t's okay. It's okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.
It's like a bad song, it keeps circling my head. I know this is not okay. John is angry with me, I closed the door... I shouldn't have done that. I'm worried about what my punishment will be.
Please don't be the violin.
Rationally, I know that losing my violin is the only punishment that John will use... but, it doesn't mean that I have to like it.
I must be punished to be kept in line.
But, I don't want to lose my violin. I'd rather suffer at the hands of the Serbian's than to lose my violin again.
Am I being unreasonable? Yes.
Am I scared? I refuse to admit that.
Am I worried? Yes.
Am I going to fight against John when he comes back to punish me? No.
Slowly, my heart rate reduces to normal speed.
Am I going to leave this spot? No.
Am I going to beg for forgiveness again? No.
Do I deserve whatever John has planned? Yes.
John left so sudden... what if he's never coming back? What if my punishment is being left alone forever?
I'd like to believe that John wouldn't do that... but I know that he will if he thinks it's the proper punishment.
Should I go find him and give him my violin? Probably.. yes, I should.
Am I going to go and find him? Maybe... no, I'm really not.
A soft knock makes me jump, causing me to press myself back into the corner once more, heart rate having once more increased.
"Sherlock?" The door opens and I see John standing there.
"I'm sorry." I can't meet his gaze. Wordlessly, I hold the violin out and struggle not to cry.
"What are you doing?"
There are rules. No speaking, you screwed that one already, but maybe you should at least try to obey the rules.
"Answer him." Mycroft's unexpected voice causes me to flinch and close my eyes tightly.
"I'm sorry." I mouth the words, not making any sound.
"What happened?" Lestrade joins the mix of men at my door.
"He closed the door." John explains quietly.
"... And?" Lestrade sounds like he's waiting for something.
"Rules, Gregory." Mycroft's voice is still very sharp.
"I wish I could kill that bloody cock." Lestrade's voice rings with anger.
"I'm sorry." I mouth again, not opening my eyes.
"Sherlock, mate, open your eyes." John's voice is gentle, it worries me more than if it were cold and frighteningly aggressive. "It's okay, just open your eyes."
Taking several deep breaths, I force myself to open my eyes. Instantly, my eyes lock with John's. He's about two feet away from me, sitting on the floor.
"Good, good." He seems... relieved? No, that can't be right. What is this look?
The weight of my violin makes me feel sad, I know I have to do what's right. I hold the violin out further and lay it in front of John.
"What are you doing?" John's question makes me want to cry.
Punishment.
"It's okay to talk, what are you doing?" He urges.
"... Punishment..." My voice is hardly audible to me, but I know John heard me because his expression changed... but I still don't understand why he looks upset. "Please don't burn it."
Did I miss something?
Did he have a different punishment in mind?
"No, no, Sherlock, you're not going to be punished." His voice sounds... hurt?
"I'm sorry." Hurt = I did something wrong = punishment.
"John, let me talk to him." Lestrade offers.
"Alright." John gets off the floor and retreats to the doorway, Lestade takes his place on the floor.
"Look at me, Sherlock." His voice is patient. Patient = ... trick?
"Look at him." Mycroft orders me.
Instantly, I look up to Lestrade, only to shift my gaze to the wall beside him.
"That'll... work..."
"I'm sorry." Disappointment = I did something wrong.
"No, you don't have to be sorry." He rushes. "You're fine, you didn't do anything wrong."
Lies.
"Sherlock, why are you scared?" He tries. "It's okay to answer."
A quick glance at John lets me know I'm allowed to talk.
"It's okay, Sherlock." John nods.
"I closed the door." My gaze moves to the violin on the floor in front of me.
"The rules changed, remember?" Lestrade reminds gently.
"I broke the rules." Allan taught me the rules, I broke them. I'm in trouble.
"No, you didn't." John rejoins our tiny group, sitting next to me, but not so close we touch.
