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. I am really glad Mr. Moffat and Mr. Gatiss created and own them, and that they made this terrific show. Thank you so much!

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Chapter 87 – Still Wednesday evening

When John felt Sherlock becoming very heavy suddenly, he tightened his grip. Mycroft supported his brother on the other side without problems, though gave a grunt of surprise. Together it wasn't too hard to keep him upright. The older Holmes, who was a few centimetres higher than Sherlock, had the advantage of a better angle.

"Okay, let's make him lie down."

"Right. He'll probably sleep through an earthquake right now. His body does that sometimes, switch him off. I don't think he'll prevail any time soon," Mycroft stated.

He grimaced when he carefully lifted Sherlock's arm over his shoulders to better support his limp figure for the few remaining steps towards the sofa.

They carefully lowered him down.

Before, when they had peeled Sherlock out of his wet clothes it became clear to John that Mycroft had done that before. In fact he knew exactly where to hold, push and support to an unresponsive person. Moving somebody who was completely passive and slack was a difficult task, and most people - who's work didn't include this type of thing - were quite surprised when they were confronted with it for the first time.

In John's opinion the older Holmes had a normal healthy figure for a man his age, he couldn't understand Sherlock's constant bickering about his physique, and at the moment John was witness to the fact that the man was also stronger than he looked.

Without much of an effort Mycroft lifted both of Sherlock's legs up and folded them into a proper resting position.

Sherlock seemed to be asleep, his complexion was not too bad, his breathing slow and his pulse a bit fast, but overall okay.

While John went to get his bag to check Sherlock once more he passed Mary, who seemed to keep a very close eye on things, but held back from interfering, probably because she was wise enough to let Mycroft be involved as much as possible to make him understand what she had weeks ago.

John smiled at her and briefly kissed her cheek, "I love you."

When John returned he watched Mycroft literally tuck his little bother in, making sure that the blanket covered him completely and left no openings for cold air.

The rolled up sleeves, the partially wet shirt and trousers looked foreign, even misplaced on the British government, but it made John see the care and brotherly love, he knew were hidden in the stoic man.

Apparently Mycroft didn't recoil from these kind of things, to put in a bit of elbow grease was something he was ready to do, at least for Sherlock.

John had to unwrapped Sherlock's arm again though in order to check his BP, the older Holmes meanwhile took care of the fire.

"You guys look like you could use a drink," Mary said from the kitchen.

"Thank you, yes," Mycroft answered.

"There must be something in the kitchen drawer, but only use it if the seal isn't broken…"

"I know, John."

A few moments later she handed Mycroft a brandy glass.

The doctor said nothing while making sure his friend was really okay.

He was still angry at Mycroft, not only for the provocation of a flashback, but for the whole Moriarty thing, the fall and especially the fact that he hadn't taken better care of Sherlock during his 'vacation' as he called it, the term irked John as well.

Silently signalling them to go to the kitchen, he stored away his stethoscope. They vanished and a few moments later he followed them and closed the glass doors.

"I can see your disapproval, John. And I'm afraid, you're probably right. I should have listened to you. There was just so little progress and I failed him often enough in the past. I wanted to do the right thing this time."

"Right. By doing the same thing wrong, you always do wrong. By putting pressure on him or worsening the situation. Well done," John voiced his disappreciation.

When Mycroft looked at the ground, deep in thoughts for some long moments the doctor decided to poke a bit.

"What happened during your escape? What was he remembering?"

"I was late, John, far too late. He had been in the hands of the enemy for quite some time when I finally arrived. He had deemed it unnecessary to keep me up to date - I'm sure you have experienced this unfortunate trait before as well. As soon as I got notice about his incarceration I organised his extraction."

It was quite obvious from Mycroft's posture, that he was not eager to talk about it.

"I was held back when I had to live up to my cover, which added to the delay. I risked a lot to get there as soon as possible. When I finally met him other factors delayed our escape."

"What the hell happened?"

"He was kind of out of it… I mean the beatings, sleep deprivation and dehydration were bad. He wasn't able to walk unaided at first. When I realised he couldn't move fast on his own I had to switch to plan B, to make sure the window of a clear path would be a lot wider.

Making sure we would have enough time caused further delay and resulted in more physical abuse. It was the only way."

Mycroft kept his silence for some long moments, regret on his face.

"I'm not sure he really believed it was really me for quite some time… He treated me like a hallucination. He also kind of panicked when I freed him of the chains. In fact, I briefly considered gagging him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it."

John huffed in surprise, though he knew there were situations in which things like that would save lives, even when they sounded cruel.

"But he calmed down and kept quiet when I told him to."

