Define Vulnerability
Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other characters mentioned belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal enjoyment and to improve my English; no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands, and no profit is being made.
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Chapter 62
Monday
John had once more switched shifts for the afternoon and for Tuesday, because he was not ready to trust Sherlock's calm and controlled demeanour enough to leave him alone. But for Monday morning Mary would be the only one in the flat with the detective.
She suggested that if Sherlock might get bored she'd keep him busy with trying to figure out the best date for the wedding, since Sherlock had agreed before that he'd help with planning.
As soon as John switched on the kettle for his breakfast coffee the detective appeared in the kitchen and without a word sat down on the table and switched on the microscope.
"Mornin'," John greeted, his hair was still wet from the shower.
Sherlock answered with a soft humming noise and started lining up slides.
"Are you even fully awake?" John joked.
"Do I have to be?" Sherlock said, now sorting out some brown glass bottles and fetching pen and paper.
"Tea?" John smiled.
Another meaningless hum.
"Coffee?"
"Yes."
Five minutes later Sherlock was fully concentrated on dropping several liquids onto the slides while cataloguing them simultaneously. Sipping his coffee, John sat down opposite him, watching his every move. Sherlock's extremely normal behaviour was ringing every alarm bell John had. He decided to call Ella to ask for another appointment for a session with her, to talk about suppressed memories.
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John's morning was a bit hectic, but he found the time to call Ella and tell her about Sherlock's episode. She offered him a double appointment later that day.
At first John was indecisive if that soon was a good idea, he wrote a text message to Mary asking how she and the detective were doing - he'd go home if he was needed rather than seeing Ella.
When she answered that Sherlock was still concentrated on experiments and that Mycroft had informed him that he'd arrive shortly, John decided he had no excuse to not see his therapist. Sherlock would be busy and had Mary assured they were fine.
But after the double session the doctor was quite frustrated with Ella. Once more he wondered if she was even vaguely able to understand Sherlock… or him. They had done first one session discussing Sherlock's problems and then the second about his own issues with the whole affair of Sherlock being back.
The things she suggested to try with Sherlock would not work at all as John saw it and she seemed not to want to consider alternative methods or ideas and blocked all his tries to transform the ideas into something Sherlock would listen to.
But John took notes and hoped he'd somehow manage to translate this into a Sherlock-conform way on his own later.
Ella urged him to make Sherlock go to see a therapist himself, not understanding in the slightest why John was sure this wasn't an option. She also advised him to move back to his own house with Mary so Sherlock would understand he needed to seek help on his own and become active in his own healing. John was not able to make her understand why this wouldn't work, for neither of them.
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When John came home in the early afternoon Sherlock and Mycroft had left.
After a brief lunch Mary left for work and John send a text to Sherlock asking what was going on.
'Meet us at Scotland Yard in an hour. SH' Sherlock answered. So John changed and headed for the tube.
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He entered Lestrade's office but the DI was alone.
"Hello, John. They'll be up here any minute. How are the two of you doing?" Lestrade greeted him.
"Lousy," John answered and sank into the visitor's chair, then briefly explained the events of the past days.
"Well, ehm... maybe you should be a bit more… brisk," Greg leaned forward over his desk, "Make him listen. Years ago, when he was... I mean before... I sometimes did that. I always felt bad about it, but at the few occasions when I kicked his ass he… complied. Maybe we're too careful. I mean… consider he just isn't able to ask for anything… Shove it at him, see what his reaction is. This sounds a bit harsh, but maybe he just can't ask for it. He thinks – or fears - that the things we offer don't help, but I am not sure he understands them. That's what I figured out when he was younger."
Greg sighed and scratched his head, then continued, this conversation was obviously not easy for him.
"Look, back then... most of the times he didn't know what he needed. Sometimes when he did know he just wasn't able to ask for it, or stated that he had already tried it on his own, not understanding that it couldn't work on his own, or whatever. Besides, the possibility that help exists seems not to exist in his mindset - or he just forgets it does. Or he had been told too often that he had no right to ask because he was not worth anything and a freak… Sorry, I'm not good with this."
"I know, Greg… I already did that… some aspects of this are like dealing with a child, but… he used to listen to me when I told him about emotional things, well, at least sometimes… Lately he has turned stubborn - for a lack of a better word - though not consciously... he seems to have switched off his will to listen to me. I don't know what I did wrong. I'm a bit desperate."
