Devonshire Squires Chapter Thirty Five
A few hours later, a car arrived at Hartswood Manor, carrying doctors Watson and Cohen. George was somewhat taken aback by the size of the suitcase that Watson took from the boot of the car, giving it to Ashley Lewis.
"Um, the invitation was for you to stay over just tonight, so I hope that isn't yours, is it? Under the circumstances, I think it best if neither of you were here when he wakes up tomorrow."
That got him a pained look from Watson. "Mrs Hudson packed it with Sherlock's things. I'll explain why that matters once we're inside."
As he settled Watson and Cohen in the big kitchen of the middle house, the sound of a drill upstairs could be heard. While he made them tea, he kicked off the conversation.
"Anything you can tell me about him will help. I've read the papers, seen the stories on TV. That's the public face, but I will need some idea about what he's like, so I can get started."
The sound of the kettle boiling filled the silence as Watson looked down to pour milk into his own cup and that of Doctor Cohen. He didn't offer to fill George's RAMC mug with milk. "It's almost impossible to know where to begin, for someone who knows nothing about him." Once he put the milk jug down, his left hand made a vague gesture between him and George. "Having to explain this all to someone one doesn't understand that? It's…awkward." There was pain and anger in the tone that he was not trying to hide.
As the kettle reached the boiling point and gave a pop as it switched off, George gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know." He knew that he needed to reassure the man. "But, until we know why he's had the reaction he's had to you, it's just too dangerous. For both of you." He leaned back against the kitchen counter and relaxed his own shoulders, trying to get John to do the same. "Let's just see if a third party can be helpful."
"No, you don't understand what I meant. It's not just…him. I was also thinking about you, too. Sherlock can be…" He stopped, and George saw him struggle to find the right words. "I've watched him take people apart at the seams. You have no idea what you've let yourself in for. If you're going to go walking through the minefield that is Sherlock, you'll need to be prepared, and that means you have to know his complete medical history."
As Hayter filled the tea pot and stirred the loose leaf tea, he said warily, "Perhaps it would be better to let him tell me what he wants me to know."
Esther and John exchanged glances, and she shook her head. The psychiatrist gave George a kindly smile. "Not a good idea, I'm afraid. Hell would freeze over before he'd volunteer anything. And you need to know, if you're to have a fighting chance, otherwise, he'll rip you to shreds."
Their attitude made Hayter uncomfortable. He gave the tea pot a vigorous swirl and then poured their tea. "What about medical confidentiality? He needs to give permission for me to get a hold of any details about his medical history."
John blew on his cup to try to cool it a bit. "No. I have medical power of attorney. It's still valid, now that he's alive again." if there was a tinge of bitterness in that word, he didn't seem to notice. John stirred his tea, and then continued, "The care and feeding of a Sherlock is …well, challenging." The look on his face became a bit sad. "There's just so much you need to know; things he would never, ever tell you himself. I only know them because I was there when they came to light, and because he gave me the authority to be his medical advocate. He trusts me."
George watched Watson take his first sip of his tea and then make a face. "Too damn hot." He put the cup down and then lifted his chin. "I should be the one doing this. He doesn't have to start from square one with me. You just…." He closed his eyes as if struggling for the right word. "You're not me."
George met John's eyes when he opened them again, and nodded. "No, I'm not. And I could sit here and tell you what you already know- the General Medical Council's guidance is that wherever possible, you should avoid providing medical care to anyone with whom you have a close personal relationship."
John shook his head, but before he could speak, George continued. "Let's set that aside and look at the facts. Letting me try is going to lower the risk of him having another episode. Once I can figure out why you seem to be a trigger for whatever it going on, then I promise you'll be told. But, until we know it's safe to bring you back into his life, the patient's needs come first. You know that, John."
Esther nodded. "John, I'm sorry, but I agree with him. That said, George, you can't go into this without being forewarned and forearmed; without knowing his full history, not only will you not be able to help him, but you could do real harm."
John reached down to the briefcase that he had brought with him. "I sent these back to Mycroft when I thought Sherlock was dead." He started to pull out a set of files and the pile kept growing higher. "A car delivered them to my flat this afternoon, so I could bring them to show you. It'll take you all night to read them, but at least you've got his brother's legal approval- which matters, too."
Leaning his back up against the kitchen sink while he cradled his own cup of tea, George didn't try to hide his confusion. "I don't understand; surely Sherlock has a right to privacy?"
John pushed the foot high pile of files towards George. "Until two years ago, he was designated a vulnerable adult; his brother was his official guardian. Sherlock's on the Autistic Spectrum, has Sensory Processing Disorder and has been sectioned on a number of occasions as a threat to himself and to others. There's been three periods of serious drug addiction, the first one when Sherlock was sixteen. He's overdosed with intent to kill himself at least twice, and those were after he'd been released from rehab."
George's eyes must have showed his shock at the one-two-three punch of those medical facts. When he found his voice again, he said, "I guessed he was on the Spectrum; I seem to recall that was mentioned in that wretched Sun article years ago, but the journalist said Asperger's."
"I really hope you don't believe everything you read in the papers, Mister Hayter." There was a clear warning in that statement, one which George could not miss. He felt acutely aware of the discomfort John was feeling about the whole situation. And he felt for the man. To be a doctor and a friend, and not be able to help would be hard for anyone. To realise that he was somehow a trigger for that friend's distress would be devastating. On top of that, Watson had to face his own PTSD demons at the same time as feeling guilty that he might be involved in some way with Sherlock's own version of the psychosis. George knew that he had to find a way to get him on side.
