Chapter Five
Sherlock & John
John picked up the paperwork and followed Lady Rose Holmes out the bright room. She pointed to each of the closed doors as they passed,
"Kitchen … bar," they reached the lift but Lady Holmes continued to name the doors the other side of the building as they waited for it,
"Family room and the small library where the boys did their school work,"
The lift ride was only down two floors and the other side Rose again pointed to each of the doors,
"A second family room … my husbands office … the boy's toy room of course Sherlock is the only one to use that now for all his funny science experiments: don't touch anything in there without him it could be anything … a communal bathroom and finally Sherlock's bedroom," the scratched door they walked towards was at the far end his bedroom past the 'toy' room. The wall between was also shabby with marks and dents, a marked difference from the rest of the spotless house.
"The floor above is the two guest bedrooms my parents and in-laws use, my room, my husbands' room and our eldest's'," John nodded but Lady Holmes must have seen a hint of confusion,
"Sherlock used to have a room with the rest of us but after a row with Mycroft he moved down here and has never seen the need to come back up again." Lady Holmes looked vaguely sad about that so John merely nodded again.
"We turned his room into a very large walk-in closet." She smiled again and entered Sherlock's realm.
"John … you made it," Sherlock shifted in his double bed trying to wriggle upwards. John noted with relief he was no longer handcuffed. His eyes were wide open and staring dopily up at his mother then he frowned,
"John?" he questioned,
"He's right behind me … have you been giving your brother trouble?" John wanted to protest, to back the teenager since clearly his parents didn't trust him.
"I … no … he … Sherlock whined, frustrated he couldn't say what he wanted too,
"Honey you have to stay still!" Sherlock's mother pleaded with him.
"John!" Sherlock suddenly shouted, a train of thought blazing through the drugs,
"Ye . . . "
"Mycroft … with … John!"
"Do you understand what he means?" Lady Holmes turned shrewd eyes on John,
"When I first arrived I spoke with your other son," John didn't get the significance but Lady Holmes nodded with sudden clarity.
"I see … Sherlock John is allowed to speak to other members of this family, yes he will be spending most of his time with you but you aren't to monopolise all his time you understand?" Sherlock mumbled and sank into his bed falling back to sleep,
"Would you mind staying here until he wakes up again?"
"Of course not – I'll read these files," Sherlock's medical records were rather extensive and John was eager to go through them, to get on with the part of this job he knew he could do.
"Thank you … I know all this must be a bit outside your comfort zone but Sherlock really needs someone with your admirable character as a role model." The elegant lady nodded at John, cast a loving look over her son and exited.
John took a slow turn around the room … it was chaotic and if John had thought the hallway had been damaged it was nothing compared to the room: great dents littered the four walls and ceiling, random colour was splashed across otherwise light yellow walls and clues to what might have made them were strewn over the floor – pots, jars (unlabelled) even a collection of buckets filled with various soils (one had an ivy growing out of it).
There was no furniture except for a bed and very large desk/table. Paper and books were haphazardly piled over every surface. They seemed to be in some sort of order – John saw four books on the history of Germany (with two more books written in German) but the same pile also had a hardback on butterflies. The room was as far from that of a teenage boy as John could have imagined: no TV, no posters (of sport or anything else), no clothes of any kind and no computers.
A desk chair stood in front of the desk covered by a blanket and three books. John moved the books to what seemed to be the sole bit of floor space and sat on the blanket. He lowered the chair and swung round to face the bed (turning his back on the invasive camera).
The medical file on Sherlock started with his most recent injuries (including x-rays, private doctors note even a police report) and went back to his birth. Doctor Watson was grateful and almost overwhelmed by its thoroughness. He was happy to see Sherlock's current injuries were not as severe as total bed rest would indicate and the teenager would be happy to be able to get up in just a day or two. He guessed the hospital had proscribed the extreme measure as a precaution because of the families' status. When the report moved back to Sherlock's last medical exam John backtracked – there didn't seem to be any mention of what drug Sherlock was being given. After double checking it was clear it had been missed out deliberately. He turned back to look at the camera and promised himself he would find out no matter if it led to him being dismissed.
