Hello all, 3,900+ words, aren't you guys lucky.
fortunecookiesthesecond told me she loved me for updating so soon. So because of them you all get Chapter 5 immediately.
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Peace&Love
Within two hours, John and Sherlock are sitting in their respective chairs in 221B Baker Street.
Mrs. Hudson fussed over John as they came in. He quickly reassured the landlady that he was okay and they both retreated to their flat.
Mrs. Hudson had brought up tea and biscuits for them, which Sherlock actually thanked her for, much to the surprise of John.
John gratefully grabbed some biscuits and tea and now they both sit staring at each other, the doors shut, curtains drawn and voices in a whisper.
Well, it is more like Sherlock is staring at John as the doctor slowly drinks and eats, while barraging him with mental questions that John is fruitfully ignoring.
"Are you ignoring me on purpose?" Sherlock questions impatiently after ten minutes of silence.
"No, I'm enjoying this tea." He states simply, smiling innocently at the detective.
"John!" The whining tone is back.
"Fine. Fine." John gives in, placing his now empty mug next to him. Sherlock moves enthusiastically, jumping slightly, bringing his legs up and wrapping his long lanky arms around his knees, rocking back and forth like a child listening to an exciting story.
John probes into the detective's thoughts. "Finally, Finally. Yes. Not boring. I'm so excited." He hears Sherlock's happy thoughts and John smiles. Sherlock stops rocking and looks straight at John causing the doctor to back out, his face neutral.
"Were you just listening?" The genius asks, his head cocked to one side. John's eyes dart away and the doctor nods sheepishly.
"I knew it." Sherlock's thought screams, breaking the mental barriers. John grips his head at the loudness, grunting in the sudden pain.
"Sherlock! Don't think so loud." John gripes as the thought subsides.
"Now you know how I feel." John hears, this time more quietly, and the doctor chuckles.
"So, what do you want to know?" John asks.
"Everything!" The younger man squeals and Sherlock immediately clears his throat at the unexpected noise.
John giggles, "Well, where should I start?" The doctor is suddenly nervous and unsure. He has never told anyone this and its nerve wracking to say his secret out loud. John fears the detective will hate him by the end, call the doctor a freak and throw him away.
"John. Stop thinking and continue."
"Right." John nods, looking out the window into London. The younger man seems so happy and enthusiastic, and Sherlock already reassured him once. The doctor swallows thickly and looks at the detective.
"Start from the beginning of course, I'm told that's where stories start." Sherlock states and then adds, "How?"
"I'm not really sure, I died." John shrugs, bringing his eyes back to Sherlock's face, staring into the liquid storm.
"You died?" The genius exclaims, his fingers drumming excitedly across his knees.
The doctor nods. "I was dead for three minutes, someone pulled me out and gave me CPR." John remarks, getting lost in the memory. "I saw a white light," John continues, "it was disappointingly cliche, I'm afraid."
The detective snorts and John smiles faintly.
"And then you were revived and you could read people's mind." Sherlock deduces, his eyes darting with delight.
"Yeah, I guess. It was really confusing in the beginning, I thought I was going crazy." John shudders at the memories of himself wandering aimlessly around the streets trying to block out the thoughts. "All the noise, it wasn't normal and I was positive that I was mad."
"The noise?" Sherlock questions.
"Right," John realises, the detective has no idea what or how John ability works. "I can always hear people," The telepath starts looking at Sherlock, "not in the traditional sense, none of their thoughts are coherent. They are mumbled and completely unreadable, but they are always there. Its like a white noise." John states, placing his hands uncomfortably on his knees. He can't stop moving them around in his discomfort, Sherlock's gaze forcing itself into John's nervousness, his scrutiny intense.
"You can hear people, but not coherently?" Sherlock asks, seeming to understand.
"Yes, it's terribly annoying." John adds for good measure, grabbing the tea mug, knowing that its empty but he needs something to do with his hands so he can stop fidgeting, "Not so much now."
"What do you mean?" Curiosity etched permanently onto the detective's face.
"You, um, you block out the noise." John mutters, rubbing the back of his head, uncomfortable.
"Me? I silence them." Sherlock asks incredulous. John nods.
