Just a little blurb that popped into my head when I was cleaning today. I hope you all enjoy it, and as always, I do not own anything Sherlock, that belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and for this version, Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat.
Comments/Reviews welcome!
There are many things I,Sherlock Holmes, have never told John. Many things. Because John is a caring person, a doctor, one with a great deal of sympathy. If he knew some of the things in my past, no doubt it would change his opinion of the detective. But one of the biggest things I never told John was about my two years away.
I never told the doctor how the loneliness ate away at me in a way I'd never experienced before. That before I was content to be alone but after the Fall, it became almost unbearable not to have John by my side to talk to, or get his unique insights. There are other things I would never tell John. Like how I spent days and nights on the streets for surveillance, freezing half to death, or hiding away in shacks so that no one would learn I was alive, which were little more than four walls and a dirt floor. And finally, how I finally allowed myself to return to drugs in order to keep my mind sharp and focused on the task.
Most importantly, I would never let John know how much physical damage I sustained while I was gone. Bruises, minor broken bones, cuts, all sustained without my army doctor there to help me. And when my brother finally recalled me to London, it was right after a rather brutal beating. Something that he obviously enjoyed or he would have ended it far sooner than he did.
When we were living in Baker Street, I remembered a show on the tellie that John was watching, something to do with an idiot and a blue box, but what I recalled the most was a line which said 'never let the Doctor see the damage'. Of course the situation was very different, but I quickly discovered that it was a good rule to live by nonetheless. If he saw the pain he became insufferable and overbearing. But it also seemed to activate his soldier's instincts to protect people. Namely those that he cares about. The aches, pains and results of our adventures must be hidden if at all possible.
When I returned to London, I knew that John would be more than a little upset, not quite so foolish as to think my friend would merely forgive me right away. I did think the man would be a touch happier to see me, but I do miscalculate once in a while. Disguising my pain from my friend was one of the hardest things I have ever done, yet at the same time I purposely did little to defend myself when John inevitably attacked. Even if I saw the aggression coming a mile away.
I may not have had many in my time, but I have discovered that friendship sometimes means keeping your silence and letting the other person vent their emotions. I've learned a lot about friendship and how dear it can be, from John. One of the people I care most for in the world, one of the people I faked my death to protect.
And in my case, friendship means never letting my doctor see the damage.