Moving on he was sad (but not surprised) to see the boys check up noted the teen was underweight, undernourished, anaemic, difficult (attributed to depression), mentally unstable and possibly suicidal. The report seemed unusually invasive for just a check up but considering the camera over his shoulder and what its conclusions were John wasn't surprised. He wondered if Mycroft's heavy-handed treatment of Sherlock was a cause of the boys' problems or a reaction to it.
Before that there was a description written again by the private doctor reporting Sherlock's experience while being restrained unable to inject himself with heroin. It had amendments by Mycroft. John was upset to realise this 'cold turkey' event took place over his fourteenth birthday.
"Doctor Oswald Althorp, 'god even his name is pretentious" John muttered.
Just as he was reading about Sherlock's appendectomy the teen huffed,
"Bor-in,"
"You're awake!" John said obviously (much to Sherlock's annoyance) and nearly dropped the file in surprise,
"What was your … first clue?" the teen asked sarcastically still fighting the effects of whatever drug he had been given. John ignored his question and asked his own,
"How are you feeling?"
"Bored!" Sherlock's answer was predictable and not what John had meant,
"I meant do you have any pain anywhere?"
"You weren't specific,"
"My mistake," John waited patiently as Sherlock stared at him before huffing and looking up at the ceiling.
"So that's a no then?" John kept his voice even,
"Mycroft's drug is doing its job doctor," the teen's voice was sullen and dull, worrying John but he had the opening he had been waiting for,
"And what drug would that be?"
"I don't know you're the doctor – It'll be experimental though,"
"What makes you say that?"
"You're reading my medical file,"
"And?" Sherlock huffed for a third time and sent an aggravated look at John,
"That's the only reason Mycroft would have left out its name. Are you always going to ask me obvious questions?"
"Quite possibly. Is that going to be a problem?" Sherlock blinked, obviously taken back by John's abruptness.
"Why are you smiling?" The teen seemed confused by his own question as if he meant to say or ask something else,
"Wait are you mocking me?" Sherlock seemed to try and pull his long limbs closer to his body as he asked the question. John recognised the motion of someone trying to hide and it was a disconcerting thing to witness.
"No Sherlock I'm smiling because I'm impressed with your non-nonsense attitude when you're minutes away from falling asleep,"
"Do you al…always smile when some … someone impresses you?" Sherlock's confused question was interrupted as he yawned – loud and long.
"Not always,"
"Good, it makes you lo…look stu . . ." Sherlock drifted off mid-word and John's (stupid) grin grew. He predicted he would enjoy Sherlock's company – the way he would say exactly what he was thinking, ask intelligent questions and maybe even how he acted like a irritable child.
It took John a further three hours to get through Sherlock's file thankfully the boy slept through all that. It was now lunchtime and as John put the file down wondering what he was to do for food someone knocked on Sherlock's door. As the only occupant awake, John answered,
"Yes, come in,"
It was Miranda and she had a tray full of John's favourite food. John supposed this was another message from Mycroft.
"Mister Mycroft sent this up for you,"
"I guessed as much thank you,"
"You're welcome," the young lady blushed and pointed to a sandwich,
"Mister Mycroft said Sherlock was to eat this as soon as he woke I don't … I mean he won't … I . . ."
"The kid won't want it and I'll have to force feed it to him?" John guessed what she was trying to stutter out,
"Yes … well Mister Mycroft thought you would be … gentler than himself,"
"Why might he think that?" instead of becoming scared or defensive of John's anger Miranda answered immediately,
"Because you're a gentle man,"
"And he's not?" John queried with raised eyebrows,
"No and you're kind and caring," she was facing the camera and she must know who was sat watching it so John was surprised but her frank answer and by how she saw him,
"I'm a soldier!" suddenly John could feel his army issued machine gun in his hands and pictured pointing towards an armed enemy combatant. His finger twitched as he imagined pulling the trigger and recoiled from seeing a flash and feeling the heat of the explosion as a concealed bomb exploded.
