Hello, i'm back. Well, the holidays are over and that means i most likely won't be putting out chapters as quickly as the last couple of weeks; finals, sickness, and all, so i cannot devote all my time to thinking about poor little 4 personality John and Sherlock. i know... sigh. BUT! we have reached the chapter that had to happen sooner or later... so here it is. Sorry John, Sherlock had to smarten up sometime...
Thanks for all the lovely comments and support, especially from those few new ones dwindling in, making my audience larger. Thanks a bunch to everyone! Much love!
Sherlock sat in his chair with his legs pulled to his chest, watching his friend sleep peacefully after his earlier ordeal.
He remembered the first time he experienced one of John's "breakdowns". Before, it was just interesting information he was able to obtain from John to confirm a few of his theories, but as it started to spiral downward, Sherlock was seriously considering either calling a doctor or an asylum. It was the first time Sherlock was not 100% sure what to do. When John started to seizure and cry, Sherlock felt he couldn't breathe.
These attacks always did something to Sherlock that made feel too human. He couldn't imagine losing the only friend he'd made. He was an important addition not only to his work, but to his life all around.
Now that he figured out he was also a stable foundation for John, he knew how to handle it better, but he was still concerned. His attacks had to be triggered by something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He didn't even know what John had that could trigger it.
Sherlock closed his eyes and went through his mind palace, bringing all John's information to the forefront if his mind. He layer all his deductions out in front of him.
-past mental scarring
-mood swings
-conflicting ideologies and personalities
-scarring all over body
-talks to oneself constantly
-changing of personalities constantly
-army for three years
-lost father in early to middle teens; step-father less than a year after
-alcoholic sister
-past psychiatrist
-PTSD, currently not seeking therapy for any mental related issues. He knows he doesn't have a correct mental state. Hiding it
-doctor
-etc.
Sherlock rearranged the facts constantly, seeking for an answer that fit all the data.
Bipolar:
He shook his head No
Borderline Personality Disorder:
Plausible, but doubtful
Schizophrenia:
slight, but as to be something deeper
Intermittent explosive disorder:
explains random anger, but not all other moods
'Split in personalities...'
'Past trauma...'
'Talking to one's self'
The solution hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks, forcing him out of his mind palace. He opened his eyes and stared into space, mesmerized at the impossibility, but only solution that made sense with the data.
"DID."
John walked back into the living room after cleaning up Sherlock's last experiment mess off the counter. He had awakened to Sherlock's soothing baritone voice murmuring words softly. John smiled, watching his flat mate's fingers dance on the side of his head as thoughts seemed to fly past.
John reminded himself to thank Sherlock for his help later. He was always there whenever John needed to ground himself. His strong arms wrapped around him, holding him to his broad chest and pressing his warm lips to his forehead. Carding those long, thin fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.
John quickly derailed from his train of thought, shocked at his thinking taking such a route. Sherlock was his friend and he didn't want anything more. Their one night was it- for him and for Sherlock. Neither of them were looking for a relationship.
He really needed a cup of tea.
He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. As he turned to collect his cup, his arm clipped a test tube and sent the contents all over the counter. Why couldn't Sherlock ever clean up?
Now back in the living room, John looked over to Sherlock staring at nothing in particular.
"Did you say something?" John asked, confused.
Sherlock turned to look at him, eyes gleaming at his own brilliance.
"DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Most commonly known as MPD- Multiple Personality Disorder. That's what you have, isn't it? Matt, Janet, and Chad are your other personalities," Sherlock inquired softly, getting up and standing in front of John. "It's the reason that you can change characteristics and it's also the reason you never seem consistent in your choices; why your hand writing doesn't always match and why you are influenced by different stimuli in different ways. You have at least three different alters living inside your brain..." he trailed off and cocked his head to look at john sideways.
John's heart rate and breathing sped up as Sherlock let out his string of deductions. John tried to deny it, but nothing resembling substantial reasoning came out.
"N-no!" John tried to say. "Multiple Personality Disorder occurs in people that have experienced sexual abuse when they were a child. I wasn't sexually abused in any way!"
"I admit I was momentarily stuck wondering if this was the right conclusion, but from recent events, I have concluded that you have faced familial trauma in the past. Therefore, you would be an exception, but not by very large standards. Something made your psych split off into different ways to cope with something, and since you are a loving, but distant family type of person, it had to be sometime beginning mid to late teens. Was it your father's death that pushed you over the edge? Or was it that your mother replaced him so easily?"