Mycroft took a sip of his drink.

"As soon as we left the cellar we headed for my carefully planned escape route, through the rather wild estate's greening. The path should have been clear, but one of the stupid guards was secretly calling his girlfriend and we ran right into him. He was so concentrated on whispering dirty secrets into his phone he didn't really see us. It's always the human factor destroying good plans – or simple unprofessionalism."

He sighed and took another sip.

"Well, when we realised he was there we stopped, but it was too late, he had seen movement. Although he needed a rather long time to raise his silenced handgun I had not enough time to move us both out of the way. He hadn't really seen us, but decided to fire blind into the bushes. One bullet grazed my upper arm. I managed to neutralise our attacker, but it bled a lot and Sherlock was not really… his senses where not the most reliable source of information at that time."

"What does that mean?"

"When he realised I was hit his panic escalated, for a moment, though. He was fussing and shaken by the prospect of seeing me bleeding or the fact that I might be badly wounded. I've never seen him panic about a little graze like that. It was then that I started to realise something was wrong. I had never seen him like that. But I assumed it was because he was in such a bad state."

Mycroft took another sip from his glass.

"I'm afraid he was close to giving up, provoking them to kill him. He wasn't trusting me to really be there, assumed he was hallucinating."

"He told me he imagined me being with him when he was really bad, he might as well have called a virtual version of you," John shared.

"Yes, of course, especially since I hadn't interfered immediately after my arrival at the manor… I needed to observe, it was quite a complex task to get him out of there."

"You watched them torture him!" John hissed.

A few weeks ago, when John had met the older Holmes - shortly after he had learned about the torture - he had yelled at Mycroft for what he had done before the fall and the fact that he had watched his brother being tortured.*

Mycroft had been surprisingly rueful, uttered his regret about being unable to stop the ordeal, had apologised twice, and had endured John's shitstorm patiently.

"As is said before, I had to, yes. This memory will be one of the worst of my life. The regret and guilt I carry about that is heavy on me. If I had seen any way to prevent it, I would have done it. But interfering too early would have gotten both of us killed. It was the only way."

"Damn, Mycroft!" the doctor cursed.

"Obviously, I was sure my presence would make it clear the situation was under control, the imminent escape making it easier to endure the torment a bit longer. I was wrong. He didn't feel safe due to my presence. It seems I failed to protect him."

John saw more than heard it in the words how devastated and shaken the older Holmes had been by the events, his posture spoke volumes and left no doubt Mycroft was honestly elaborating his inner mind.

"It might have made the perception of being helpless even worse, that you were just standing by. As far as I know the absence of control brings forward the occurrence of trauma," John said.

He knew about some details of the escape, he had read file. There had been hints that it hadn't worked as smoothly as planned, but the reasons why hadn't been documented. John had tried to ask Anthea about it, but she had been as close lipped as usual.

"Right. Feeling vulnerable, at someone's mercy and / or helpless is a strong factor in the development of psychological trauma," Mycroft stated.

"How do you know…?"

"I actually sought advice from one of the specialists I tried to recommend before. I needed to know exactly what my brother was facing and therefore discussed his behaviour with one of our psychologists."

"At least you didn't read a book," John rolled his eyes.

"Pardon?"

Mary, who was busying herself with preparing dinner, gave an annoyed huff.

"Never mind. He eventually was sure you were not bleeding to death or in grave danger and you went on."

"He had problems to shake off the additional stress my wound caused him. I was very glad when we finally found the carefully hidden escape vehicle. After several detours we finally reached a small airfield, then flew to Bari. It was an excruciating exercise, we were both unwell and he seemed to be dragged or thrown into his Mind Palace on several occasions, not able to fight his way out."

John wondered if this was Mycroft's description of what was also known of 'thousand yard stare' or if Sherlock had really actively used the Mind Palace.

"All right, get off that shirt," John suddenly changed directions. He just needed a minute to process this… and get his lingering frustration out off the way.

Mycroft cared much about Sherlock, he knew that. That's how they had met and it was the main reason for them meeting nowadays.

It even rose to ridiculous heights when the British government came over to play childhood games with his little brother, just to be present or keeping him company.

In the first days John had stayed over he had found the old games and asked Sherlock about them.

Sherlock had explained he had played with his brother. At first John thought it was a joke, but now he was sure Mycroft had left his job to watch over his brother, made sure he didn't do anything stupid after being rebuffed by his friend.

The fact that the older Holmes had infiltrated the compound himself to get his little brother out spoke volumes, John wasn't sure he could believe it when he first heard it. He had assumed Mycroft would send some special trained agents, but he went himself, did actual risky footwork.