"How?"
"I don't know." The doctor sighs.
Sherlock seems to contemplate this. "Putting it aside for experimentation."
"Sherlock!" John exasperates.
"But if you can't understand them normally, how can you read my mind?" The detective asks, ignoring John's protest.
"The 'white noise' is only a part." John starts, sighing, letting out all of the tension he can muster. He's never shared this with anyone, not even Harry. He was convinced for a long time that he was a freak and he honed his skills so he wouldn't get into situations that he had to explain.
However, he never blamed his gift, sure it is unusual and definitely a freak of nature but he never once regretted his gift. The doctor doesn't know if he can explain it right or how the detective will react. All the John knows is that he's a better man because of his gift.
"John, stop reminiscing." Sherlock's voice interrupts John's thought process. The doctor chuckles at Sherlock's huffy intrusion.
"It isn't the first time and it probably won't be the last." John thinks to himself.
"Do you know how terribly messed up this is?" John questions, Sherlock raising an eyebrow. "You read my mind and then proceed to voice your findings, which I then, hear in my mind."
Sherlock snorts at the irony. "I don't read your mind. I deduce, come on, John." John snorts while Sherlock chuckles.
"What is the other part?" Sherlock questions, ignoring John's complaints.
"The other part is that I can read individual minds. Like how I know that your mind is racing about all the experiments that you can submit me to." John states probing the genius's thoughts. "And No, I'm not an experiment."
Sherlock's face falls slightly. "They wouldn't be harmful."
"No, Sherlock." The doctor says firmly, as the detective huffs.
"Fine." The genius leans back into his chair, his face turned upright, not looking at John. The detective is sulking.
John just waits and after a minute or two of quiet, dramatic rejection, Sherlock asks, "How? How do you get pass the white noise?"
"Focusing, I can narrow in on an individual and their thoughts, read what they are thinking at that moment in time and then leave them be." John answers simply.
"So, before, I could feel a tug in mind, like a finger poking my brain very lightly. That was you?" The younger man inquires.
"I honestly don't know," John states, "I don't know what it feels like for people."
"I spent a year focusing on invading thoughts mastering how to go unnoticed." John reflects. "You are the first person since the beginning who's noticed."
"Why?"
"I don't know." John sighs. "But, I can only initiate thoughts, most of the time." He adds a minute later.
Sherlock raises his eyebrows. "Most of the time?"
John exhales, he knows the detective is enjoying this, if he doesn't haven't speak he won't. "I've created a monster." John thinks darkly.
"There has been two experiences when thoughts have broken my mental barriers." John remarks, "One, a long time ago, involved a cabby, her thoughts invaded my mind while I was walking down the street. I ended up pulling at a little girl out of the street, saving her from getting killed by the distressed cabby." John says casting his eyes to look at the mug idly as he remembers the face on the distraught mother and the little girl smiling at him.
The detective nods in understanding.
"What's the other occasion?"
"You." John states simply, gripping his mug tightly at his confession. He looks at the genius, smiling a little bit at the confused expression.
"You frequently invade my thoughts. Usually it's just my name when you need me to do something or when you are distressed, sometimes when you sleep." John comments sheepishly, not looking at Sherlock. "Other times I just hear your declarations of boredom." John proclaims. "And I don't know why."
Sherlock frowns at the statement, furrowing his brows.
"You don't do it on purpose," John adds quickly. "Leave it to you to break my mental barriers." John smiles, his eyes scanning the room, a little bit bashful.
Sherlock doesn't speak, his face contorting in his thinking expression and John grows tense in the silence. THe doctor forces himself not to listen in on the detective's thoughts.
"I also don't probe people's thoughts unless absolutely necessary." The doctor remarks, trying to change the subject.
Sherlock snaps out of his thinking face and raises an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, a crime scene isn't what I would consider a priority." The detective observes and John blushes sheepishly.
"Maybe not." John says finally. "I like hearing you deduce. It's fascinating. I'm sorry." He adds, looking away from the gray eyes in front of him.
"Don't be." Sherlock says, smiling, no hint of anger or disappointment in his voice. "I am very brilliant."
