John comes back after what feels like forever.

"Mycroft put you on suicide watch... he had a meeting today, and didn't want you released until we could be free."

"I was told I could leave yesterday."

"Yeah, I know... he's on his way to straighten things out."

"I want to go home."

"I know, we're going to go home soon."

I turn away, my back facing John.

"The nurses wouldn't give me your violin, I'm sorry." John tries to apologize, but it does not good.

"Go away." My voice is low. "Leave me alone."

"Nope, that's not going to happen."

"Go away."

"Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere... nothing has changed between us, you know that, right?"

"Yes, it has." I turn back in anger. "Nothing is the same, Allan is gone, I'm being forced to wear a tracker, Mycroft is trying to dictate my life... You're not you, it's-...it's all wrong."

"What do you mean?" John looks confused again.

"Open your eyes and observe!" I want to knock the flowers off my table, I want to break something and use the pieces to-

"I am observing, you're not alright." John's voice is... what is that tone? "I'm not going to leave you here alone like this. You don't have to pretend to be okay, alright?"

Tisk tisk, so tedious. He's trying to fool you into thinking he cares. You know that the only person who cared is dead.

John... John cares.

John? Are you sure? John H. Watson? The one who beat you us after you returned, the one who beat you after you killed his wife? The one who-

John cares... he did that to get his frustration out.

Finally, you understand that that's all your good for.

I have a mind palace.

And a death wish.

"Sherlock?" Another voice causes me to pause my thinking, but not physically react.

I'm in a numbed state, I can hear everything around me, yet I can't feel it. This is more satisfying that being in constant pain. My eyes are closed and my fingers are steepled, giving the appearance that I'm in my mind palace.

"He went into this... daze?" John sounds worried. "I called him out on not being okay."

"Is he going to ever be okay?" The foreign voice belongs to Lestrade.

"I don't know... The nurses took his violin last night."

"What?" Lestrade sounds appalled. "Why did they do that?"

"Mycroft put Sherlock on suicide watch."

"Did he try to..."

"No, it's a long story... I'm just worried about Sherlock right now."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"No, all we can do is... hope he realizes none of this is his fault."

Liar. It is my fault.

"How is Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice enters my hearing range.

"I don't know." John sighs. "He went into this daze after I told him he wasn't okay."

"Ah, dissociation again, Sherlock?" The bed dips beside me, I presume it's Mycroft given it's his voice speaking. "Snap out of it."

"Mycroft, what are you doing?" (Lestrade.)

"Could I have triggered him somehow?" John sounds sick. "Does he have PTSD?"

"He refused to be screened for it." Mycroft answers in an irritated tone.

"The nurses took his violin." Lestrade informs his lover.

"They've been dealt with, we're checking Sherlock out of this hospital."

"This hospital?" John's voice rings with concern.

"I'm sending him to a facility."

"No, he will lose it." John snaps.

"And he already hasn't?" Mycroft snaps back. "Look at him, Dr. Watson, he's in a dissociative state."

A hand on my shoulder makes me open my eyes and look at my shoulder.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" It's John's hand.

I nod. Everything is moving so slow... it's as if I've watching everything, yet not really here.

"Can you tell me about something, anything?"

"I'm fine." The words feel odd and unreal on my tongue, as if they're not my own.

"No, you're really not."

"I'm fine."

"You're going to a facility." Mycroft speaks.

"I don't care." The last piece of self control I have breaks.

"That's not the Sherlock I know." He looks detached.

"Pity, I must be so interesting when I actually give a damn." I roll my eyes.

"You will spend at least a week in a facility, they will assess you and alert me as to when you're safe enough to return into the general population."

"No, we're not doing that." John looks shocked. "Mycroft, he will, literally, go to hell in there."

"He will get help in there." Mycroft counters. "We cannot chance him running away again."

"What about the- the- the ankle tracker?"

"We could do that, but then again... would that be helpful?"

"I am perfectly safe to return to civilization." I say through the fog that is trying to re-engulf me.

"I'm not so sure about that, brother mine."

"I'm safer than you, you would eat your way through a bakery, then sue them for running out of cake."

I hear John chuckle beside me.

"Mycroft, let him go back to Baker street." Lestrade whispers. "If it doesn't work, than we'll give the facility a shot.

All eyes are on Mycroft.

"It would seem I'm outnumbered in this decision." He folds. "You win, Sherlock will return to Baker street."

He's not going to hold up to his agreement.

I know.

You're going to be sent away.

I know.

John will hate you,

I know, do you have anything I don't know?

It's your fault that this is even happening, so don't sass me.

Please leave me alone.