Chapter 15: Nothing matters anymore

Another week had passed. Doctor Strange and Doctor Morgan were sitting in the doctor's lounge, discussing Sherlocks condition. "So, tell me Steven, how is our detective doing?" Simon seemed really excited to hear about news. Steven folded his hands. "To be honest: I don't know." "What's the matter?" Simon asked worried. "Don't know exactly. His body is making a very good recovery," Strange answered. "But?" "Mentally he's not. Refuses to eat, never talked the last seven days and I don't see a living will at the moment," Steven explained. Simon didn't like what he heard. "He seems very desperate. Any idea why?" "I think it's something about him and his partner, John Watson. The last time I saw him, was a week ago," the head surgeon remembered. Morgan paced around. "So, what are you going to do?" he asked worried. "There is not much I can do for him. He refuses further treatment, pulled out his nasogastric tube more than four times and isn't cooperative anymore," Steven told. "Did you talk to his brother?" Simon wanted to know. Steven looked at him speechless. "Of course. He wanted me to restrain his brother, to provide further damage to his body. I told him, that I won't do it. How could I? If he has given up, it's most likely he will find other ways to destroy himself." Morgan nodded. His colleague was right. Holmes would find a way…

Sherlock was staring blankly out of the window, when he heard his door open. He could hear the footsteps and already knew, who was coming. "Hello brother dear. Thought I pay you a visit, after I was informed you are refusing treatment." "Shut up!" Sherlock whispered. "O Sherlock. You know I can't do this. I am responsible for you, you know that." No response from the detective. "Do you remember about humanity? Remember what I told you about it all the years? You never believed me, now you knew better." Silence. "Listen, Sherlock: I know you are confused and it might not be easy, but going on a suicide mission isn't exactly, what we want. Please remember: You have Mummy and Daddy. How will they react, when they lose another one?" All of sudden Mycroft regretted, what he just said. The detective turned instantly around. "What did you just say?" "Nothing. I misspoke," Mycroft tried to correct his mistake. "I heard you very clear. What is it, you are not telling me?" Mycroft took a step backwards. "Calm down Sherlock. I misspoke, that's all." Sherlock looked at him with hatred eyes. "Get out of this room, now!" The older Holmes was told not to stress the detective any further, so he left, whispering a silent. "Goodbye brother mine."

After his brother had left the room, Sherlock desperately tried to reach his mind palace. He wasn't able to get there, since the day John Watson had beaten him up. He had tried a few times, but his own brain was betraying him. No access here. Dammit. The detective was not giving up. What his brother just mentioned, was no coincidence, of that he was sure. "I need to focus. Just focus." And so he did, but nothing happened. Sherlock was normally not the type of giving-up-person, so he tried a few times and finally he was back at his mind palace. Now he was standing there, in front of a big house. But the mind palace he knew before, now was a different place, he recognized…

The big house, he remembered. It was his house, where he lived many years, before it burned down. Normally his mind palace was full of colours. Now he stood there, it was raining and the sky was just grey. And it was cold. He was freezing. Why was it so cold here? What happened to this place? He walked in the garden and suddenly smiled. Redbeard was lying in the grass, wagging his tail, when he saw Sherlock. "O Redbeard! Come here! Come here my friend." He was so happy at this short moment and Redbeard seemed happy, too. The dog stood up and ran into his grownup friend. Sherlock stroked the dog's head. "You missed me? I missed you, too. O it's so good to see you." All of a sudden, the dog disappeared and the detective was left alone. The rain never stopped. Why was he here? What did he not see? He walked into the house. Maybe he would find the answer somewhere inside. It was dark when he entered and he had to focus. Someone was crying. He could hear it. It was coming from upstairs. He wasn't alone! He followed the crying sounds, of what he could heard was a woman, searching for the right room. Finally, he found himself standing in front of a door he suddenly remembered: It was his room. His room, where he lived as a child. Carefully he opened it and entered. He could see people standing around his former bed. He could see Mycroft standing on the right, just staring motionless on the figure lying there. In front of the bed stood a grown man and left to it, Sherlock could see a woman kneeling. She was crying and seemed very lost. He looked on the person, which was laying there, very still and all of a sudden, he froze. There was a child in the bed. A young boy, around seven years old. He seemed to have a fever and was breathing heavily. The woman next to the little fighter tried to rub away her tears. "God Sherlock, please don't die. I need you. I can't lose another child." Shocked, Sherlock stood at the corner of the room, staring on the little boy, which he now knew was him. The woman must be his Mum. Why can't he remember the face of his parents and why was he lying there? Sherlock tried to think of that time. His eyes met his brother's and all come in sight. Mycroft had tried to drown him and as a result, he was now fighting for his life. They all thought he was going to die, but he pulled through. How could he have forgotten that? The detective looked around for clues. What was Mycroft talking about? Who else had died? He walked out of the room, searching for Mycroft's. When he entered, he was surprised, finding a little girl sitting on the ground. "Hello there. You want to play with me?" she asked. "Sure. What would you like to play?" he wanted to know. "What about hide and seek? I am singing a song and you try to find a place, where I won't find you," the girl offered. Sherlock seemed irritated. "Okay. As you wish." And the little girl started to sing:

I that am lost, oh who will find me?

Deep down below the old beech tree.

Help succour me now the east winds blow.

Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go!

Be not afraid to walk in the shade

Save one, save all, come try!

My steps - five by seven

Life is closer to Heaven

Look down, with dark gaze, from on high

Before he was gone - right back over my hill.

Who now will find him?

Why, nobody will.

Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen.

Lost forever, nine by nineteen.

Without your love, he'll be gone before.

Save pity for strangers, show love the door.

My soul seek the shade of my willow's bloom

Inside, brother mine -

Let Death make a room.

Sherlock stood there in shock. This song! He knew this song! He heard it many times! The little girl looked up at him. "Why aren't you running away?" "I don't know. Who are you?" he asked stunned. "You really don't remember me, do you?" The detective tried to think, but there was no solution. "I want to remember, but I can't." "That's a shame. You should know, who I am Sherlock." "How do you know my name?", he wanted to know. "Everyone here knows your name. We are family Sherlock, don't you remember?" She looked at him with big, blue eyes. "An East wind is coming Sherlock. It's coming to get you. And you do not see it. What a shame," the girl whispered and he faded away…

He was back again. Back in this damn hospital room. His mind palace did shut him out, before he was able to find out who the girl was. Sherlock tried to remember his childhood, but most of it was foggy. Maybe he should ask his parents about the girl. At the moment he had other problems. John Watson out there was still in danger. He knew Smith wasn't waiting forever. To higher John Watson's chances of survival, he decided it was better to shut the man out. It hurt him to do so, but there was no other option. His doctors thought, he wouldn't eat because of his mental state, truth was: he did it to get Smith's attention. If he would suffer long enough, Culverton would be ready to 'rescue' him. The detective hoped, that he could buy John Watson some more time. He knew the plan was very dangerous, but he needed to try. He had given a vow and Rosie still needed a father. Silently he prayed, that his plan would work. His stomach grumbled. He was hungry, to be honest: He was starving. But he had to wait, until Culverton Smith would go after him. And he was sure the hospital owner would come very soon…