Chapter Four
Clearing the Mist
-.-
When his sibling enters, twenty minutes later, Sherlock is on all fours on the carpet, groaning and clutching his head. He looks up at his brother with pleading eyes – eyes that even Mycroft Holmes sees the pain in.
"Sherlock?" He asks slowly, walking over. "What is it? Did someone attack you?" But, even now, he can see that no stranger has been in the flat. There are no signs of a struggle. There is only the younger Holmes, and Mycroft can't tell what has happened.
"It… The voices…" Sherlock whispers. "I can hear… someone…"
"Have you been taking drugs?" Mycroft asks, frowning.
"No! No… It's… Ever since I woke up…"
"Right. Sit on the chair…" His older brother helps him to sit. Sherlock gazes at him mistrustfully, wincing, his hand still on his forehead. "What is it then? What can you hear?"
"Just…" Sherlock flinches at a sudden twinge. "I can't make it out. But… it sounds pretty desperate… A man's voice."
"I can phone for an ambulance if you want." Mycroft states. The indifference in his voice reminds Sherlock just how far apart they really are. He shakes his head. "Right, then. Can you explain why you believed that someone has been in the flat?"
Sherlock puckers his brow. "It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, look at all the possessions here that don't belong to me. Like…" He reaches out and picks an object at random from the coffee table. It happens to be John's mug. "How do you explain this…?" He trails off, transfixed by the item in his hand.
Mycroft's ice mask falls from his face and his expression morphs into one of pity.
"Sherlock…" He begins slowly. Gently.
His brother is still staring at the mug, lip trembling. He looks up.
"I have no connection to this mug." He says flatly. But his eyes are watering. "Mycroft… What's happening?"
"Lestrade told me about… the situation. When you woke up, you claimed not to know anyone by the name John Watson –"
"I don't –!"
"And you claimed not to remember anything about him whatsoever. So. I believe that you've… deleted him."
"I've…" Sherlock pales. "… Deleted a whole person? Is that even possible?"
"Apparently it is." Silence. "The voices in your head are inevitably the remnants of any memories you have left of the doctor."
"He's a doctor?"
"Was a retired army doctor, yes."
"Oh, of course." Throughout the conversation, Sherlock has still been hearing the ringing cries in his head. He does his best to ignore them. "So." He starts softly. "Why on Earth would I take a whole person out of my mind palace?"
Mycroft shifts uncomfortably.
"He was your friend…"
"I don't have friends." Sherlock sneers. A moment later he starts violently. "I've… I've heard that before."
Mycroft sighs quietly.
"If you want to know more about this, I'm not the best person to be talking to. Speak to Lestrade or Mrs Hudson. Or anyone else that comes to mind." Sherlock doesn't answer. "I need to get back to the office. If your headache gets worse, phone me."
He leaves without a word.
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