position. Although this time it didn't quite seem like the same sulking. This was more, sad. however that could ever occur, it was.

"I am sorry Dear Brother. But I warned you." With his last words spoken, Mycroft took his leave.

As he made his way to the door he couldn't help question his actions. Would Sherlock really be alright without John? he couldn't help the flicker of guilt emit itself inside him. He only lied to protect Sherlock: "Who would want to love a damaged sociopath like you." The words gnawed at him. Surely he would be fine. The last time emotions occurred with Sherlock, everything went to hell. Definitely, He was saving him from another tragedy.

After:

He lie in fetal position on the ward's bed. Head caressed between his thin knees. A tear slipped down his face. The empty shell of his chest pleading for a beating organ to carrying him away from the hurt. It was like he'd been clean shot in the heart without dyeing. The pain unbearable with no shock to dull the throbbing torture. It was all his fault. He'd brought all this down onto him, John and Mum. He ruined John's and his relationship. He just had to tell him. What was a sociopath with feelings. A great big nothing! More tears escaped down his face; an unavoidable sob escaped passed his lips. If Mycroft was telling the truth, and mum does know, she was hiking through the largest demons possible. Snapping his eyes shut he couldn't help the memories of the past from reoccurring. The past bringing with more heart breaks and pain he'd once again have weather. Memories began to surface as Sherlock trembled. His whole body an earth quake. He clung to his pillow like and infant would a mother- desperate for the consolation of a human.

"No..." Whimpered Sherlock.

He couldn't take the burden. His precisely built mind palace once again becoming ruins. The files of things he'd deleted being revived from the dead. One memory in particular gloated its rekindlement. The tragedy of Sherrinford Holmes.