JOHN'S POV

It was a good week before I had fully recovered, my health was back to normal, I was eating, sleeping, and what's more I've even taking to exercising to get my heart pumping again. I was in perfect health! In fact, even my mood had changed over time. I was a bit more positive … more hopeful that we'd find Bree. Everything was going according to plan, now can the difficult part … helping Sherlock. To be perfectly honest, I had no clue what to do … actually, I was rather doubtful that he was even in denial at all. This was Sherlock we were talking about, he doesn't have denial. However, no matter what the case I knew I needed Sherlock if I had any hope of finding her, which unfortunately meant that I'd have to snap him out of whatever was happening in that big old brain of his. I approached his door, taking a calm breath as I prepared for the conversation I knew I'd be having with the man I called my friend, and then I quickly snapped the door open, storming in before I could chicken out. It was time. Today was the day. I had to save Sherlock Holmes.

"We need to talk." I stated, not even giving him room for an argument. He couldn't fight me on this, clearly something was wrong. He wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping, and he never once came out of his room for anything. He was a recluse at this point and it was doing major damage to his health. I needed to help him, I needed to let him see. And that meant leaving no room for argument.

"About what?" He questioned me, his tone bored as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"About my sister getting kidnapped." I replied. Clearly he didn't like me interrupting his moping butt. But he was going to have to suck it up and deal with it. I was here to help him and if that meant disrupting whatever the hell he was doing, so be it. We needed to talk about Bree's kidnapping and that was exactly what I was going to do.

"She's fine, in fact she's not even kidnapped." I heard him reply, confusion laced into his tone, causing my eyes to widen in shock. He was in denial! My god! He couldn't be could he? Was that even possible for an emotionless robot like Sherlock Holmes? Was he really in denial?

"What are you talking about?" I questioned him, hoping to all that is mighty that he was only trolling me. If he was in denial then this would be much, much harder then I thought it would be. Bloody hell, this was Sherlock we're talking about, it was hard enough trying to get the stubborn arse to stop moping … but snapping him out of denial? That was near impossible! Besides, according to him she wasn't 'kidnapped' so where the bloody hell was she? She didn't just leave for seven months just for the fun of it! We knew she was kidnapped, in fact we had proof she was kidnapped, so why did Sherlock think otherwise?

"She's not kidnapped, she's just missing." The man replied, causing my head to whirl. Missing?! She wasn't missing! Her blood was found on a fence for fucks sake!

"What do you mean missing? You were the one that told me she was kidnapped in the first place." I told him, my feet pacing the floor out of sheer anger. He was the one that had deduced her kidnapping. Sherlock Bloody Holmes had showed me the cracked phone, the blood, everything that screamed kidnapping. He had literally told me with his own voice that she was indeed kidnapped! What the bloody hell!

"When was that? I don't remember ever saying that." He stated, causing me to completely freeze and turn to look at the man in complete shock.

"Right, not only are you in denial, but now you're deleting memories from your mind palace as well." I stated, my mind finally making the connection. For some reason he didn't want to remember her kidnapping, and I understood that very well. What I didn't understand was why the hell he had decided to turn himself into this shell of himself. Why was he hiding himself away? It just made no sense, just like the denial. What was wrong with him? Why was he in denial?

"I'm not in denial."

"Yes you are! Don't you see Sherlock?! She's not missing she's kidnapped, she's been kidnapped for almost seven months!" I explained, nearly shouting him out of frustration. It was just so annoying. Didn't he see? She was kidnapped. It was cold hard fact at this point. Everyone knew she was kidnapped, I knew, Mycroft knew, bloody Scotland Yard knew, hell half of London knew at this point! So how could I get it through Sherlock's thick skull that she wasn't missing? How could I get it through his head that she was kidnapped?

