Sherlock found himself wondering in his mind palace with Redbeard once again. Life and Death were fighting over him again. He hoped that the fight wouldn't drag out as long as it did last time. He had a blackmailer and attempted murderer to catch.

He recalled everything he went through to survive again.

He found what he needed to stay calm and he stayed with his clever dog for as long as he could, but Death pulled him further down.

Instead of ending up in a padded room with Moriarty, he found himself in the torture chamber in Serbia. He watched from the doorway as the former naval officer punched, kicked, cut, whipped the other him over and over again. He looked around the room hoping to see his older brother, but no such luck. His brother had been replaced by Magnussen.

Magnussen looked pleased with the beatings and told the man to continue. Sherlock watched as the man picked up the pipe and landed several blows on the other him's back and legs.

Feeling every blow the pipe brought, Sherlock ran from the room and pushed past the Serbian guards. He ran until he was back upstairs in his palace.

Now that he knew he was safe, he called for Redbeard and began walking again. While they walked side by side, Sherlock listened as John walked in his hospital room and sat down in a chair.

He listened as John rambled on about how worried he was and what he had been told by the surgeon.

As the night wore on, he listened as John stopped talking and fell asleep in the chair.

Shortly after the talking ceased, Sherlock heard as someone walked into the room. It didn't take long his massive intellect to figure out that it was his brother. The click from the tip of an umbrella tapping the floor every couple of steps gave him away.

He was planning on tuning out his brother, but instinct told him to listen. Remembering didn't matter, he had to hear this.

Mycroft spoke of Jamenson Moriarty coming to London.

Nevermind, Sherlock decided on tuning him out since he already knew this. He was the one in the flat. He was the one that took out the stitches and put a blade in his gunshot wound. The man had also sent John that text.

As the days and nights passed, Sherlock found himself exploring old memories that he managed to delete. Memories such as the solar system and unfond school times.

Often he and Redbeard would stumble upon memories from when he was a child. He watched as his younger self got picked on for being right all the time. He would look at the younger Mycroft, who wasn't far away, as well, and wonder why he just stood there, not helping.

As the years passed, Sherlock watched as he grew up and fell down. He found his teenage self sitting in the back of the class in silence, hair covering his face as he carved words into the desk with his pocket knife.

The bullying had stopped at this point, because he had managed to scare every single bully off with vivid descriptions of how he would kill them and get away with it. The bullied had become the bully, and he didn't care. He just stopped caring at that point.

Sherlock walked away from the scene, with his head hung. Why had he deleted why he became so uncaring? Because it hurt to much to remember.

He only cared about a few people, everyone else to him was a bully who wanted to hurt him. Even though he cared about a few people, he never put his heart on his sleeve. If he cared to much, he'd feel the pain he felt while growing up.

Sherlock sat on the floor of the main room in his palace with Redbeard's head in his lap. They listened to the visitors come, talk then go. John stayed the whole time. The only time he would leave, was to go back to the flat to shower or go to hospital cafeteria and get some tasteless food.

Whenever Sherlock was alone, he would listen to Life and Death argue. Most days, Life had a stronger pull. Other days Death was more tempting. Death warned him of the pain he would suffer after waking up. Sherlock refused to listen. He dealt with being shot then suffered from internal bleeding. If he could get through that, he could get through this.

Late one afternoon, Sherlock found out that Life had won and he could wake up. This time there was no waiting until morning. It had to be now or most likely never.

Sherlock headed for the main doors of the palace, said goodbye to Redbeard, threw the red rubber ball and watched as the doors opened.