"You're wrong!" Matt shouted as John tried to cower in fear of Sherlock's deductions.
"I'm never wrong, John." Sherlock said skeptically. "Or shall I say Matt, right? The angry, troublemaker. Don't be so boring and just admit it."
"You think because you're so clever that you're always right?!" Matt shouted angrily, roughly poking Sherlock in the chest. "That since you have a large brain and a slightly above average IQ, you can try to stomp all over and bully them until you get your answers?!" Matt roughly shoved Sherlock into the nearest wall, causing a loud, thick thump to ricochet throughout the room as brick and bones slammed together. Sherlock closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, knowing that there was most likely going to be a bruise tomorrow. Matt slowly raised his arm and curled his hand into a fist.
'Matt! Chad shouted, pulling him from dominant position before he could do any physical harm to Sherlock.
"I guess the game is up…," Chad said calmly, crossing his arm over his chest.
"You are...?" Sherlock asked.
"Chad," he replied, glaring at Sherlock.
"Hmm..." Sherlock hummed, bringing his finger up to lightly tap his lip after softly pushing himself from the wall. "So, you all actually know about each other?" he asked and received small, stiff nod. "Would it be too much to ask to see John?"
"I think so," he said in a hostile tone. "You basically scared John back into his shell. He doesn't want to speak to you," he said sympathetically, speaking more to John than Sherlock.
Sherlock frowned. He didn't mean to make John shut down on himself. That was the last thing he wanted him to do. What if he triggered another attack? Damn him for trying to be so clever- he didn't see the signs of John shutting down.
Sherlock stepped into Chad's personal space and took his face into his hands. He brought his face close to his and leaned both of their foreheads together; feeling his breathe mingle with John's in the intimate embrace.
"I'm sorry, John," he whispered softly. "The last thing I wanted to do was make you nervous or scared. Please, don't be afraid of me, John."
Sherlock felt John tense before he slowly relaxed into Sherlock's hold. John closed his eyes before slowly opening them to Sherlock's nervous face. He blushed slightly and tried to sink away from Sherlock's hold, but Sherlock held his face firmly.
"John?" he asked, softly looking into his eyes.
"Yes, Sherlock, it's me. Do you think you can let go of my face now?" john asked awkwardly, half from the embrace and half from the want to not stain Sherlock's shirt with the oncoming landslide of emotions bubbling to the surface.
Sherlock did as asked and stepped out of John's personal space, but stayed close to him.
"I don't want you to ever feel you need to hide from me inside of your mind, understand?" he commanded softly but firmly.
John nodded softly and sank down to sit on the couch. "Please..." John begged softly, tears wanting to form in the corner of his eyes from the overwhelming emotions flooding through him. "What are you going to do?" he whispered, turning away from Sherlock. It was constantly his main fear whenever someone came close to finding out. No one had reached the correct conclusion earlier when the symptoms first appeared, though, so John had much more to lose that the definite conclusion was met. He guessed he shouldn't have been surprised that Sherlock was the one who should figure it out.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.
John turned to look up at Sherlock, a few tears escaping down his cheek as he started to sniffle.
"Please, don't send me to a mental hospital or something. I-I... My whole life is based off of everyone not knowing that I have this disease… If the Medical Association or any other company knew, I could be sued for malpractice and be fired. I wouldn't be able to get any other job with a mental illness such as this on my rap-sheet. Please..." he hiccupped and wiped away the rest of the falling tears with his sleeve as he begged.
Sherlock bent to his knees and looked up at the small, hunched in on himself John Watson. Sherlock felt as if he was watching over a smaller brother, crying from the fear of the unknown future. Sherlock softly whispered to him.
"John, look at me," he softly demanded.
John slightly raised his head to look at Sherlock over his arm.
"Y-you're my friend, John. I would never let someone take you away if I could do anything about it. I won'tallow anyone to take you away," he said defiantly.
John sniffles, trying to collect himself, and softly smiled. Sherlock took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to John.
"Now, can you please stop crying? You know I am no good at these situations," he asked, chuckling softly.
John laughed along with him and quickly wiped his face. "So, where do we go from here?"
