"Mr. Holmes." A woman's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I was moved to a room around an hour ago, after they drew several vials of blood to test. Right now the course of treatment is 'push fluids and make sure I'm observed for at least 24 hours.' Typical.
"Yes?" exhaustion is weighing on my body and mind.
"Your family would like to see you, would it be alright if we send them in?"
"What family?"
"There are three men and a child waiting to see you.
"Send them in." I sit up and try to at least look like myself.
I'm being a pretentious bastard, why would I bother think that people care? They don't.
I'm a hypochondriac, I do not have Stockholm syndrome, and I was not abused. I'm just over reacting, nothing happened that hadn't happened before.
Knocked around a bit, John's knocked me around...
Sex without desire... it's happened, although when it happened before it was rape, in my relationship it was a necessary deed to keep Allan appeased. No big deal. Everything is fine.
I want to smack myself for even considering that Allan could have been abusive.
I'm so stupid, I must be seeking attention. He was not abusive, I'm just being stupid and attention seeking.
"Daddy." I hear a child's voice and look up to see Rosie standing beside my bed.
"No, I'm not daddy." I can't help but smile at her.
"Daddy." She holds her arms up, wanting me to hold her.
How could I deny her?
I reach down despite the IV in my arm, and I pick her up, setting her on the bed beside me.
"How are you feeling?" Lestrade's looking anywhere but me.
"Fine, Lestrade." I smile as I watch Rosie playing with the remote for the telly.
"Where were you?" John's arms are crossed as he stands at the foot of my bed.
"I went out." I look up at him, away from the now drifting off Rosie, hardening my face. "Isn't that in the rules that I can leave?"
"No, Sherlock." John is getting angry. "You burned your hands, slit your wrists, and then you ran off."
"What?" Lestrade looks shocked. "He did what?"
"Quiet, Rosie is almost asleep." I snap quietly.
"He slit his wrists." John repeats in a smaller tone.
"God." Lestrade looks sick. "Why, Sherlock."
"If I wanted to have a social conversation about it I would have brought it up." I find it hard to contain my anger, but Rosie sleeping on my arm keeps me back.
Hold it back for her. Hold it back for Rosie.
"Brother Mine, I think we should discuss where you went." Mycroft sits in a chair next to my bed.
"It's done, why does it matter right now?" My shoulders stiffen. I must hold myself together. For Rosie.
"Your hands were only first degree burns, your wrists were cut deeply and required eight stitches in total, you had enough drugs still in your system to-"
"She's asleep, can't you keep it down." I growl at Mycroft, pulling Rosie closer and keeping an arm around her protectively.
"She's sound asleep, you're projecting." Mycroft's face doesn't give.
"She deserves some peace and quiet, she deserves to rest."
"She or you?" Mycroft continues.
"Rosie does." I hate that he thinks I'm talking about myself.
"Your doctor said you kept repeating a phrase while they were stitching you up." John makes his voice known once more.
"Why does this matter." I keep an eye on Rosie.
"He said you said 'That you're never going to stay in line unless someone keeps you there', and that you completely dissociated for the duration of your treatment until they brought you to this room."
"Torture gives you advantages." I say sharply, but quiet my voice when Rosie starts shifting.
"At least you admit that Allan's treatment of you was torture." He sounds relieved.
"What?" I'm confused.
"What?" John looks even more confused.
"I was speaking if Serbia..."
"When you were dismantling Moriarty's network, you mentioned it." John nods, still confused, but then it hits him. "Oh god, you were tortured while you were dead."
"Naturally, if one is captured one is to be tortured." I roll my eyes but want to hide and stop remembering Serbia.
"Oh god." John is still in shock. "You were..."
"John, it's nothing to be concerned about." I'm unsure how to handle this situation.
"You cock." Anger wins over the shock. "You said you were just dismantling the network."
"You didn't want to hear the story."
"Don't turn this on me." His face is turning red. "You were tortured, and you didn't tell me."
"You didn't want to know about it." I look away, losing the battle. "You don't want to know about it."
"Sherlock, do you have nightmares about it?" John sits on the edge of my bed.
"No." Yes.
"What did Allan do about the nightmares?" He takes a deep breath.
"What nightmares?"
"You've screamed every night that you've been home, when I go check on you you're always having a nightmare."
"I'm fine." Everything inside is screaming at me for being weak and not feeling alright.
"What would Allan do about nightmares?"
"Kick me out of the room to sleep where I belong."
"Where?" John's voice is tight.
"Kennel." I shrug. "Better than a Serbian cell any day."
"Sherlock..." John's voice rings with an emotion I don't recognize, when I look at him I see tears in his eyes.
"What did I do wrong?" Anxiety twists my stomach.
"You didn't do anything wrong." John looks as if he's struggling to hold back the tears.
"Why are you upset?" I furrow my brows.
"Because people have hurt you, Sherlock." He loses the battle of tears as one falls down his face.
"It's perfectly natural, John." I shake my head.
"No, no, it's not." He shakes his head.