Moments later the Holmes brothers entered the office and interrupted the conversation.
It was a rare occurrence for Lestrade to see the Mycroft, especially at Scotland Yard.
After the greetings the older Holmes closed the blinds and started the conversation.
"We want to inform you, that there might be a chance that there is a possible suspect. The whole affair is somewhat delicate and therefore I suggest you handle this as an anonymous tip."
"Oh?" Lestrade made, surprised.
"You might want to observe the doings of Col. Marc Daniel Alexander, please write down the address," Mycroft instructed.
Lestrade fetched his pen and notepad, while John gave Sherlock a puzzling look, who just shrugged and made an unnerved gesture.
This was so not standard procedure.
"In case the man has his hands in your serial killer case, make absolutely sure that there is a rock-solid, unwavering heap of clear evidence when you officially approach him," Mycroft warned, then turned towards his brother, "that includes you, no more hanging around the house without clearance."
"What?" John pointed an asking gaze.
"My dear brother spent last night at the suspect's house and when he was sure the man was away for some time he went to gather some intel."
"What?!" John almost yelled.
Mycroft raised his hand and stopped John from continuing, "Obviously, I didn't make myself clear when I advised him to be discrete."
"I was, that's why I went inside to find something more concrete, because there was no official way to do it," Sherlock spit.
"Jesus, Sherlock!" John groaned.
"Well, he was lucky, the security system recorded nothing out of order."
"That was no luck, it was competence. After two years of hunting criminals in the field my practice is excellent."
"Yes, well, except that incident when…" Mycroft started.
Sherlock hissed angrily.
"We'll discuss this later, I must go back. I'm here because I didn't trust him to tell you on his own."
Sherlock seemed to sulk and John saw the argument coming, still a bit stunned about what he had just learned.
If asked, he'd have stated Sherlock had been in the flat all night. Now he wondered how many nights his former flatmate had already been out on his own.
"Wait wait wait wait! Did you just confess to a Detective Inspector, that you broke into the house of…" but Lestrade was interrupted by both brothers.
"No, you misheard," Mycroft hurried to say.
"No one entered the house, as you could see if you'd checked the security system, but you won't, because this is delicate!" Sherlock hurried to add.
John blew out his breath and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.
"How often?" he asked loudly, drowning the brother's quarrel.
"What?"
"How often have you sneaked out at night?"
"I don't sneak out!" Sherlock broadcasted hostility now.
"Went out then? - Since I'm staying over?"
"Once," Mycroft informed.
Lestrade saw John's anger, but before the doctor had time to add fuel to the argument he interfered, fearing they'd only make it all worse with a struggle right now. Greg feared Sherlock would vanish into one of his boltholes if he didn't feel free and safe at the flat any longer, he had done such things often enough in his youth. So the DI did the first thing that came to his mind to deescalate the situation.
"What did you find out?"
"Finally someone is concentrating on the important things!" Sherlock remarked sarcastically, then went on, "Inside the house I found framed pictures, as expected. Mostly of the wife, and of two children, a girl and a boy. The absence of other male offsprings was remarkable, as was the fact that there were no pictures newer than… maybe the mid nineties."
Sherlock's speech was as fast as usual.
"So, I searched for photo albums, took less than four minutes to find them, although they were carefully stored away. The pictures showed that after the birth of the first boy a second one was born. In contrast to the first two children this one seemed clearly less wanted, since the amount of pictures taken was only a third of those taken of the other children, maybe because it just was the third and the event was not as monumental for the parents as the birth of the first ones."
Sherlock paused briefly, sitting down next to John before he continued.
"But I assume it was more because of the deteriorating relationship of the parents… or maybe, the child was illegitimate, or the mother was already ill and had other things on her mind. There were also no pictures of the child from the point that must have been the mother's death."
Sherlock spoke almost faster than John could store the information.
"I found the birth certificates in the family register, and the dates on the last pictures of the boy dated a few weeks before her death. I'm sure the father raised the child, but he was for some reason not at all fond of him. I assume she made him promise her on her deathbed to care for the boy, which would not fit to the broken-marriage-theory, he wouldn't care about such a promise then, wouldn't he?"
The last question was directed at John. The doctor needed a moment to understand he was asked about human behaviour.
"Well, maybe they became closer again. But it's odd, yes."
"Since there were no newer pictures I photographed some of the latest with my phone, there is a vast resemblance to our suspect, but not an unmistakable one. I found no hints at all except a name: Ian Alexander and his date of birth in the register. The man we encountered seemed too young to match him. We need to get data, now."