"I'm sorry." Attempting to move further into the wall, I find I'm unable to, which causes me to panic slightly.
"It's okay." He doesn't touch me, but his tone is soothing. "You're not in trouble."
"I'm sorry." Soothing tone = False comfort and safety.
"What happened?"
"I broke the rules."
"No, what happened?" John furrows his brows.
"I broke the rules... I deserve to be punished." I can't help but feel like this is going to be the worst punishment ever.
"John... what happened before you called us?" Lestrade stands up, rubbing his knees as if they're hurting slightly.
"We were arguing, Sherlock was zoned out in a daze, I asked what was going on... we argued." John acts like he cares and feels guilty. Why would he?
Care, or feel guilty?
Stop.
He doesn't care, he hates you, you broke the rules.
Please, stop.
He doesn't feel guilty, you are the one who is guilty.
"Sherlock." Mycroft's voice cuts through the fog of my mind. "Why must you be so-"
"Mycroft, no." John snaps. "We don't- oh, god." His face goes pale.
"John, what's wrong?" Lestrade is instantly worried, as am I.
"I... I triggered him." John stands up and moves back to the doorway, leaving me completely alone in the corner.
"How?" Lestrade questions, Mycroft is remaining silent, but I can't help but notice the irritation in his stance.
"When we were arguing, I called him a... I..." John's face is ashen, and he looks sick. "I called him a cock."
"And you believe you triggered my brother?" Mycroft clicks his cane twice, irritation showing even more in his body language.
"I must have... it makes sense."
"Sherlock, your goldfish is being stupid, again." Mycroft scoffs, clicking his cane again.
"John, you didn't... I'm fine." Pulling my knees closer to my chest, I burry my face in them.
"No, no, you're not." John's voice cracks slightly.
"What do we do?" Lestrade whispers to his lover, Mycroft.
"Nothing, Sherlock will have to open up himself before we can do anything."
"Alright, then, thank you for trying to help, you guys can go... I've got him." What is that in John's voice? He sounds... unsure? No, that can't be... Perhaps, he sounds concerned, no, no, no. That makes even less sense. Anger? No. What is this?
He's upset, dufus.
Ah, I was wondering when you were going to show up, Moritarty.
He's upset because you let this happen, you didn't protect Allan. John knows how weak you are.
I'm not weak.
Look at yourself, you couldn't even tell John the truth.
I haven't lied to him.
Serbia.
I physically flinch at the word, even though it was only in my mind.
You decided to take my network down? Pathetic, you know that my network will never die.
I dismanteled your network.
You really think that? You're stupider than I thought.
"Sherlock, mate, I don't know if you can hear me..." John's voice draws me from my thoughts. "Um... Mycroft and Lestrade left a while ago, you... I know you're not okay. But, I also know that you... Sherlock, I'm sorry." His voice completely breaks off into what I could almost swear is a sob.
Why are you sorry, John?
"I know that you're in a daze, I don't know when you'll come out... but, I swear, I swear on my life that I won't cause this again, I'm so sorry."
No, you don't have to be sorry, John. I'm the one who's sorry.
"I, umm... I made you some tea?" His statement comes off more like a question. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault, John." Finally, I bring myself to speak aloud.
"Sher-, thank god." That is definitely relief, but why? I'm troublesome.
"I'm sorry I scared you." My voice sounds far to calm to me.
"It's okay, you don't have to be sorry, you're perfect."
"I think it would be beneficial if we were to have a written copy of the rules on hand."
"What?"
"Lestrade didn't remember the rules, he didn't understand that I broke them."
"... Sherlock..."
"Yes, John?"
"You're an idiot." He chuckles lightly.
I furrow my brows in confusion. I understand that this is a joke, but why is he joking with me?
"I don't understand." Are the first words to come from my mouth, without my consent none the less.
"What do you not understand?" He is sitting in front of me, only a few inches away.
"We need the rules, why are you joking about them?"
