221B Baker Street
"Sherlock, unlock the door." John's voice is muffled, but I can hear him.
Do I want to unlock the door for him? No.
Am I going to? Yes.
Slowly I rise from the edge of my bed where I was seconds ago sitting.
"Sherlock?" John continues requesting me to let him in.
Heaviness drags at my limbs as I finally reach the door.
"Sherlock, are you in there?"
Wordlessly, I unlock he door and let the shorter man inside.
"About bloody time." He steps inside, and quickly looks me over. "Why was the door locked?"
"Mycroft." I leave the door and flop down on the couch, not having the energy to bother with a better explanation.
John is watching me, I'm aware of that, but I really don't care.
While I did take care of my feelings, I unfortunately caused more damage than I should have. Not enough to need stitches, no... but it is enough to keep me from being able to reattempt feeling control for some time. At least a week, it ordinarily takes a week for a shallow cut to heal completely if aided by ointments and bandages, but this could take a bit longer, perhaps two weeks, with the assistance of the ointments and bandages, of course.
"What did he have to say?"
"Nothing interesting, as usual." My words earn a quiet chuckle from John, which causes my lips to pull into a small smile by default.
"What have you been doing today?" John continues talking to me as he places the groceries in their proper place, still glancing in my direction every so often, as if to be sure I'm still where he last saw me.
"Thinking."
"About what?"
"Cases."
"What case?" John hesitates a second, his voice no longer seems as relaxed, it's more... on edge? No... why can't I seem to identify his audible emotions accurately anymore?
I take a deep breath. "Study in pink, if I remember your name for it correctly." Yes, I remember the name correctly. I always remember the names. John may think I ignore his little blog, however, I do not. I must keep tabs on making sure he keeps the facts straight.
So far, he has done a remarkable job, although, I will never admit that to him. While he does keep the facts correct, he romanticizes our adventures a bit to much at times.
"Yeah, that's the name." He sighs, almost as if in relief. Odd, very odd, indeed.
"Does Lestrade have any cases?"
"Yes, but not until you're up for it."
"Let's go." Without another word, I leave my spot on the couch to get my coat.
Let's go solve a case.
Scotland Yard
"Cases." The door to Lestrade's office swings open as I enter.
"Sherlock." He seems surprised to see me.
"Cases." My patience wears thin, I haven't solved a case for far to long... One might even say I've come to miss it a great deal.
"Are you sure you're-"
"John," I call for my companion to rescue me from needless 'red tape' and get me a goddamn case. "please tell Gerard that I'm in perfect health, and am capable of solving cases."
"Greg, it's Greg... and, What he said, please Lestrade, he's practically walking up the walls."
"Is he clean?"
"Sherlock." A woman's voice surprises me slightly, yet not enough to trigger a severe reaction.
"Donovan." My voice isn't sharp, neither is it fond. I regard her with little interest. It is a pointless waste of brain work to use it on finding clever ways to describe a plain woman who has yet to make anything spectacular out of herself, other than being a police woman, she is a common follower, as are nearly all 'goldfish.'
"How are you?" Donovan's voice is soft, causing me to bristle.
"Better than you, it would seem that your affair with Anderson had been put to a stop." My gaze flickers over her, searching for any other obvious 'pressure points' to use against her, I will not have anyone treating me differently than they've always treated me.
Hurt flashes through her eyes, but she bites her tongue.
"Is he?" Lestrade crosses his arms, not pleased with my deductions.
"Is who what?" Donovan decides to join our conversation. This causes a bit of unwanted anger to rise up in me.
I'm not here to play nice, I will get a case if I have to bribe the criminal underworld to get one!
"Don't you have work, Donovan?" My voice is sharp. No, I still don't like it when people treat me differently than they always have, it's infuriating, and only making me even more irritated. "Case's, Lestrade."
"Not until you answer my bloody question." Lestrade fires back.
"Is who what?" Donovan doesn't drop her insistent questioning.
"He was asking is Sherlock is clean." John tries to sooth everything over, just like he always does. "Calm down, everyone."
