Hey everyone I hope you enjoy this fanfic, the idea came to me on a whim and I had to write it out.
What if Sherlock is a schizophrenic and John is just one of the voices.
I do not own Sherlock but I would love to lock him up in my eerie for a few weeks
"Sherlock."
The sound of Microft's voice slowly broke through the haze that enveloped Sherlock's mind.
"What?" the young man asked, although the word came out in more of a slur.
Sherlock fought to focus his eyes and slowly the face of his older brother appeared in front of him.
"What are you doing here, did John let you in? John!" Sherlock yelled. After a few minutes he tried again but there was no answer.
Instead he heard a woman's quiet voice.
"I'm so sorry Mr. Holmes, I didn't realize it was this bad."
Sherlock tried to sit up and look at Mrs. Hudson, but his body felt boneless and all he managed was to roll his head to the side.
The woman continued, obviously speaking to Microft. "He usually gets in his moods and locks the door for a few hours and the flat is a mess when he finally lets me in. This time, however, it's been locked for two whole days."
Microft let out a soft sigh. "It's not your fault. I should have realized he needed constant supervision."
The middle aged man reached into his wallet and pulled out several pounds. "I will have someone sent to clean up this mess and to replace anything that is broken."
Sherlock drifted on a haze, barely conscious of his being half carried out of the small flat he and John lived in.
John, at that thought Sherlock's eyes popped open. Reaching out to grab the railing, he flailed around. "John needs to know where I'm going, he'll get worried."
Microft let out a painful sigh. "There is no John, Sherlock. There never was."
Sherlock's fingers slowly let go of the railing as he stared at the floor in defeat.
"We're on a case," he whispered to his house shoes.
Microft fought not to cry as he looked down at his little brother.
How many times had he dragged the younger Holmes to the hospital to get cleaned up and take proper medications for his schizophrenia?
Of course the real question was how long until he finally decided to keep Sherlock in the hospital indefinitely.
The car ride was tense as Sherlock huddled against the child locked door, muttering to himself about the supposed case.
Microft was so wound up during the trip that he felt sick with relief when the car pulled up to the entrance of Bart's Hospital for the mentally insane.
As soon as the car stopped, a nurse came out to meet them with a wheelchair. Unlike a normal hospital chair, this one had leather straps on the armrests to restrain potential violent patients.
Sherlock sat still, not bothering to defy the familiar protocol as the nurse and Microft strapped Sherlock in the chair before wheeling him inside for check in.
An hour later, Microft sat in one of the stuffed brown leather chairs, staring at his shoes. Sherlock was sprawled on a matching leather couch across from him.
The room had been decorated in soft blues and greens with plants situated on small tables in the corners to create an encourage and relaxing atmosphere. At least, that's what he was told.
Microft glanced up when he heard the click of the door being opened.
A petite woman with light brown hair stepped into the room, an open file in her hands.
"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes." she said as she approached her desk.
"Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed as he lept to his feet and rushed over to where she was. "Microft won't tell me where John is and we have a case you see. Lestrad is depending on us."
To her credit, the woman held her ground, but Microft could see a nervous tick in her jaw.
"Sherlock..." Microft began but the doctor only shook her head.
She slowly steered the tall man back to the couch before settling in the other leather chair which gave her a good view of both Holmes brothers.
"Mr. Holmes, my name is Dr. Hooper, remember?"
Sherlock slowly shook his head. "Molly Hooper."
Dr Hooper glanced at the nameplate on her desk. It read, 'M. Hooper.'
Microft carefully touched his brothers shoulder. "Sherlock, Dr. Hooper's name is Melany, not Molly."
Sherlock let out a keening noise, as he slowly rocked on the couch.
Microft fought the onslaught of emotions. Pain at seeing his brother suffer, sadness at leaving Sherlock here a small dose of embarrassment mixed with relief that no one would see him like this except the staff.
Dr. Hooper turned her attention to the older Mr. Holmes, she knew that they would be unable to reach the younger one any time soon.
"Who is this John he keeps asking about?"
Surprisingly, Sherlock froze at the name and the sudden silence was deafening.
Microft cleared his throat, "I honestly don't know, but since the last time he was here he has been convinced that he has a roommate named John Watson and that he helps Sherlock solves crimes for Lestrad."
Dr. Hooper nodded her head. The detective part had always been a part of Sherlock's psychosis, as was the head security guard taking a part in them as chief inspector.
"Well, we did have an older army doctor named J. Watson in residence at that time but he was only here for a few weeks." Dr. Hooper commented.
Microft seemed to take in that knowledge. "Must have made quite an impression on my brother."
Dr Hooper hesitated before replying, "I did notice a sense of fascination on your brother's part anytime they were in the same room together."
Microft stiffened at the unspoken message.
"My brother is not gay." the words were terse and he could hear the thick layer of denial in them.