"Okay, I won't joke about rules." John nods solemnly. "We'll work together and write the rules down if that'll make you feel better."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"John... can I ask a question?"
Don't ask him you fool.
"Of course, you can ask my anything."
Don't ask.
"Umm..." My gaze shifts from him to the wall behind him. "Can I have something to drink?"
Good, don't you ever dare ask him the other question.
"Yeah, let's go make you a cuppa that isn't cold."
"How are you two doing?" Mrs. Hudson walks into John's-... no, our flat.
Idiot. It's John's flat, you own nothing.
"Wonderfully." John smiles. "How's Rosie, not to difficult?"
"She's fine." She waves John off. "How are you feeling, Sherlock?"
"Very well, Mrs. Hudson." Sipping my tea, I feel more relaxed than earlier. "Do we have any biscuits?"
"No, sorry, love." She apologizes. "We ran out this morning."
"Oh, pity."
"Do you think you two will be off solving murders soon?" She seems slightly anxious.
"What brings you here, Mrs. Hudson?" My mind is working in a direction, I do hope I'm wrong.
Her face flushes slightly. "Well, I was wondering if-"
"Drop Rosie off at five." A smirk spreads across my face as I realize I'm right.
You're not cleaver, you're ordinary.
"Sherlock." A hand taps my arm.
"Hmm?" Looking around, I see John's hand on my arm.
"What happened?" He's whispering, Mrs. Hudson is no where in sight.
"I, um..." My brain freezes up, no words seem to be in my mind.
"I'm not mad, just tell me why you went into your daze... thing..."
"Mrs. Hudson is meeting her boyfriend, she wanted to make sure we could handle Rosie."
"We?" John looks pleasantly surprised.
"I... I can watch her if you have plans."
"No, I don't have plans." His eyes have tears.
"John, what's wrong?" Panic sets in when I realize I said something wrong.
"Sherlock, I'm so proud of you." He wipes his eyes and smiles brightly.
"John... what did I do, did I say something wrong?"
"Nothing, Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why are you doing that?" I gesture at the tears he is still wiping.
"Sometimes you're really happy, so you cry." He chuckles.
"Why are you happy?" I'm so confused.
"It's... you said we."
"What?"
"Never mind, Sherlock." He keeps smiling.
"Okay." Looking back to my tea, I can't help but keep glancing at John.
What made him so happy?
Not you.
Must you bother me right now?
"John-" Do NOT ask him.
"Yeah?"
"Can... can we, maybe, um..."
DON'T ASK HIM.
"Could we what, Sherlock?"
"Can we go see Eurus?"
I TOLD YOU NOT TO ASK HIM.
"I don't know." He looks hesitant. "Maybe in a few weeks, I want to make sure that you're fully recovered from your stay in the hospital."
"Alright." I nod. That seems reasonable enough.
"So... fancy a little telly?"
"Okay, sure."
"Wake up, don't make me call you again." Allan's voice startles me from sleep.
"Allan?" My stomach is churning; I feel so sick.
"Why is this house a mess?"
"What?" Forcing myself out of bed, I leave the comfort of our room to find my boyfriend.
I find him in the kitchen, scowling at a sink full of dishes.
"What's wrong, Allan?" My eyes are blurry, and my head is pounding. This is worse than the aftermath of 'stag night.'
"I slave at work all day and this is what I get?" He points to the dishes. "Are you stupid, or did you forget I'm the one supplying your food and shelter?"
"I'm sorry." The room is spinning, and I'm so cold.
"You didn't even cook anything!" He doesn't calm down. "I slave away day after day for you, and you do nothing!"
"I know, you're right."
"Am I the only person who does anything?" He turns the water on and starts slamming the dishes down on the counter agressivly.
"Don't, I'll take care of it." Cautiously, I step to the sink next to him.
"Stop it." He shoves me away and starts washing the dishes. "Don't go pretending you care now that I'm doing it, go do whatever the fuck you normally do."
