I am so sorry minna! I was snowed in and it was too dangerous to visit the library until the snow melted (it's at the bottom of a steep hill). So to make up for being gone so long I'll post a double update! Also... TWO HUNDREDTH CHAPTER ON THE SHORT STORY DRABBLES WHOOT!
This is an AU where Sherlock is the one who is taken during the serial bomber case, instead of John. Only Sherlock isn't in the mood to play Moriarty's game, and thus decides to throw a complete wrench in the Consulting Criminal's plans a bit earlier than Reichenbach.
And if you don't like a main character having their gender switched for the sake of amusement, turn away now. That is the ONLY warning I am giving towards the matter.
'I really should get used to this sort of behavior from a Holmes,' thought John tiredly.
Oh how John Watson wished this was unusual behavior for Mycroft, but it wasn't. Not really. Sherlock at least gave him the semblance of pretending to care about his opinion before kidnapping him.
John felt a pain of sadness at the thought of Sherlock. He kept replaying the cryptic Last Message of the detective over and over in his head.
"You wish to make me trade my life for theirs. To watch me fall apart when I realize there's no choice. What you don't realize is that I've long since made that choice, if it ever came to it. I've always made that choice. My life for theirs... it's never been a question in my mind who would come out on top."
That message kept replaying itself over and over, followed by the sight of Sherlock far too calmly walking onto the ledge...and taking a step back without any hesitation at all. The sight of Sherlock's broken and bleeding body on the pavement haunted his nightmares. They still did.
So John was less than amused when he saw Mycroft.
"What do you want?"
"There is a very...special...patient that reacts badly to hospitals in general, and will refuse to be treated even when on their death bed. You are the only doctor they will allow near them or even remotely listen to, even if they complain about it after. I assure you that the situation is quite critical. We've had to lightly sedate them in order for them to get any fluids in them at all," said Mycroft succinctly.
"Who's the patient?"
Mycroft lead him into a small room that would lead into the treatment area.
"Read this. This is classified top secret to the point that if you speak of the patient's true identity without their consent, my interference will be the least of your worries," said Mycroft rather bluntly.
John sat down and began to read. And almost wished he hadn't.
Systematic childhood abuse, obvious mental conditioning that borderline brainwashing, a martyr complex so ingrained that it was nearly impossible to remove, a history of severe depression (but not to the point of suicide, unless tied to the martyr complex), a disturbingly high amount of potent snake antivenom present in the blood... the list was rather damning.
"How is this person even alive?!" he demanded.
"Sheer dumb luck. And I wish I were exaggerating about that. Moriarty had no idea what he was unleashing when he threatened Sherlock on that ledge that day. Though I guarantee you he's far more wary of my brother now," said Mycroft.
A sneaking suspicion and the first stirrings of hope began to appear in his chest.
"What do you mean? Where is Sherlock?"
"In the other room. But I'm not about to let you see him until you understand a few things."
John looked ready to deck him.
"Sherlock is far more fragile than you can possibly imagine. One wrong word or action would break him so thoroughly that it would take an act of god to pick up the pieces. By some miracle he has allowed himself to become openly attached to you, when he refuses to even remotely do the same with myself or Lestrade for fear of what would happen if he did."
John stared at him.
"Read the history profile, John," said Mycroft. He looked nothing like his Iceman persona now. More like a brother pushed to the ends of his rope trying to protect his younger sibling.
John cautiously read the background info, and his heart stopped cold at the first page. Suddenly a lot of things were making sense, and he really wished they didn't.
Several quirks that he had always felt mildly annoyed with, but put up with anyway started to line up with what he was reading.
The inability to sleep for days at a time. The long hours playing violin with almost manic fervor. The days of long silence when Sherlock's eyes grew distant and almost painful to look at. The way he would always cringe slightly when Donovan used the word "freak" in his presence. The way he would push everyone away almost on instinct by acting so callous.
"Why didn't you tell me he had PTSD?" demanded John.
"I would have thought it obvious, considering your own condition. He's gotten better about it at least... thanks to your presence he's been able to sleep for at least forty-eight hours a week."
"You're not his brother are you?"
"We are second cousins. It took me a year to find out where he was after the attacks were over, and he had nearly overdosed on home remedies meant to instill a sense of calm. And it took me two before he even remotely began to trust me."
John sighed deeply. A lot of things were making sense and he wished they didn't.
"That day on the ledge...did you have anything to do with it?"
"Moriarty may have kidnapped Sherlock with the intent on seeing him suffer, but sadly I can assure you that his performance was entirely his own doing. All I did was make certain he had the resources to put an end to the threat Moriarty posed to the people he cared about. After what happened the first time, Sherlock certainly wouldn't allow someone like him to remain at large when he's already displayed an unhealthy interest in him."
"How is he?"