John snorts and raises his eyebrows at the smug dramatics.
"So, you can hear people's mind but not unless you focus in on the thoughts, otherwise it's white noise of mumbled and incoherent strings of insignificant thoughts?" Sherlock asks, clarifying and John nods in confirmation.
"You never touch people, and go still when someone touches you." Sherlock inquires, leaning forward slightly.
John sighs, of course Sherlock would notice. He was a fool to think that he could get it past the detective. "It's the last part, a tactile method." John speaks, wringing his hand against the mug's handle. "When someone touches me, a connection gets established. With the link, I can explore every memory, every thought the person has or has had." The doctor finishes.
"It's it painful?" Sherlock asks suddenly.
"It depends." John breaths. "The brain is very fragile. Normally, the link offers a slight feeling of discomfort."
"Then why do you do it?"
"Its tolerable, I'm prepared for it when I initiate contact. If someone touches me unannounced, it's a little bit more uncomfortable but still tolerable." John sighs, "The problem lays when breaking the connection. That's why I didn't fight the muggers. They touched me and their thoughts were strong and unsolicited." John exhales, "They immobilised me." John adds, the shame and self-deprecation lacing the tone acidly.
Silence passes quietly. Sherlock's fingers in a steeple under his chin like normal, while John reflects about the time with his muggers.
"What happens?"
"When I'm not prepared or someone breaks the connection prematurely, it traumatizes my brain. Nosebleeds, dizziness, and blackouts are usually what happens. I've never been unconscious for this long before, however." John states.
"They broke the link?"
"Sort of, that was part of the problem, the other part is the man who gagged me, something about his mind was strong, he was able to keep me still because his thoughts and images caught me off guard. Which is hard to do, by the way." John says, "The reason I was unconscious is because they broke the connection before I could gather my wits and prepare." He adds. "I don't remember much after the severed link."
"That's never happened before?"
"Immobilising me with strong thoughts? No, most people don't usually have that strong of hold on me." John adds, gripping the mug in his hand, white knuckles showing.
"So it was a combination of catching you off guard and his images."
"Yes, and I think he was high." John states bluntly, remember the images of the man getting drugs.
"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asks, his eyes wide with interest.
John shrugs. "The man is an addict, I saw it. I think he was with the other four to get money for his addiction. Either the drugs or his little girl." John states, "The five of them ended up with my wallet, didn't they?" John questions sadly.
"Five?"
Sherlock looks at John. "There were only two. Did you actually see five?"
"No. I- when the man touched me, I saw other muggings, a group of five men." John states confused.
Sherlock's eyes widen. "Ah."
"I don't know, maybe I was wrong." John exhales.
"Have you ever seen something wrong before?"
"No." The doctor breaths.
"Then you aren't wrong."
The doctor contemplates this, there were five in the images but only two attacked him. Why? Why is that important?
"It will help us catch them John." John nods absentmindedly.
"You are enjoying this? The whole not talking out loud thing, aren't you?" John asks.
"Maybe." Sherlock chuckles.
Another minutes of silence envelop the pair again.
"But," Sherlock suddenly starts, "I've seen you touch people and not tense up." Sherlock states, confusion thick.
"The power of gloves." John says holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers.
"Skin to skin contact." Sherlock deduces, nodding slightly.
John nods. Sherlock stares at the doctor pensively.
"Is this why you are a doctor?" The detective asks.
"No. I don't use this when I'm with a patient." John answers rapidly, gesturing to his mind.
"Why not?" Sherlock genuinely surprised.
"Because I don't like feeling like a fraud. I'm perfectly capable of learning and diagnosing people without help." John snaps lightly. Sherlock just continues to stare at him.
"I see."
John exhales, relaxing a little bit.
"Is the gift annoying?"
"Oh, god yes." John exclaims, "But I'm used to it."
"So, what happened?" John asks, they had been sitting in the chairs for hours, Sherlock quizzing him, out loud and mentally. John suspected him of experiments, but he let the detective ask whatever he wants, plus John wants to have his own experiments to. He is insanely curious how Sherlock is the only person who can touch him without memories or thoughts taking over the doctor's mind. So he lets the genius play and he will cash in his own experiments another time.