"Clean?" She raises an eyebrow and looks back to me from John. "Are you using drugs again?"
"No, I'm here to solve a case and avoid needing alternate stimulation." The thought of drugs isn't repulsive, in fact, it's quite appealing, a little to appealing.
"We still have the serial killer case." Lestrade sighs, having given up trying to be rid of me.
"Already solved it." Suicides, specifically a suicide pact, not homicide. Dull.
"Another bank robbery was committed yesterday..."
"Solved it." Teller did it.
"Cold cases?"
"I need a crime scene, I need to see the scene." Why is this so difficult?!
"Sherlock, there aren't any new crimes today."
A low growl emanates from my throat as I turn to leave out the very door whence I came.
"No." John grabs my arm. "You are not leaving without me."
"Let go." My pulse quickens, I'm unnerved, and I'm actually a bit scared. "John, let go."
Instantly, John lets go, a look of concern on his face.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry... did I scare you?"
"Really, now, John?" From embarrassment, I roll my eyes and attempt to shrug off this humiliating encounter. "No, I don't like physical contact unless it's necessary."
"But-"
"Come along, I need to talk to my network." With that, I leave Lestrade's office.
Before I can reach the door, I, quite literally, run into Anderson and Mycroft.
"Sherlock." Anderson is surprised and uncomfortable. "I didn't know you and a brother until now."
"..." I don't say a word, unsure of the impact it will have with my brother present.
"John." I'm forced to stand here glaring at this halfwit nincompoop I call my brother, the only thing I can do is call my blogger to free me from another degrading encounter with this treacherous bastard.
"On my way, Sh- Mycroft..." John, who stops behind me, I know this because he still limps slightly when under stress, seems as uncomfortable as Anderson.
"I need to have a word with Dr. Watson, alone." Mycroft's gaze doesn't waver, he continues staring coolly at me.
"Alright... um... Anderson, can you take Sherlock to Angelo's restaurant?" John steps between Mycroft and myself, subconsciously acting as a referee.
"Sure." Anderson nods, glancing at me with apprehension.
"Why Angelo's?" This is inconvenient, this is less than fortunate... this is going to be hell.
"Because we both need to eat, and we're going to eat before we go meet the homeless network." John narrows his gaze at me.
"Fine." This doesn't mean I need to like this.
"Run along, brother mine." Mycroft instructs.
Now I'm livid, how Mycroft always has this effect on me I'm not sure.
"Alright, come on, Sherlock." Anderson hesitates to rest a hand on my shoulder, luckily he decides against it.
That may have cost him more than a hand given my current 'mood.'
"Go on, Sherlock, I'll be there soon." John gives me an encouraging look.
Rules, you have to do whatever he says.
But Mycroft is being-
John, you're obeying John, not Mycroft.
John?
Obey John.
I nod slightly, then follow Anderson to a patrol car.
Patrol car, on route to Angel's restaurant (I'm unable to remember the restaurant's name)
"How are you, Sherlock?" Anderson's voice is calm, calmer than it was when he listened to how I faked my death
"You ended things with Donovan." Yes, I'm using my only weapon against him: My brain.
"... We decided together to end things."
"She found a better suited partner."
"Not true." His voice raises slightly in hurt.
"Really?" No, it's not true... but I'm not going to talk about my feelings. "Hmm, I could have sworn-"
"It's over, leave it alone." He glances at me with a warning look. Instantly, I shrink down.
Several seconds of silence pass before Anderson reattempts to make conversation. "Why didn't you ever tell us about your brother?"
"Why didn't you tell your wife about your mistress?" Answer: Because you didn't want her to know.
Anderson sighs deeply, and drops the conversation.
Idiot.
What did I do now?
You hurt his feelings, John instructed him to watch you. You're supposed to obey him as you would John.
What, no!
Yes.
No.
Yes.
NO.
YES!
"Sherlock, what happened to you?" Anderson's question catches me off guard.
"What?" It would seem I'm far to shocked by his question to fully register the disgust I'm feeling over asking him to repeat himself.
"You've changed... since you came back from the dead, what were you doing in those two years?"