"Anyway, as interesting as this is, I need to go," Mycroft interrupted, "I'm sure the DI knows how to proceed. We will speak later, Sherlock."
Mycroft's tone was quite grumpy, even for him. He was out of the door before Greg had time to see him off.
Silence settled in the office, everyone lost in their thoughts for a moment.
"We need a computer program that renders a picture of how the child looks today."
"Yeah, but it's difficult with children."
"I know, but better than nothing," Sherlock answered.
"Okay, I'll have some technician do it. I'll also organise surveillance, we need a reason to question him, but as your brother suggests, it might be better to collect usable data first."
"Send me the pictures," Sherlock stood up.
As did Lestrade, "Sherlock, one more bloody stunt like this and I'll pull you off this investigation, do I make myself clear?"
Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"Idle threat," he answered, an extremely wide faked grin on his face, which made Lestrade suck in air through his gritted teeth in disapproval.
Sherlock closed his coat and was out of the door without another word.
"Don't say it, I know. I'm trying to get a grip on this," John stood up, too and followed his former flatmate.
"Call me, okay? See you."
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When they arrived home Sherlock headed straight into his room and wasn't seen for the rest of the evening.
John and Mary watched a movie and when the end credits ran over the screen they heard Sherlock in the bathroom, which he had obviously entered through his room.
When Sherlock had returned to his room Mary looked at her future husband.
"Yeah, something surely has stiffened in the past days - I mean besides the obvious. The things he relived have surely shaken him, but it was going downhill before. I'm aware, though I can't pinpoint it. Can you, John?"
"I'm at a loss. I'm desperate," the doctor breathed and she rubbed his back.
John had told her about Sherlock breaking into the house and the events of the day.
"God, I thought we were making progress," John continued in a low voice, "But this feels like one step forward and two steps back. It was better before, he didn't refuse this much. He had opened up a bit. What changed?"
"I really can't say. I've only seen you interact for a few days, some of those only for a few hours, I can't… it's just not clear... not enough data."
"Oh, great, Dr. Freud, thank you so much! The session with Ella today was really crappy, stop analysing me."
"Sorry."
They rarely spoke about John's therapy sessions, not that Mary didn't ask, but John was usually not eager to share. She was often teasing him a bit or trying to coax him out into the light with it. He had managed to open up a bit about the sessions during the past months, but Mary expressed that she wanted to know more. The topic surfaced every time John had nightmares or Mary suspected he was having another kind of problem he didn't share.
So - while the late night news flickered across the telly - he told her more about what he had told Ella.
"I know I've said this before, but it's like… he has changed. This is… He's not even telling me how stupid I am or how blind, neither is he insulting me on a regular basis. He doesn't hint how he is superior to others."
"Oh, he is!" Mary contradicted.
"Maybe, but not like before, not like he used to be. He has… aged, grown up, the really hard way," John struggled to explain, "I don't know... I can't really put a finger on it, but it's his posture, it's kind of… he has lost something virgin - not in a sexual way - but some aspects of not knowing or not understanding are gone. He has seen things... learned things, hard things, bad things. I can see it in his attitude and his eyes. His mind has aged, it's the one of a much more mature man, it scares me."
He paused, staring into space while searching for words.
"It's like the young men that have gone through their first tour in the service, when they come back, you can see it in their eyes how much it has changed them. Something is gone."
John once more rubbed his face with his palms, a sign of exhaustion and being lost, he used far too often these days.
"I mean I always wished he'd grow up a bit, but not like this, this scares me. He's so… soft. No, some of his facial expressions and emotional remarks are, some of them might be even oddly authentic, but the rest isn't, it's covering up other things, I suppose. It's creeping me out. It's so very different, it's unsettling."
"Well, I have to keep an eye on that, not sure yet, what you mean."
"No matter what I do, it's not helping. You have no comparison... Shit. I feel so useless. I don't know what to do."
"John, you're looking really battered, let's go to bed," she hugged him and kissed his temple. The doctor briefly kissed her on the mouth, he was overwhelmed once more with the amount of help she was offering. He had pondered a lot about how to reconcile Sherlock and Mary in the upcoming weeks, expecting it to be difficult.
They switched off the lights and headed upstairs with the tablet.