"She's missing and I need to find her. She's safe." I heard him state, his eyes somehow pleading me to stop. For some reason this was hurting him. I didn't know why and I didn't know how, but it was. For some unknown reason he had deleted the fact that she was kidnapped and replaced it with a better explanation. An explanation that would … hurt him less at a guess. And no matter how much I wanted to let it go, and let him pretend like she was okay to spare his pain, I knew I couldn't. I needed to help Abrielle and to do that I needed Sherlock, unfortunately even if that meant hurting him in the process.

"She's not missing, Sherlock! She's out there somewhere in the hands of some killer and you're in here day in and day out doing who knows what. It's been six and a half months Sherlock! My sister could be dead for all we know! Why can't you just accept that she's been kidnapped?" I asked the man, trying my best not to yell at the fragile shell that was Sherlock Holmes. I watched, my heart nearly breaking to shreds as he got up from his bed and grabbed a picture of Abrielle, staring at the picture as if trying to memorizing everything.

"Stop it." He very nearly whispered, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at the picture of my sister. It nearly broke me to the core. Sherlock Holmes, one of the strongest, most stubborn, least emotional person in the world was crying … and it was all my fault.

"No, you're in denial and I need to fix that." I said, guilt clenching my body as I stared at him. It hurt me. It hurt me so bad, but I knew that it was for the best. I needed to help him, I needed to get him back to normal so we can start searching for Bree. It would be the only possible way to save her. Without Sherlock I had nothing, no leads, no idea on where to even start. I needed him in his best state of mind or else Abrielle had no chance of survival, not even an ounce.

"Stop talking about her, please." He begged, his voice wavering, his eyes clenching shut in pain. Somehow, for some reason he cared. He actually cared. So much so that it actually hurt him to even hear her name spoken aloud. Sherlock Holmes, the most inhuman human was hurt that she was gone. Hurt that was still in his room, rubbing in the fact that she was gone right in his face. And honestly, I felt like a complete and utter arse. But it had to be done. I had to break him. I had to snap him out of his grief. It was the only way. I had to show him what was truly going on.

"Why should I stop? You need to understand the severity of the situation, Sherlock." I explained, barely even able to even talk anymore as I watched my best friend cry. I knew exactly why I should stop. It hurt him. Yet, I couldn't stop. I had to keep pushing and pushing and pushing until he was back to normal. I simply had to. Nothing would make this better. Nothing that anyone would ever tell me that what I was doing was justified, because it wasn't, not at all. But I couldn't stop. Not yet, not until he came to his senses.

"I can't find her, John! She's missing and it's all my fault!" Sherlock exclaimed, his voice full of anger, causing my eyes to widen as everything finally clicked in my head. Sherlock felt guilty. That's why he's been secluding himself, that's why he hasn't been eating or sleeping or anything else of the sort, the guilt was eating him alive just as it was previously to me. He felt responsible for her kidnapping, so much so that he even went as far as deleting the simple fact that she was kidnapped from his brain as to alleviate some of the guilt he felt. This was an easy fix, that is, if Sherlock accepts my help that is. The solution was so very simple even I could see it. It was time to get Sherlock back to normal.

"We can't just give up, Sherlock." I explained, trying not to give away my obvious plan. All Sherlock needed was a case. Abrielle's case. It would take away his guilt if he were distracted enough, and it would eventually end up with me getting my sister back which in my eyes is a win win for the both of us. All he needed was a bit of a push to get himself started. And that push was something I liked to call me, myself, and I. All I needed to do was give him the courage to take the case. All I had to do was take him back where it started.

"Then let's go find Abrielle Watson, shall we?" Sherlock replied, wiping his tears away as he grinned like a madman, pulling his coat and scarf on just like old times. It had worked! Sherlock Holmes was back! Now we would find her! We'd find Abrielle! We were back on track and we'd find her within the week! Everything had snapped back into place, and nothing would ruin it. Abrielle Watson would be safe and sound in my arms once again, there was no doubt. Sherlock Holmes was by my side once again, and nothing, not one thing in this universe could stop us from getting to Bree. We were the Doctor and the Detective, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, and we were on a mission. A mission to save Bree.