As much as they were quarrelling and pricky in their communication on the surface, and as brusque as their interactions were, their odd care for each other was a mixture of sincere and rough, and sometimes even careful and tender, like right now. The doctor had no doubt it had been like that during their escape, too.

Sherlock trusted his brother, maybe not when it came to criminals or government topics, but on a more basic level of existence.

Even though Mycroft had - fully aware it would have this effect - caused an intense flashback an hour ago, and Sherlock had suffered through its aftermath - the detective had not refused him when he resurfaced.

There was a level of Sherlock-being-seriously-hurt when Mycroft became tender and he was never denied by his younger sibling in those situations, although the forms this took were often strange for a 'normal' person.

Although Sherlock had made some remarks over the time that showed scant respect for Mycroft in their childhood, it must have been present, otherwise the younger Holmes would not refer to it as often as he did.

John assumed in their childhood Mycroft had been the one explaining the world, being the translator and guide, who knew how society and human interaction worked, and how to behave correctly. The doctor was also sure Sherlock's parents have tried to understand their son, but weren't as capable as Mycroft was.

"What did you do when he had the episode at your house?" John asked while Mycroft unbuttoned his shirt.

"As I described to you before, he collapsed from the stress of watching the surveillance footage.** When he regained consciousness a few moments later, he freaked out, delirious with pain and fever. I tried to hold and soothe him at first, but he was too much out of it, so I tried to restrain him. He was more furious at me than ever before. It went out of control and I was afraid he might hurt himself or me, but due to my injury I couldn't manage, not even with Anthea's help. So she called for my doctor, who was already in the house. He tranquillised him."

"Did he attack you?"

"… Not really."

"What does that mean?"

"I will not elaborate… He was still angry days later when he finally was getting better, by then his anger had changed into a constant low level spite, which once more spiked when I made him stay in the house to recover before seeing you. I am sorry for how all this worked out."

"You need to tell him, not me."

"I know."

Mycroft shoved the wet silk of his shirt down his arm. It bared a fresh red scar.

"There were times during his vacation when I lost track of him," the older Holmes continued, "…even a period of two full months without any messages. I was starting to give up hope that he was still alive. I must say that those months affected me… profoundly, and I do not wish to repeat such an experience."

It was a through-and-through that had damaged Mycroft's lateral head of triceps, without doubt a painful injury that he'd feel for months. He was as skilful as his brother hiding the pain. The wound was healing nicely and had no doubt received excellent care.

"Before, when you confronted him with the smell, he held onto this arm and you couldn't support him, could you?"

"No."

John nodded at him to get dressed again.

"About one thing we need to be absolutely clear: You will not do a stunt like that again!" John's tone was hard now, "You will not deliberately provoke something, just to make a point! He needs support and protection from triggers right now."

"I was told EMDR is very effective in order to come to terms with those damaging memories."

"It is, and it is working very well with most PTSD patients."

Mycroft just nodded and when John took breath to inform him that now was not the right moment for this, he anticipated the words and said, "I know."

Mycroft then finished his drink and went for a second.

"The thing is, he's Sherlock, he doesn't do moderate, and he doesn't do healthy doses, whatever it is," the older Holmes continued, "As you are well aware, he has no normal way to vent things, there is only 'appearing normal' and 'breaking point' and the last time the latter came without warning, because he does not do 'in between'. All or nothing. He doesn't know how to relax and gather strength. And his cluelessness almost killed him once. He can switch his mind off with drugs, that's the danger. He states it's the only thing that gives him peace. He has no healthy self healing mechanisms every normal person has."

"I know. He needs someone who understands him. So, all you have to do right now is listen to his needs and be there… and respect the triggers. Help him get them out of the way for now. He has done important first steps and is on his way to find his own healing mechanisms," John hesitated, not sure how to talk about the drugs topic without mentioning Sherlock's minor relapse.

"One more thing about the drugs… We had a longer talk about that a few days ago and… I am quite sure it is not a problem at the moment."

"Interesting."

"Why?"

"He never talks about the drugs."

"Well, he did with me and I think it was a good start. I trust him with this right now… I decide if he needs meds and I am the only one who administers medication, too."

"Really? Good," there was a hint of doubt in Mycroft's voice, though.

"You know about the plant and the homeless man?" John changed topics once more.

Mycroft frowned, which John interpreted as a 'not really'.

"Okay, we'll talk about that later. Why don't you get one of Sherlock's clean shirts while I check on him again before we eat."

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*Lessons in Friendship 8, Chapter 20

** Lessons in Friendship 8, Chapter 24

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