"He is going to need quite a bit of care for the next few months, at least until he stabilizes. What you need to understand Dr. Watson is that Sherlock was raised by a fool into a living weapon. Unlike you, who volunteered to go to war for Queen and Country, Sherlock wasn't given a choice in the matter. Once he firmly believes there is a threat to those he cares about he will stop at nothing to remove it in as permanent a manner as he can devise as a warning to others. He ignore pain, sleep, food and hygiene so long as it means ending the threat. The issue lies in getting his mission mode to turn off."
John nodded at that. It was a common problem with any soldier returning home from the front lines. They were so used to the adrenaline of danger that it became instinctive, but in a civilian setting that danger setting was set far too high and caused all sorts of problems reintegrating into daily life.
"What do you want me to do?"
"The short period he lived with you produced more progress than anything else I've tried. You are the only person who has been able to get through this wall of thorns long enough for him to form genuine attachment next to Mrs. Hudson."
"Can I see him."
"Just don't be surprised about certain things he would feel better about you being unaware of," said Mycroft tactfully.
The second John stepped in the side room, complete with window (once he got over the horrified shock at how painfully thin Sherlock was...he looked like a corpse if it wasn't for the breathing), he fully understood what Mycroft meant. Thanks to the outfit Sherlock was wearing, John could clearly see a pair of bumps that had business being there.
"Sherlock's a woman?" he asked quietly.
"John Watson, allow me to introduce you to your patient. Sir Polaris Ivy Potter-Black...whom you know better as Sherlock Holmes."
"For the love of god, why would anyone give a child a name like Polaris?" asked John the second he heard it...before something registered. "Sherlock's a knight?"
"And from an ancient noble bloodline who still holds the title Lord and Lady. She was knighted after the terrorist attacks seven years ago...after I found her of course."
John was not an idiot. He put together what Mycroft wasn't saying on top of the history in the file.
"Sherlock was the one who ended it."
"So you have picked up a few things from my 'brother'. Good," said Mycroft pleased. "He would much prefer not to be reminded of his contribution in the minor civil war he ended, so please refrain from asking until you believe him safe enough for civilian consumption."
"You mean when he's back to being the same Sherlock I'm used to, not the one who has to remind himself he's living among civilians again."
"Quite."
"Why Sherlock? Isn't that a man's name?"
"As I said before, when I finally tracked Sherlock down he was almost completely broken. There were only a few solutions, and the least painful one was also the most invasive. Ivy needed to completely disassociate herself from her identity, so she decided to become a man. Naturally this would require a complete back history and the other small necessities, which is why I was made her handler."
"So in order to hide the reason why you were unusually vested in another human being, you decided to claim she was your brother and then forged the rest," guessed John.
"She only started to call me her arch enemy when the memories took and she realized she was getting too close. Due to the climate of the civil war, anyone close to her was targeted heavily and she still holds onto the fear that attachment will result in death of those she cares for."
John had to wince with sympathy.
"This was only reinforced by the fact that by the end of it, those she could have called family or friends were either dead, turned on her because of fear, or were discreetly driven off by the second. The fact they attempted to cage her further with a position she didn't want and responsibilities that never should have been shoved on her so soon without proper rehabilitation made it worse," explained Mycroft patiently. Then he made a cold face, bringing back his Iceman persona. "It was only my intervention that prevented them from marrying her off to some fool who wouldn't deserve her and breaking her soul completely."
John winced at that. There was more than one way to completely break someone...you didn't always have to torture them in ways that could be seen. From the sound of it, whoever she was associated with wanted her to move on quickly without actually dealing with the inevitable trauma of war and killing people.
If he ever found such idiots he would shoot them, no questions asked.
"Now you see why I brought you here specifically. Sherlock has the rather strange habit of inspiring absolute loyalty in others without even realizing it. People who would gladly go to hell and back to help him, but he is too stubborn to accept it because he doesn't feel like he's worthy of it."
John's flinch then was very telling.
"The message. That's what he meant by it," said John, a note of pain in his voice.
Mycroft looked at him curiously.
"'My life for theirs... it's never been a question in my mind who would come out on top,'" repeated John.
Mycroft's mouth was thin, but he wasn't surprised in the least by the partial quote of Sherlock's last message.
"Sherlock inspires loyalty...simply because once he's realized there's no getting out of attachment that he will not hesitate to lay his own life down for someone who might not understand the full sacrifice."
"Can I see him?"
"As I said before, Dr. Watson, you are the only doctor who might be able to get that stubborn fool to actually heal this time rather than shove everything to the back and pretend he's fine," said Mycroft, motioning to the door.
Ivy was reliving the day she fell again. Except this time the circumstances were far less painful than the first.
Last time she died, she knew that the odds of it ending there were very low.
This time she knew exactly what she was doing and the fact she would have the upper hand because the bastard responsible wouldn't see her coming. She had actual help and even less issue with ending the threat permanently.
