Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

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Thank you for all who wrote a review or a comment, you are great!

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Chapter 8

Day 3 - Sunday, 2:30 in the morning

John sat in the living room, unmoving, the past hour's events kind of haunting him. Sherlock had experienced the bad sides of being a very intelligent child: understanding more than half the grown-ups around him and being punished for lying, just because they didn't understand or thought a child could have so much insight… To be told he was dumb because he asked too many questions must have also severely hurt him.

Overall the detective's childhood must have been difficult. Constantly bored, not challenged enough, probably scolded for questioning all and everything, being constantly misunderstood, and punished for being a liar when he only described what he sensed, felt, observed or deduced. He probably had no friends his age, not even later in his teens or at the University as far as the doctor knew.

John felt a rush of sympathy for the child Sherlock, that was harmed by not being listened to. It made him quite sad when he realised the impact this experiences might have on a child. When his stomach clenched, he wondered if Sherlock had infected him or if this was a reaction to the things he had just understood.

Experiencing not to be helped, when hurt or sick - although doctors had the knowledge to do so - because no one understood was a sinister world, especially for a child. As he knew his friend Sherlock would have tried harder and harder but had presumably been told he was wrong and maybe even get punished for insisting.

At a certain age he must have figured out the was the possibility that grown ups were wrong, and tried to help himself, but there was not much one could do with a broken bone of course.

No doubt this would shatter trust in other individuals, and doctors especially… No wonder Sherlock was so suspicious about people in general and several kinds of professions.

Being constantly misunderstood and told you are wrong by individuals who should know better.

Even as a child the consultant sometimes must have had more knowledge about certain topics than people three times his age, who believed they knew everything and therefore were sure a young person must be wrong. Sherlock being a know-it-all and always needing to have the last line had surely added to the problem.

Sherlock's way to tell what he knew was often seen as showing-off… well, maybe he was guilty of that sometimes, but most of the time people were offended by being told what they should know, or because they didn't know.

Peoples' reactions might have first lead to disorientation and finally to the loss of faith in humanity from a child's perspective. Especially when not understanding the human nature concerning making oneself look better than others, or lie about one's mistakes, or being to gutless to admit flaws and failure… Sherlock was not good in understanding the meaner aspects of human's nature, he had stored them and learned to recognise them but John had the impression he didn't really understand those. This probably had hurt him quite frequently as a child, in addition to the mean aspects themselves.

John tried to remember if Sherlock had ever been mean with him around, sure, Sherlock was rude, honest, frustrated, grumpy, direct, brutally accurate, sometimes teasing or insulting, sometimes harder than he should be when trying to cause a reaction, but none of all those things were because he wanted to hurt or be mean to another being. If he insulted someone on purpose it was usually a reaction but not him who started it, or he wanted to provoke a reaction, which was rude but effective.

Sherlock was all those things not only with other people, but also with himself. This fact made John so sure it was not happening with the intention to hurt. The detective was as hard with himself as with everybody else. In fact, more than twice as hard. He expected much less from others than from himself. He must have learned that as a kid, too.

Some time ago Sherlock had explained to him that his communication was happening in a place far away from normal people and that most individuals were not able to even enter this 'room'. Some were at least able to realise the room was there and see into it through a window, but drew the wrong conclusions from their limited insight. Their own desire to interpret and categorise things, making it all wrong, and Sherlock was the one suffering from their superficial behaviour and resulting 'lies'.

Back then John had listened to the description, but when he was honest at that time he was the one who had only stored the information but didn't understand it, now it became much clearer what Sherlock had tried to describe. The doctor wondered where he himself was in this scheme. He sincerely hoped he was able to stand and watch through a door, instead of a window.

This was kind of horrible.

He wished he could help Sherlock to replace the bad experiences with new and good ones, but if it was possible at all, this would be a lot of work and needed a lot of trust.

Was he up to that?

Could he care for another being like that, still suffering from his PTSD?

Because when he was honest this would be kind of therapy and he was not a therapist. With this, there was almost no room for mistakes. Sherlock would take every hesitation, every rejection as a proof for his earlier experiences. To break this circle would be hard and needed absolute trust.