Overall Mary seemed to be curious to get to know Sherlock better, she seemed not jealous at all, not that she was the type, but he had seen too often how women reacted to Sherlock, their friendship, and their shared interest in solving crimes, to not fear it.
He had explained that and his concerns to Mary. But she made it clear she understood and that she'd like to see how they worked together, their routine, and that she wanted him to be happy and if that included solving cases with Sherlock so it was.
John once more considered himself lucky to have met her and was reminded why he loved her.
"I'll get up every hour and check on him, use the earplugs, you need some rest. I'm starting to really worry about you, too," Mary offered when they had shut their bedroom door.
"Don't, I'll manage. Sherlock is the one needing help," John sat down on the edge of his side of the bed while Mary started changing into pyjamas.
"John… I have to tell you something. Please don't be angry, but… I read a few books about PTSD during the past three months."
"What? Seriously? Why?" John was clearly a bit annoyed and turned around to look at her.
"Honestly, I think that's quite obvious... Because, my future husband was diagnosed with it and although he has told me about some major issues I am a bit clueless about the rest. So I thought it was a good idea… and because I'm working as a nurse, for god's sake. I wanted background."
"Oh," John pressed his lips into a line.
"Have you ever read a book about it? I mean a real book, not just that patient information pamphlet stuff."
John puckered his lips, clearly not eager to talk about it.
"No. I relied on what my therapists told me when they diagnosed me and read a large heap of patient leaflets and booklets I was given. I read no medical book about it, but I did read the survey for military personnel at the topic. Well, maybe you're right and this is the point to do it," he pressed his fingertips into his nape, trying to draw out some tension. "Guess I tried to evade that before."
"That's why you preferred to use Ella's filters on it. But I think she is in a bit of a dilemma there. I think she can't do that. A: she doesn't seem to be the person to understand Sherlock at all, and we know there are quite a load of people out there who don't. And B: you're asking her to move to a meta level and discuss things from there when you have no background and she thinks it wouldn't be healthy for you to discuss things like this with her as your therapist... You know, as in undermining the methods of the therapy by explaining them."
"So, you think she thinks discussing it from a medical POV will interact badly with our doctor-patient relationship?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't she just tell me? Or told me which book to read, then?"
"I think she thinks you are either not ready or maybe that you shouldn't try to 'treat' him."
"I am not, of course not! And I made that quite clear. I just need to understand what's going on. Help him help himself, because that's the only way."
"I know, but does she?... But in a way that's what a therapist does, right?"
"Yes, but not in that way. It's totally different to…"
"You don't have to explain, I know. You're not trying to 'treat' him like a doctor, you're trying to make him better like a friend. Maybe that's why she didn't tell you about specialist books and is not eager to explain it to you, so you could go keep those separate in your line of action. Though I think she could do better. The more you tell me about her the more I wonder why you picked her as your therapist. She seems to understand very little."
"Don't! I struggled enough to try to trust her, don't undermine that."
"Sorry," she hugged him from behind, then explained she was aware that what Ella had suggested needed a serious Sherlock-compatibility-overhaul. She agreed that most of the approaches the therapist had in stock where good with normal people, but total nonsense with the detective, he'd either not understand the questions or would point out it was total nonsense.
"John, I'm sorry about not telling you earlier about the books. The thing is I love you and I wanted to know what was happening. I've seen your nightmares and I felt I needed some background to handle them better. I wanted to know the dos and don'ts, understand a bit more. So I kind of had the same motive you have with him, now, you know."
"What did you read?"
"Some semi specialist stuff I'd call it. It's not written for studying psychology or doctor's educations. Two books for nurses and staff in hospitals, which are mostly about handling the problems and explaining general mechanisms… one for relatives and friends about all day problems and how to solve them. All written by specialists but for people without psychology education," she let go of him and folded back her duvet.
"Great," John sighed.
"Darling, I did this because I love you and want to support you, not to give you the impression that you are not able to..."
"I know!" John answered hastily, a bit unnerved. Then his tone softened, "Thank you for all your understanding and assistance. I'm sorry that this is awkward… It's just... that it is hard, bringing up all my own symptoms and issues for the third time... and like this... and discussing things."
"I know, you were just starting to get over the Fall and the loss and now he's back and it's all stirred up. I want to be there for you."
She crawled over the bed to his side again and gently stroked his head, then leaned over him to kiss him with a smile.
"Come on, let's cuddle, I'm cold."
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A/N:
I'd love to know what you think.
Thanks for reading.