There was nothing wrong with being gay, in truth. But the idea of Sherlock being judged on a false observation did not settle with Microft. No, Sherlock has been teased enough over his lack of interest in the fairer sex. Of course, that was before they found out about his "little problem" as their parents chose to called it.
Just then a knock sounded on the door before it was opened, revealing a male nurse who had a wheelchair.
"Ah, Anderson good timing. Mr. Holmes needs to be taken to his room for rest."
The nurse worked quickly to get Sherlock strapped in the seat and grab the patient files before he wheeled him out into the hall.
Microft watched in bitter resignation.
"You know, he's safer here with us." Dr. Hooper said gently.
The older Mr. Holmes quickly stood up and gave her a terse nod before leaving.
Microft hadn't said farewell to his brother, nor did he care to follow the nurse to the room his brother would be staying in. In truth, while he loved his younger sibling, Microft was also relieved that someone else would be caring for Sherlock. Even if it was only until Microft's guilty conscience ate at him enough to release his brother.
Anderson slowly wheeled the now sedated Sherlock down a corridor before stopping at one of the gates.
On guard was Lestrad and Donovan. The pair were as mismatched as ever but always seemed to be teamed up.
"Hey Sally, look who came back to visit." Anderson said grinning at the female guard.
"Anderson please keep your disgusting flirting to the times you guys are alone." Sherlock scoffed as he pulled himself straighter in the chair.
Anderson flushed and sneered at the restrained man.
"Shut up you freak." Donovan shouted, obviously wanting to use either her baton or taser.
Lestrad made a small step forward, drawing everyone's attention.
"There will be no name calling or violence on my watch." His eyes flicked to Sherlock for a moment before settling back on Anderson.
"Why don't you go take a smoke break." The suggestion was more of a command but Anderson only scoffed.
"I don't smoke, besides I have to take the-" Anderson paused when he saw Lestrad's jaw tick.
"What about Mr. Holmes bothers you so much?" Lestrad asked. "is it the fact that a schizophrenic on sedatives is still smarter than you?"
Anderson's face turned a deep red and he almost took a step forward before deciding against it.
With another scoff, Anderson stormed off, much to Lestrad's relief.
"I'll be back Donovan." Lestrad called out to the female guard before buzzing himself and Mr. Holmes through the gate.
Lestrad glanced down at the patient sheet attached to the back of the wheelchair. "Look at that Mr Holmes, you've managed to get your old room again."
Sherlock glanced up as they approached the door and a small smirk crossed his face.
"221B." he slurred.
Lestrad nodded as he pushed the door open. "That's right we are in room 221 B Block."
The room was simply furnished with only a small narrow bed with a matching side table; a single stuffed plaid chair; and an armour that had a disk player on the top.
B Block mainly held patients who really were not a harm to themselves or others as long as they stayed medicated. This fact meant that Sherlock would have some liberties and could have a few personal items in his room without any worry that he would be found dead or that a nurse might get injured during check ups or medication time.
Walking around the chair, Lestrad started unhooking the straps. "I am sorry about the restraints Mr. Holmes but as you know it is procedure when transferring from one block to another in the hospital."
Sherlock absentmindedly nodded his head as his eyes roamed over the familiar room.
When Lestrad had finished, he helped the younger man step up and guided him to sit on the bed.
"Alright Mr Holmes, a nurse will be here soon to give you your medication."
As if summoned by magic, there was a light knock on the door before a short haired blonde stepped into the room.
"Mr Holmes, my name is Mary and I'm here to give you your afternoon meds." She smiled sweetly as she held out a small paper cup and an unopened water bottle.
Sherlock stood up before nervously running his hands down the dressing robe he was wearing, as if he'd just realized his state of dress.
Lestrad felt a moment's pity for the young man but Sherlock seemed to draw upon some inner strength and made his way to the pretty nurse.
"That's it, all of it please." Mary said in a sweet voice.
Sherlock complied before opening his mouth and moving his tongue for her to check.
"Very good." she sing songed before throwing the cup away.
Sherlock murmured something as he glanced around the room.
"What was that sweetie?" Mary asked, patience and kindness in her eyes.
Obviously affected, Sherlock cleared his throat before repeating. "John would like you."
Mary frowned "I don't believe we have a patient by that name, is he a friend of yours?"
The young man nodded before making his way to the window.
"He's gone." he whispered before raising his hands in the air.
Lestrad and Mary watched as Sherlock began to play an imaginary violin. His right hand moving in graceful arcs as if sliding a bow across strings.
With a glance of pity, Lestrad went over to the disc player and pressed play.
The room was instantly filled with violin chords and Sherlock's hands quickly shifted to follow the beat.
He was so wrapped in his 'playing' he didn't notice their departure.
John, if you can hear me, I will be back. He thought as the next song began, the tune slow and melancholy.
I hope you enjoyed the story and I apologize for ending on such a sad note but the story pretty much wrote itself...