Hello again. i know it's been a long time. believe me, i realize. this last few month have been busy typing reports and such and i only have this crappy little chapter to make up for it. sorry, i'm still steaming forward with this story. but i do enjoy all comments. thanks, they make me hurry and post this.


Sherlock squirmed on the floor, shocked that the DI would actually punch him. He felt a warm trickle run down his upper lip and into the floor.

John was gone. Gone, gone, gone. The last hour played on repeat in his mind. He picked out the flaws, his mistakes, the things he hadn't anticipated. It wasn't supposed to end like that at all. John was supposed to say he loved him back; supposed to fall into his arms; supposed to hold him and kiss him and cherish him like no one else. John was supposed to smile and laugh at Sherlock's antics and yell at him when he did something wrong. John should have blushed when Sherlock would snog him endlessly and seek protection in him when the world became too much. They were too broken peas in a figurative pod, trying to build a fantasy together when reality was rearing to tear it apart. He had been so stupid and careless, allowing emotions to cloud his judgment. He wished he could kick himself in his own ass.

"Sherlock?" He heard his brother call, breaking him out of his trance.

"Get out, Mycroft. You have ruined my life enough for a lifetime and now, I must ask you to take your leave." He sat up and took a handkerchief out of his gown pocket to put to his nose.

"You fail to see that this is beneficial to both of you-"

"Beneficial?" he spat with venom. "Oh yes, Mycroft, please enlighten me how forcefully committing someone and practically ruining their medical reputation is beneficial to them," he asked sarcastically, though the bite was gone due to the nasal tone.

"It was better than the alternative," Mycroft explained. "Is it no better than you poking and prodding and experimenting with him? This way, John can get the trained, professional help he needs and you can stop this childish inclination of playing with other people's lives. Who knows, he could have possibly harmed you."

"John was never a danger to me!" Sherlock defended.

"Yes, as you demonstrated as I walked in."

"He was only angry, and he was right to be angry. It was no more than a little prod."

"Yet, it all starts with a little push to throwing punches to acquiring more...deadly items. Then what, Sherlock? With you dead and John standing over you, ready to plea insanity because his flat mate made him do it? Yes, anger maybe warranted, but it should never come to physical blows."

Sherlock glared Mycroft, pointing at his nose. "How do you explain this then?"

"I use it as evidence. Some people respond properly, some result to a more barbaric form of getting their point across."

"Look, John is no more a threat to me than I am to you. Call your...buddies, or whatever your associates are, and have John released. I will have no further dealings with him if we can just drop this whole thing," he pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," though his tone said otherwise, "This is no longer about you. Though I know that statement hardly holds any truth, John needs this."

"You cannot force him to stay."

"On the contrary, brother. Though there is a statute of limitation on how long one can legally hold him, we cannot take that liberty with John. He has just proved himself to be a danger to another person. Until we can have full confidence that he is stable, he will not be released. That process takes time and tests... tests that sometimes happen to take weeks to be returned or monitoring that has to be done over an extended amount of time. Releasing him back into society without ensuring our citizen's safety would be foolish of us."

Sherlock growled and shot up. "Out! Now, Mycroft before I do something I won't regret!"

Mycroft turned and started towards the door. He started to turn back, about to say something before her was cut off.

"Shut up, Mycroft and just leave. I don't want to hear anymore of your excuses."

Mycroft sighed but did as his brother asked. He'd get over his little pout soon. He always did. He'd see John was nothing more than a play thing. If you abuse your toys, you get them taken away. That's how life worked and Sherlock was no exception.

Though, he admits, it felt different from the other times. There is something...weird going on. Sherlock never begged on behalf someone before. Had he made a mistake? Had that little delusional men actually make Sherlock care about something? Mycroft hummed. That seemed like a stretch.

Mycroft closed the front door behind him, but not before he heard the first few crashes from upstairs. He paused momentarily, wondering if he should indulge Sherlock in his tantrum, but thought better of it. He stepped onto the sleek black car and directed the driver to drive him back to his office. He had a few phone calls to make.


'This is what John deserves. I tried to warn him about Sherlock, but he allowed himself to be blinded by love.'

'How could you think of such a thing? No one deserves something like this.'

'We could have avoided this, though, if John did listen. Instead, he allowed himself to be manipulated by Sherlock. He should have known that guy was trouble from the start.'

'We didn't even know he would act like this... how was John supposed to know?'

'Why do we let this guy dominate again? He only gets into trouble.'

'If John didn't dominate, we would already be in an asylum. Plus, John's not so bad. He sometimes gets turned around a bit, but he always bounces back. Plus, the whole point of John being dominate is to help him heal himself. Remember: the main goal is for John to be complete, not in shambles. He's not supposed to need us!'

'That is utter bull and you know it. Face it, Janet, John's never going to be healed. There is no reason in trying anymore. I know it's hard to hear, but John's hopeless. He'll never be ordinary again and we might as well accept it now.'


John was lead out of the back of the van what seemed like days later. Each of his arms were held firmly by two attendants as he was lead inside a dismal looking building in the middle of the countryside. John squinted from the sun and caught the name of the building before they passed it on their way in. New Lives. That seemed cheerful. John shuttered and the hold on his arms tightened. They passed the front desk and lead him into a room that was colorless. Every surface was a plain white or cream color tone: the furniture, the wall, even the desktop screen of the computer was nothing but white.

John was forced to sit on a couch facing a chair. The two attendants took their stand on both sides and waited, watching his every move. He felt sort of self-conscience with all of their attention focused on him. He buried his head in his hands and decided to breathe. Freaking out and panicking wouldn't help his cause. Legally, how would they keep him here? There was a maximum time they could hold him before they had to release him...right? He just had to wait here and play it cool of a few a low profile and he should be out of here within a few days.

The doors swung open as a thin, pale man glided into the room. In his right hand, he held a yellow tablet underneath a thin yellow box. He sat in the chair facing John, pushing up a pair of wire-framed glasses.

"I'm doctor [Richard Bradley], he said as a way of greeting."You are here because...well, being a doctor yourself, you probably know why you're here. Mentally, you're unsound in the head. We will run tests to see if and how we can treat you. Until your release, we need to go over a few rules and guidelines with you during your stay. Breakfast is served from 07:00 till 09:30. Your sector will be lead to the cafeteria at 08:35. Before you are dismissed, we expect your bed made and your room tidy to the standards we deem fit. The same goes for lunch call at 12:00 and dinner at 19:00.

"You will go to therapy starting anywhere from 3 to 4 times a week. During your hour session with your doctor, various tests may also be taken. These can range from blood tests to written tests to determine your mental health. We will inform you the days of your treatment at a later time."

The doctor sighed longingly. "Now to discipline." He watched John tense. "If there are any problems, we intervene. If you do not listen or refuse to listen, we will have to take disciplinary action. The type of punishment is decided upon the offence. If you refuse to take your medicine, we have the tools and the means to ensure you take them. If you strike out against any of the employees, we will restrain you and send you to your room without supper. If you continue to be uncooperative, we will quarantine you, and so on. Quarantine is no visitors, no staff, -nothing. It will just be you and a straight jacket to ensure you do not harm yourself, and a padded cell. We hate amounting to that sort of cliché discipline as much as the next guy, so please, just focus on recovering and everyone will be happy."

With that said, he opened the box and took out a small yearn jar. "We must ensure you are not currently on any drugs or hormone-altering medication. The two orderlies will escort you to a room nearby where you can change your clothes and give us a sample."

He stood, looking down his nose at John, "I will be seeing you soon, Mr. Watson." With that, he left the room.