Was he able to do this? Had he Sherlock's trust?… No, not to such a level… at least not yet. Well, he had more than anybody else, nobody else would be able to start this… Would Sherlock even let him in?

Maybe it was already happening.

Sherlock let him in far more than anyone else, granted him even touch sometimes… John already though of them as good friends… and maybe that was the thing Sherlock needed. Restoring the trust in humanity was probably a lost cause but enabling him to ask for help and then get some John could try.

His phone rang.

Mycroft.

He picked up.

"John?"

"Yeah."

"Are you well?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Sherlock sent me a message telling me he 'misplaced' you. I texted you twice. You didn't respond, so I decided to call."

"I'm fine. Sorry, didn't check for messages."

"My brother sounded kind of… out of it… Did we miss a danger night?"

"No. He's sick. I'm not sure what caused it yet, but the options are food poisoning or stomach bug."

"Oh, thank goodness… I was really worried."

"He actually is… kind of… out of it. At first, I wondered if he was delirious but is was caused by dehydration."

"Feel free to tell me if you need any medical equipment. Taking him to a hospital might not be an option."

"Ta, I might come back to that later… I have some questions, though…"

"Go ahead."

"… concerning Sherlock's childhood."

"Oh. Go on, then."

"Did Sherlock break his ribs when he was a child? The incident might be related to a bike…"

"Did he tell you about that?"

"No, at least I think he wasn't really conscious at the time… He was kind of… half asleep or dreaming."

"He was eight, he came home and told us he was knocked over when riding his bike back home and feared he had some damaged ribs. He was taken to a doctor, but the man diagnosed that the child was lying and had heard of broken ribs in the telly and now used it as an excuse. He didn't do anything to help at all, not even x-rayed him. He was an idiot."

"Yeah, I think this was the incident."

"Well, back then our mother unfortunately listened to the doctor, and Sherlock was scolded instead of being treated… Some time later when an X-ray of the torso was performed, due to something else, it was discovered there were two ribs that had been broken in the past. The incident was very unfortunate, and although I tried to explain to Sherlock that the stupidity of one man didn't mean all doctors were incompetent his trust was betrayed quite severely," Mycroft explained.

"Shit," John murmured.

"There is another problem. Sherlock seems to have problems with the line between 'something feels not good' and 'something hurts'. He wouldn't say something hurts when others would, which means he's kind of pain-resistant, has always been. So, when a doctor pressed a spot and asked if it hurt Sherlock said 'no' because the doctor didn't asked if it felt 'not good' and Sherlock answered truthfully from his point of view."

"Okay… And then the doctor made a wrong diagnosis because the spots that should hurt didn't, according to the child… There was another thing with a gone-wrong operation and him having infections for years."

"That is correct… Enduring that for a pretty long period made him figure out how to even lower his pain reception or switch it off entirely. Especially because he was repeatedly told that he was not in pain. The discrepancy between 'pain' and 'no pain' became even bigger," the older Holmes sighed at the end of that sentence.

"The results must have been devastating," John assumed.

"Yes, he lost a lot of his trust in all his sense's input and had a hard time getting it back later. He avoided speaking about any kind of sensations for years, too. The fact that his senses are highly sensitive and are causing him pain on a daily basis didn't do him any good. Since his surroundings didn't share or understood his descriptions - and to what depths and levels he was able to sense - made it even harder. He was pretty frustrated. I was able to explain at least some things to him, though my sense were much less problematic or intense… Sherlock was always eager to gather background knowledge and he listened to me. I'm really surprised he talked about this… it's kind of a sore spot in his history."

"As I said, he's out of it and I need to know if he was just dreaming, or hallucinating, or if those were in fact real memories."

"They are memories."

"Got that already. Were there more incidents where Sherlock was the baddie for telling the truth?"

"Yes, and to my shame I have to admit I'm guilty of not standing up for him some of the times I knew he was right."

"You were... how old… fourteen… fifteen back then? You were a kid, too, it was not your responsibility," John started.