Something touched his arm and he jerked to his knees heaving into a handy bucket.
"M…M…Mister Watson?"
"I believe the doctor has just had a flashback Miranda pass him that water?" Sherlock's voice was tense and John remained on his knees flushing with embarrassment. He forced a smile when he accepted the water from Miranda.
"A…are you alright?" she looked frightened of him or for him . . . John couldn't find the energy to care either way. He felt drained, empty and desolate. Some of what he was feeling must have shown in his eyes because Miranda sat down by his side and put her arm around him.
"I'm sorry about that," he said,
"It's … what are you apologising for?" Miranda asked curious,
"I don't know," he admitted not wanting to list all the possible things he felt sorry for.
Miranda laughed and John joined in and if either sounded hysterical neither mentioned it. Sherlock huffed in utter confusion at the pair setting them off again.
"What is so funny?" he asked confounded.
"Nothing Sherlock," Miranda managed to say between giggles,
"Obviously something is or you wouldn't be laughing," he said feeling left out and not likely that at all.
"Maybe John can explain it to you," Miranda said finally controlling herself and got to her feet. She picked up the bucket, stroked John's shoulder and left the bedroom.
"Well?" John lent back against the desk leg and put his head back against the chair seat at Sherlock's demand for an answer.
"Sometimes people laugh to release tension Sherlock," he finally said looking up at the teenager.
"I've never done that. What were you tense about?"
"Lot's of reasons,"
"Like what?"
"Throwing up in your bedroom for a start,"
"Well I can see why that would make you tense but why did Miranda laugh?"
"Because I was laughing,"
"I don't understand!" Sherlock was practically wailing by now and John was finding it difficult to maintain patience with him. Instead of answering him the doctor stared at him and yawned: long and obviously. The teenager yawned back and his first reaction was to scowl at John but mere seconds later he jerked almost upright,
"I understand – she was mimicking you!" he said triumphantly.
"It's slightly more complicated than . . ."
"Yes, yes these sorts of things always are. They would have to be otherwise I would easily comprehend them," Sherlock seemed to be processing something in that great brain of his so John put his head back down and had a moment to himself. That had not been his first flashback or even the first of that particular memory but they always left him worn, feeling echoes of his injuries and isolated.
A squeak from Sherlock's bed recaptured his attention.
"What are you doing?" John asked annoyed as Sherlock was in the process of trying to rise,
"My family is always stressing the importance of food I thought I would pass your lunch to you," his words were innocent but John was no fool – this was merely an excuse to get up unnoticed.
"Lie back down now!" John ordered challenging the teen to see what the consequences would be if he disobeyed. Thankfully Sherlock abided him and he didn't have to think of his next action as a severe one.
"Let's see, your brother got you a cheese and pickle sandwich," John handed it to him,
"It'll probably be drugged," Sherlock said uninterested in eating.
"Did you want mine?" John offered.
"What will you eat?"
"I just threw up Sherlock I'm not hungry,"
"Oh what do you have?"
"Corn beef, lettuce and tomato."
"Yuck – could I have the pack of crisps?"
"You're injured you should be eating healthy foods," John complained but passed him the snack.
Sherlock smiled at him and ate each crisp individually, slowly, not completely able to sit up.
In the security office Mycroft smiled at the screen – he hadn't been fully convinced John was the right companion for his brother but after that display he was certain. John had the patience to cope with his brother and seemed to inspire an unparallel amount of focus. His brother also listened to the doctor's order to stay in bed and actually ate something without being prompted. Mycroft shuffled through the file he had on the man again – what was it about him that made Sherlock so responsive to him?
Jim Moriarty stood by the side at the desk also staring at the screen but he was not smiling. He eyes flicked between John's shoulder where Miranda had stroked to Sherlock's smiling face. He was trying to remember the last time he had seen the teen smile at a person (instead of because he had discovered something or outwitted someone).
'John was going to be a problem' he thought and smiled as he plotted ways to … deal with this.
WC – 2513
AN – Chapter 5 and I've finally found a plot