"John, of course not; that's why I am asking you and Esther. You two know him better than anyone else." He wasn't going to back away.
Perhaps to ease the tension, Esther stepped in, "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? He's not Aspergers, rather, full on ASD; he's just smart enough to have figured out how to deal with it better than most. Most important from your point of view, Sherlock's pathological fear of being institutionalised comes from the fact that he was. When he was ten his mother died, and his father shut him in a psychiatric institution. It was claimed that he was suffering from a major depressive episode, and catatonia, complicated by voluntary mutism. He didn't say a word for seven months. His brother found him, got him out of the hospital and eventually wrestled legal guardianship away from his father. That's when I arrived on the scene. I specialise in psychiatric treatment of autistic children and young adults."
John resumed. "When Sherlock gets depressed- and it's likely that he will be that now- you're going to have to deal with the fact that he won't talk, won't engage. He just shuts everyone and everything out. If you're not careful, he'll regress right back into autistic behaviour- a sort of two fingered salute to everyone else in the world. If and when he gets out of that, then you'll have to get through the triple A...anxious, agitated and aggressive...phase." And he gave a dry laugh. "Oh, and there's the detox, too. I took a short cut with him last time; but Lestrade says the normal process is hell."
Esther chipped in again. "His SPD means that whatever horrors normally accompany a neurotypical person's detox are amplified a hundred-fold for Sherlock. So, that's what the suitcase is for. In there will be sheets of over 800 thread count, his brand of toiletries, his clothes- all of which are designed to limit sensory stimulation. What drives him to drug use is the need to escape what is going on in his head. The cocaine de-clutters the data stream, morphine obliterates it. There is nothing legal I can prescribe that is anywhere near as effective. So, when those are gone, his injuries are going to be causing him pain. In detox? Well, it will be worse. He's likely to get the whole gamut- allodynia, synaesthesia, hyperalgesia- and they will push him into meltdown." She looked down at her tea cup. "What I am saying, George, is that he doesn't need a high fever or to be on drugs in order to have a psychotic episode."
George gave the two of them what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "Lucky for me then that I won't be doing this on my own. I never said to Mycroft that I wouldn't be calling on you both for help. And that means "on call"- any time day or night, if I need a little "translation service" to help me understand what you think is going on."
He gestured to the pile of medical files. "I will wade through that tonight. But, looking at what other people have thought and done in the past doesn't mean I won't form my own view, and that it might be different from yours. Because you've been around the houses with him on this before, both of you've got baggage. Past experiences can get in the way. That past affects his reaction to you, too. You have expectations of how he's going to behave; he thinks he knows what you want from him. It's easy enough to fall into predictable patterns of resistance."
"Time to try something new." George needed their trust and their support, but he also needed room to manoeuver. "Maybe what he needs this time is a fresh chance- something different, something unexpected. You are going to have to give me the freedom to find the best way to engage him in that. Are you willing to help me try?"
Esther was quick to answer. "Yes. After more than twenty five years of not really getting anywhere, Lord knows, if anyone else can make a breakthrough with him, then I'm all for it."
John didn't reply, and the silence lengthened. Then he smacked his empty cup down on the kitchen table with some force. "Are you having second thoughts now? Because if you're not, you should be." There was anger and challenge in those words. He couldn't have made his unhappiness with the whole situation more obvious.
George sat down in the chair opposite John. "Let's talk about that. Because you have medical power of attorney, then you have to be content with this, and I'm hearing doubts. What's different this time, John- apart from the fact that you can't be his Plan A?"
John looked out the window over the kitchen sink; he was gathering his thoughts, and George let him. He needed John on side with this.
Without looking at either of them in the room, John started speaking quietly. "Two years ago, Sherlock faked his death. You have no idea what it felt like to think that he'd committed suicide, and that I wasn't able to see it, to anticipate it, to stop him. I spent two years in agony over my failure to keep him alive only to discover that it was all… just a fake."
His voice cracking with emotion, John continued, "But now- in that gym treatment room I watched him try to kill himself -for real, this time. And he said it was because of me. I might have excused that as a result of the drugs and the fever, but the second time, in the hospital, he said I was dead, that he'd deleted me."
His eyes looked haunted as he broke off and drew a breath before he could resume. "I can't go through this again. I can't lose him. This time it will be worse, because I will know for sure that I am somehow responsible for this. So, just so you know, there are two lives at stake here."
"I know." George said it quietly, and gave it a moment to sink in.
Then he continued, "In fact, there are three lives, because if something happens to you, Mary's future is at stake, too. I'm not offering to do this because it's going to be easy- not for me, not for anyone. All three of you are going to have to trust me. Doctor Cohen wants to trust me, but that's not enough. Mary will trust me, if you do. Sherlock will never trust me, if you don't. So, it's down to you. What's it going to be, John? Do I have your permission to proceed?"
His use of the military term was a conscious choice. Into battle. But he needed to know that he had John's support; he wouldn't be able to do this on his own. George held his breath and waited.
Finally, John looked up from wooden table and met his eyes, "Yes. You have my permission." If there was just a hint of desperation in his words, George choose not to comment on it.
Author's note: Hold onto your hats- there is only an epilogue left to come.