"Yes, it is." I protest. "You've hurt me before."
"God." John covers his face with his hands.
"John?" Now I'm worried I messed up.
"Sherlock... god, I shouldn't have hurt you." He removes his hands from his face and he looks distraught. "It's never okay to hurt someone, never."
"But, when I came back from Serbia and told you I was alive, and when I killed Mary, your anger was justified."
"But hurting you wasn't- oh god, you just came back from being tortured when I attacked you?!"
"It's nothing, John."
"That is something!" He screeches, waking Rosie up who begins crying.
"Shh, it's alright." I set her up in my lap and shush her. "Go back to sleep, love."
"Daddy." She whines as she nuzzles into my arm, going back to sleep.
"Sherlock, you're going back to Bakers street, but if you leave again you're being sent to a facility."
"Again, Mycroft?" I sigh, tired of his threats. "Really, I think that the first time was enough."
"What?" John turns to Mycroft.
"When Sherlock was first in Uni he took to many drugs, he was messed up, and by all definition a junkie." Mycroft looks disgusted. "I sent him to a fa cility for a short amount of time so he would be straightened out."
"Straight jackets and padded walls are the way to fix it, aren't they Mycroft." I hiss sarcastically.
"Okay, calm down." Lestrade steps between myself and his boyfriend. "This isn't important at the moment."
"Like hell." John looks pissed. "Sherlock was committed, tortured, abused, and now he's a junkie hooked on drugs and cutting."
"That was one time, John." In attempt to defend myself, I plead my case before a judge more ruthless than anyone I've ever met... I plead my case to my best friend, John.
"Deep enough that you needed eight stitches." he points out.
"True, but it was only once."
"Sherlock." Mycroft says in a warning tone, I look at him with a look that says 'shut up.'
"What's this look?" John is being paranoid.
"Nothing." I answer.
"Sherlock has a past." Mycroft's voice takes precedence over mine.
"Good, god, he's done it before hasn't he?"
"Yes and no." Mycroft clicks his umbrella on the floor.
"Sherlock used to injure himself when we were younger, he did it to cope with the loss of his best friend and his sister."
"Eurus and Victor Trevor." John whispers.
"Yes, he would do a number of things, it went unnoticed by our parents, but I noticed."
I feel like mocking his words but I'm not a child, I will not mock him... I will not...
But I noticed.
Shit, I mocked him in my head.
Maybe I'm not an adult.
Piss off inner voice.
"What would he do?"
"Challenge any children stupid enough to cross paths with him, Sherlock has never been a very excellent fighter, so he would purposely get into fights so he would be injured."
"I picked fights to become a better fighter."
"Oh, I suppose the burning was so you could be a better fire fighter then, and cutting was so you could be a better knife fighter?" Mycroft's voice drips with sarcasm, and John's face goes pale.
"He...?"
"Yes, he did burn himself and cut himself only a handful of times before I took all of his sharp objects and lighters."
Everyone looks at me, but I just raise my chin defiantly and pray to a god I don't believe in that I can get out of here soon.
"Anything else?"
"Oh I could go on for days with the things he would do to himself." Mycroft scoffs. "I listed the most notable, other than his one attempt at running away."
"If you have any respect for me than stop this." I snap at my brother, slightly disturbing Rosie, I shush her as I glare at my brother.
"Good thing we're above respect." Mycroft forces a smile. I want to wipe that smile off his face with his own stupid tie.
"Maybe we should stop." Lestrade looks awkward. "He's a bit uncomfortable."
"I've never seen any scars aside from when he returned home from the hospital after Allan..." John seems to be in shock... again.
"Sherlock is decent at hiding things when he doesn't want goldfish to see." Mycroft glares back.
"Stop it." I feel anger boiling inside of me and I just want to scream.
"Oh, pity, we were having such a heart to heart."
"Leave." I narrow my eyes at my brother.
"Now, is that any way to treat your own brother."
"Is this any way to treat your brother?" I retort defiantly.
"Mycroft, come on, we can come back in the morning to pick him up."
"Alright, Gregory." Mycroft agrees.
"Focus of getting better." Lestrade nods to me before he and Mycroft leave without another word.
Oh, was it something I said?
Shit, even my thoughts are sarcastic now.
"Sherlock, I'm going to have to be going too." John looks sorrowful.
"Alright." I glance down at Rosie, feeling my heart twist in pain at the thought of letting her go.
"I'll be back in the morning, I'll bring Rosie too." He smiles as he reaches and takes Rosie from me.
Rosie starts whining, but quickly goes back to sleep on John's shoulder.
"Bye, Sherlock, we'll be back in the morning." John reaches in his pocket with his free hand and sets a phone down on my bed. "This is your new phone, it has your old number, and your free to use it as much as you want."
"Thank you." I'm genuinely grateful.
"If you need me, you call."
"Okay." I smile.
"Bye, Sherlock." John leaves with that.
I pick up the phone and dial in a number, I have a phone call to make.
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"I need you, John."