Chapter 2
Sherlock's POV:
The first thing that I realize when I wake up is the knocking pain in my head. It's what had woken me and like every time it happened I need a few minutes to find my way back to full consciousness.
John must have called Mycroft, my neck hurts from the injection with the knock out drug my brother uses to get me back. Not really a pleasant way but the only one that has worked so far. In the last thirty years we have tested many things.
The room is dark. The only light is coming from a gap under the door that tells me John is still up, waiting for me to come out or something. Getting up after one of these attacks is always a challenge but one I take without hesitation. Staying here in the darkness of my room would mean 'giving in'.
So I push myself up, gather a fresh pajama from my drawer and enter the hallway to disappear into the bathroom. A hot shower is the best thing right now. My cramped muscles start to relax and the pain in my head becomes dull. It won't go away for quite a time but in this way it is manageable. Dried and dressed in clean pajamas and dressing gown I enter the living room where a tea is waiting for me. That is so British, every problem can be solved with a cup of tea. But I'm thankful for this little sign of normality. Sitting down, I take the tea in my hands and for the first time look into my very worried looking flat mate's eyes. I see the questions and his helplessness from before aren't gone yet. How can I explain it to him? He waits until I'm ready because he knows I need the time. My brain is always so slow after one of these stupid attacks. It's because of the state the mind palace is in now: all the doors are pushed open and the contents is lying scattered around in various hallways. I have to tidy it up to be able to use it properly again. It will takes a few hours, maybe even a whole a day but it can wait now. First I have to talk or better explain to John what happened without thinking too much.
"You have questions, ask!" My voice is hoarse and it hurts when I talk but it is probably easier if I let John ask questions. I don't have to think about every possibility or how to do this but just give one answer to whatever question he will ask.
"Will it happen again and if 'yes' what can I do to help you or stop it?" I have to smile a bit, so typical John. He is always looking for a way to help people.
"It could happen very soon or never again. But I don't think I'm lucky enough to be speared form this pain." My eyes are still focused on my friend who is thinking. The tea had warmed me up, a pleasant feeling.
"Can you explain what it is and are there triggers we can avoid?" The question among all the 'what happened' questions, is a very good one.
"I don't have a name for it. It is a kind of an overload of my senses. You have to imagine how my brain works. If I were able to process all the information I get without using my sense I would need ten times the capacity my brain has right now. It's too much to handle. So I had to build a wall between my mind and the world around me. It's exhausting to keep this wall up so as to dull my senses and protect my mind from too much... too much of everything. I still manage more than the average person but sometimes the wall gets cracks in it and this always takes me by surprise, it comes without warning and it hurts, a lot. Every cell in my body hurts and that is all I know. I can't really explain it better because I can't remember." John's look is dark. There is no better word to describe the way his eyes are looking now. The feelings I can read out of him are a mix of helplessness, sadness and a bit of anger. Not against me, more a general kind of anger.
"What did Mycroft do to stop it?"
"Oh, he knocked me out with a drug. It basically separates the connection between my body and mind for long enough to stop the pain allow me to rebuilt the wall while I am still unconscious. It's not a good feeling but the most effective way have found so far. By the way, thanks for calling him and not 999." I send a bigger smile over to John to convince him he did right and that Mycroft drugging me was a normal thing.
"So, you are telling me it will probably happen again, there is no way to know when, no possibility to do something before it happens or to stop these attacks without drugging you!"
"Basically, yes." It is the only answer I can give him. What else should I say? The long conversation hurts my throat and head, and I only want to go back to relaxing in total silence.
"Okay, would you like another tea?" John stands up without waiting for an answer; he must have seen that I'm tired. Five minutes later with a new tea in my hands, dimmed light and a blanket around my shoulders my body starts to relax, I lie back against the sofa and can feel John watching over me.