"Allan, I'm sorry." Confusion overwhelmes me. "Please, let me do something."
"You should've thought about my feelings before you layed in bed doing nothing all day."
"What, all day?!" I'm shocked.
"Don't even." Allan throws the sponge down that he was washing dishes with. "It's five, and I'm so sick of coming home to find you lazing around and living it up while you force
me to do everything."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I was..."
"Why do I even bother?" His eyes flash with anger. "I should just leave and let you know what it's like to do things for yourself, I swear, you're more dependent than a
toddler."
"No, please don't go." My heart breaks. "I'm sorry, this will never happen again, I promise, please don't leave."
"Fine, I'll stay, but there are no second chances."
"Thank you, thank you." Relief rushes over as I release a sigh.
"Get busy." Allan growls threateningly. "This place better be clean when I get back, and you better have some dinner waiting on me."
"I will, I promise food will be ready and I'll clean the place."
"One hour." He leaves, slamming the front door behind him.
This is okay... I'm okay.
Of course... I ignore the fact that I'm now heaving over a trashcan and feeling like I'm dying.
"John." I groan, wishing for him for some unknown reason.
John always makes everything better.
"John."
"Wake up." A hand shakes my shoulder.
"I'm sorry!" I jump awake and roll of the bed, opposite side of where the hand came from. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry."
"No, shh, it's okay, shh." John's voice soothes me. Wait, John?!
"John?" Peaking over the bed, I see his sitting on the edge of it.
"Yeah, it's okay, Sherlock." He's wearing pajamas, and he looks as if he just woke up.
"Did I wake you?" Now I'm worried.
"It's okay, you were having a bad dream."
"I'm sorry." My gaze falls to the floor. "I'm sorry, it was not my intention to wake you."
"You don't have to be sorry, Sherlock."
"You should go back to bed." Slowly, and deliberately, I get off the floor, watching for any signs that I'm doing something wrong.
"No, I'm not tired."
"You're obviously tired."
"Maybe a little, but I'd rather sit up with you."
"I'm going back to bed." Yes, it's a lie.
"Really?" He doesn't look convinced.
"Yes."
"Sherlock, we don't lie to each other, okay?"
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"I know, it's alright."
He's angry.
I know.
You're going to lose your violin, and he's going to hurt you.
... I know.
He's going to send you away, you're to much trouble. You're never going to prove yourself to him, he will never want you to stay here.
"What's wrong?" John touches my shoulder.
"Sorry, I was... thinking." Not exactly a lie...
"About what?" he seems genuinely curious.
Trick. It has to be a trick.
"Um... cases."
"What case?"
Haven't you two done this before? Right before you shut a door and broke the rules.
"Sherlock, you told me that your brain is like a hard drive, right?'
"Yes..." Where is he going with this.
"Well... I've been thinking, we both know you're not okay."
"But-"
"Wait, let me finish." He holds a hand up.
"Okay." I nod.
"Well, how do computers work?" He pauses.
"...?" Should I answer?
"You know how they work, what am I saying?" He chuckles, looking slightly lost for words. "You know what happens when a computer gets a virus, right?"
"Yes." Once again, I nod.
"Well, your brain, it's like a hard drive... and right now you have a virus, we can take care of the virus, but we have to work together."
"A virus?" It seems to click. My inability to follow the rules is a virus.
"Yeah, a virus, so... what does this mean?"
"Mmm." I close my eyes and try to think of a simple way to put this. "A virus has attacked my hard drive."
"Great, excellent, that's a good start, what kind of virus?"
"One that causes the processing system to lag and causes the server to crash."
"... yeah..." He looks confused.
"I can't follow rules because I have a virus."
"What- no!" John is shocked. "No, I didn't mean- no."
"No?" My shoulders slump.
"No... um... why don't we get a cuppa and talk this over?"
"Alright..."