I look to the man, unsure of where this is going.
"I mean, you're different, what happened- like, when you came back you were different, and now you're more different."
"I'm the same as I always have been." Here we go again, specialized treatment and stupid games of, 'I'm pretending to care because you're a fucking cry baby.'
"Then, why do you flinch whenever anyone so much as touches you?"
"It's none of your concern." I sharpen my tone, trying to make him leave me alone.
"We visited you." His words confuse me.
"What?"
"Your grave... we, Donavan and I, we visited you..."
"..." This is unexpected.
"We-... I... I felt guilty, I knew that I helped push you to your death, and I just... I never want that to happen again."
"Why?" My mouth is dry, and I'm unable to finish my question. Even if I could, which one would I ask? Why are you telling me this? Why do you pretend to care? Why are you saying such lies?
What is this emotion I'm feeling, now? Remorse? Guilt? Anger?
"Why I don't want that to happen again?" Anderson's voice rings with more than guilt now, there is a slight edge of shock.
Silence is his answer, we can go with that one, yeah.
"Because, you weren't the only one who died that day, it killed John... it killed Lestrade, Donovan, Molly, and your landlady... Sherlock, it killed me.
"When I looked back, I didn't see your suicide, I saw a death I caused... I saw what I pushed you to do, and when I realized you were alive, I had to make sure that that never happened again."
"Why are you telling me this?" My voice should be sharper than it is, but I can't control that when all I notice is the shake in my voice at the end of my question.
"I don't think that John knows, but... that day we found out about... you know... I saw the scars, Sherlock."
No, the scars from Serbia were mostly on my back, they're not visible enough unless he was behind-
"I know that you used to cut."
What?!
"What are you on about?" A snarl makes it's way out, out of defense, I assume.
If he's so wrong, why can't you look at him?
Because... my eyes hurt.
Oh, then why aren't you denying it?
... Because, he won't believe me.
Because it's the truth?
Shut up.
"I saw the scars on your wrists, look, I know that those years must have been hard, but I can't have you die again because of me."
"Who says I am?" Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.
"You just lost your boyfriend who abused you, and you can't handle anyone touching you."
"Who says I did in the first place?"
"Did you?"
"Shut up."
"Sherlock, listen to me." His attitude comes back slightly, easing me oddly enough. "I didn't say anything to John, and I won't, as long as I know you're not hurting yourself... if I think you are, I'll tell John."
"Stop interfering with my life, you're worse than Mycroft." Betrayed floods my system as I quietly seethe in anger over the fact that Anderson has obviously been paid off by Mycroft. Why this bothers me, I'm not sure... but I'm feeling betrayed.
"Please, let me help you." Anderson begs, pulling into Angelo's. "Do you not see that you mean more to John than you think?"
"I'm perfectly capable of helping myself."
"What happened in those two years?" He asks again, returning to one of the original topics.
"I dismantled Moriarty's network, I was captured, Mycroft infiltrated the Serbian cells and freed me, end of story."
"What happened when you were captured?" His gaze doesn't waver as he makes eye contact with me.
"I was captured, there's nothing to tell." Of course, I chose to ignore the way my left hand is shaking at this moment, and the way I'm starting to smell my cell in Serbia. If I were to listen close enough, I'm sure I could hear the screams of other prisoners around me.
"Sherlock." Anderson's hand touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"Fine, I'm fine." Shaking his hand off, I grit my teeth and try to ground myself before something happens..
"What happened?"
"Nothing." I open the door and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me.
"I'm going to wait with you until John gets here." Anderson leaves the vehicle, a determined look on his face.
Oh joy, another mindless minion of Mycroft. How much did he pay Anderson to pretend he cares?
"Fine." Without giving Anderson a second thought, I go inside Angelo's and quickly get a table. Of course, I tell Angelo that my 'date' will be here soon. It's the only way I can get
him to stop telling me about 'attractive' people he meets. No, I did not say I'm in love with John, and no, I sure as hell am not saying Anderson is my date. I explained to Angelo that Anderson is a client.
Angelo never asks another question about it, amusingly enough.