"I did see it, and this should have made it my responsibility. I failed him, John… several times… and after I understood what being misunderstood did to him I decided to never fail him again… But it was too late and I fear he… had a rough time."

John sighed, "You really are worried about him, aren't you?"

"I believe I already said that at our first meeting."

"I know… But back then I was the one misunderstanding what was in front of me."

"John, he trusts you… He has never trusted anyone like this in his life. I need to make sure you get everything you need to keep that trust safe from any harm, do you understand what is at stake here?"

"You're saying this is too important to go wrong?" John wanted to be sure.

"Correct. I'm aware this is a heavy burden, but since I you are already shouldering it for almost a year now… and you seem not to classify it as a burden… and also seem to be willing to be a friend to my brother..."

"I am, Mycroft," John interrupted him, "And there is no doubt about our friendship. It's just hard to be left in the dark with several aspects of his past sometimes."

Mycroft was silent for some long moments, then seemed to have made a decision.

"You can ask me everything you want to know about his childhood, if you think information your friendship would profit from it… Though with some things I will ask for his permission before telling you."

"Thanks… I'm glad for help with this… and your trust. Sorry, if I was a bit… careful in the beginning."

"It's quite understandable, doctor. I would've doubted you if you had done what I asked for, especially for money, to be honest."

John laughed. Mycroft and Sherlock were so much alike… and yet so different. He could almost feel Mycroft roll his eyes about his amusement.

"He had a rough night. If he isn't better in the morning I need to consider other causes and might need a lab… maybe Molly Hooper is on duty."

"John, I'd feel much easier if you could get some samples and hand it over to Anthea as soon as possible."

John raised his eyebrows.

What was Mycroft afraid of?

"Any reasons for your wariness?"

"Sherlock is a pro in hiding any kind of distress. As you already understood he can't process his sensations sometimes and if he doesn't want to perceive or process them… We need to keep a close eye on this. His dehydration might be more advanced than we think. He might have been dehydrated before he got sick. So please examine him thoroughly… and besides… Sherlock doesn't get sick…"

This time John laughed out even louder. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"You misunderstand me. He has no experience with being sick. Whenever Sherlock's whole school managed to suffer from a virus, Sherlock was the only one not affected… Whenever the whole family was vomitting from something I brought home from school, he seemed to ignore it… What I'm saying is, in ninety-eight percent of those events Sherlock did not catch it, well, neither did my father but that's something else. I don't know how, but he also managed to evade every childhood diseases except chicken pocks, and that was quite late, when he was twelve or thirteen… He's probably quite naïve when it comes to describing things, even if he wants to."

"I took a sample when he puked for the first time."

"Foresightful. I'll send Anthea then, you need something else? Meds?"

"I'd like to try to get him hydrated by drinking but it's… well, if it doesn't work, it might be better to treat him with an IV."

"You have those at home?"

"No."

"I'll send some equipment, just in case… Maybe I should also get some general medical supplies… If you don't need it, store it for later use. If he fights you… you might need some…"

"Do you really think such drastic methods are necessary?" John interrupted, a bit surprised.

"I doubt my brother will be able to utter his body's needs… If he's dehydrated, please don't hesitate to get fluids into him via IV, sedate him if you need. I trust you to make the right medical decision."

"I'm sure such a thing would worsen his opinion about doctors, but I understand the point. That option will be a last resort," John frowned.

Had he underestimated the urgency of the situation?

"Okay, I'll send her over with everything you need. She'll be there within the hour. Don't hesitate to call if you need something else."

"Yeah, thank you. I'll do my best."

"I know, John. Thank you. I feel a lot easier since I know my brother is not alone in that flat any longer… and since I know he has a… friend."

John didn't know what to say.

"Good night, Doctor."

"Night."

Mycroft hung up and John stared at his mobile for several moments.

Had he ever had a conversation with Mycroft that was so lengthy?

He wondered if Anthea would be at the door before he was able to raise from his armchair.

Better get some fluids into Sherlock now.

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A/N:

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