Her ability to scan minds might be the equivalent of a sledgehammer to an egg at high velocity, but considering the scum she had been using it on she felt little to no pity for them after. Killing them was a mercy, really.
The only snag in her ability to rationalize the fake death she orchestrated without any help from anyone was John. She could still hear him scream her name from across the street.
She really wished she had known he was watching...her back had been turned the entire time when she stepped off the ledge.
The look of pure fury and disbelief on Moriarty's face realizing Sherlock wasn't going to cater to his depraved whims after being kidnapped was rather satisfying.
She had to live through one bloody monologue from a villain, she damn well wasn't going to go through that twice!
Hearing voices on the other side of the mirror, she didn't bother to get up or roll over. She was enjoying the first real sleep she had in ages, and Mycroft could go hang himself if he thought she was getting up anytime soon.
The door opened. She didn't bother to look at who entered, thinking it was Mycroft...except the shoes were all wrong. Another doctor then, to observe her condition?
She opened her eyes and froze completely.
"You... are a bloody idiot," said John Watson. "Would it have killed you to at least let me know you were alright through that prat Mycroft?"
"John?!" said Sherlock, before coughing. John was quick to hand him the straw to the glass of water on the side. "What are you doing here?"
"Mycroft kidnapped me again," deadpanned John.
"He does that to everyone," Sherlock shot back.
"He also told me everything. You could have just told me you were a woman, you bloody prick. Did you really think I would care?"
"With how many unwanted advances I had to deal with, I didn't want to risk it. Besides, can you imagine Anderson and Donovan's brains shutting down from the revelation I'm female? To say nothing of Lestrade?" replied Sherlock.
John snorted.
"By the way, when were you going to tell me that you're actually on good terms with the Yard?"
"Because I'm not."
"Well Lestrade is certainly baffled as to how the hell you got an entire division he generally only talks to in passing to nearly cause a lynch mob after they heard the way Donovan spoke of you to Anderson. The only reason they didn't go after Lestrade was because they knew you spoke favorably of him."
"Immersion therapy."
"What?"
"Mycroft's original idea of helping to heal some of the trauma of my childhood. It helped, but not to the extent he wanted. It's also the reason he introduced me to Lestrade in the first place," explained Sherlock.
John thought over which particular division had come to Sherlock's defense in a heart beat (much to the confusion and disbelief of Lestrade) and was still confused.
"They call me when they have to deal with traumatized children who have suffered extensive abuse, or adults who have been abused for a prolonged period of time that are unwilling to speak in their defense against the abuser. I have an almost perfect success rate in getting them to open up long enough to put their abusers away, or at least remove them from the situation."
Suddenly John realized what happened.
"The cops in the division realized why you had such a high success rate and adjusted their behavior accordingly. Helping the children and the abused allowed you to work out some of your own trauma, which is why they like you better than Greg's division does... and why they call you 'Sherry' of all things," said John.
"Who is Greg?" said Sherlock completely baffled.
"Lestrade's first name. You seriously don't know his first name?"
"His name is Inspector Lestrade. Why would I want to know something as useless as his first name?" countered Sherlock.
"Because it's something people do! Do you even know what Mrs. Hudson's first name is?"
"It's Mrs. Hudson. What else do I need to know?" replied Sherlock.
"You... Argh!" said John in familiar frustration. Then he sighed...god he missed this.
Sherlock had to yelp when John firmly grabbed her ear.
"Next time you're in trouble, ask for help you damn idiot. Do you have any idea what you put me through with that stunt of yours? How many sleepless nights I've had replaying your death and that last message?" he said unhappily. "If you would just talk to people, then maybe you wouldn't have had to jump in the first place!"
Sherlock was uncharacteristically quiet. So much so that John nearly missed the almost silent reply.
"Why speak when no one listens? Why try when no one bothers to see?"
John almost sighed at that. Clearly Sherlock was so used to people dismissing what he said or thought that he quit trying entirely.
Seeing the food being brought in, he was rather relieved to see Sherlock actually eat for a change. Then again he never had much appetite after a flashback either, which explained Sherlock's sporadic eating habits.
It was only when he went to use the loo outside the room that he ran into Mycroft a second time.
"You actually got him to eat solids, when we've been trying for a week straight," Mycroft informed him. "This is the first time in a very long time I've actually seen Sherlock finish a full meal without argument."
"What happens now?"
"Once Sherlock is stable enough to be moved without a relapse, we're moving both of you to a secure location where he can adjust slowly back into civilian life, rather than throwing him into the deep end. It may take a while before the 'Consulting Detective' makes a miraculous return."
"I'll tell Lestrade and my boss that I'm caring for a recently returned soldier then. One that needs help adjusting back to normal life," said John tactfully.
Completely true without revealing a single actual detail that would harm Sherlock. Mycroft approved.