Sherlock's face fell. "I'm sorry, John."
John eyes shot up to the younger man.
"Whatever for?" John asks. "You saved me."
"I didn't notice right away." Guilt coursing through his thoughts. " I looked back and you were gone. I heard nothing."
"It's not your fault, they grabbed me and caught us both off guard." John soothes.
"I back tracked and followed you into the alley. It was like a maze." John sees the bricks and alleyway flashing across Sherlock's frantic thoughts.
"I quickly realized where they would take you and then I heard you, it was quiet but I ran towards the sound. They had taken you further into the alley than I had originally thought." Sherlock sighs, standing up and pacing the floor. John watches him with sad eyes. He resists the urge to probe the genius's thoughts and lets the man think to himself.
"When I came upon you, if you weren't moving I would have thought you were dead. Blood was everywhere." John listens and sees his own writhing form on the ground. He feels the panic and fear that Sherlock experienced. He can see in the detective's thoughts how he had frozen in shock. John tenses as the thoughts force there way into his mind.
"It's okay, I don't blame you, it wasn't your fault." John says, trying to stand up, fighting off the flashes. The images float in their mind and cause John's eyes to go unfocused. The doctor witnesses himself screaming when Sherlock tries to touch him.
The doctor makes a struggled noise to explain to Sherlock, but another image invades his mind quickly. He watches Sherlock sit down next to John, saying comforting words as the paramedic checking John's vitals and moving her hands randomly over the doctor's body. Her flaming red hair, a stark contrast to the dull brick around them.
"She was Irish." John gasps out, eyes unseeing. The next images are a blur of blood and hospitals. He feels panic, fear, anger, confusion, and relief. The images are strong, even for Sherlock and John double checks that he isn't probing.
"Sh-sherlock." John exhales breathy. The detective's emotions overwhelming him and his breathing becomes laboured. Suddenly, the images stop and John is panting heavily, trying to catch his breath.
"John." Warm hands are on his face, he tenses when the connection starts. Pain doesn't follow nor do any thoughts. The hands are immediately removed, coldness in their place.
"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Sherlock asks, John's eyes refocus and fix on Sherlock kneeling before him.
"Nope, I'm fine," The doctor says waving a hand dismissively. "You think too loudly for your own good." He adds chuckling.
"You weren't probing." A statement not a question. John shakes his head.
"Why?" Sherlock stands in turmoil.
"Are you sure that it didn't hurt, I touched you, I didn't mean to." Sherlock rambles.
"No its fine. Your touches don't hurt." John says before thinking, distracted by finally catching his breath. The detective swirls around sits in the chair opposite. He is on the edge of his seat and studying John like he's the world's greatest puzzle. In some aspects, he kind of is.
"They did in the alleyway." Sherlock tenses.
"All my barriers were down in the alleyway, any contact hurt. Through my clothes, through the paramedics gloves. No matter who or where, I hurt." John explains.
"You saw a flash of the paramedic while you were unconscious." Sherlock nods distantly.
"Yes, I saw flashes of anyone who touched me while I was unconscious, including you. Your touches were the only ones that didn't hurt no matter how abrupt the connection was severed." John states grinning.
"Why?" Sherlock asks incredulously.
"I don't know. You are breaking all of the limitations I thought I once had." John sighs.
"So, I silence the noise, I invade your mind with my thoughts, and when I used tactile method, there is no pain or recollection of my memories." Sherlock states, mumbling more to himself than to John, as if checking off a list.
"Well, not exactly." John interrupts, "When you touch me, sometimes I can see the memories, I just don't have control with you. You control what I see."
"I don't control it."
"To a certain extent you do, you show me what you want me to see or don't want me to see or sometimes you just silence everything. I'm not able to hear your thoughts or memories or the people around me. Its kind of refreshing actually." John remarks. "Mostly, your thoughts and memories are just a string of ideas and flashes that are too fast for me to read."
Sherlock seems to ponder this for a while and suddenly cups a hand to John's face. John doesn't flinch this time, he waits for something but nothing comes. "Are you trying to show me something?"
Sherlock doesn't answer for a few minutes.
"Yes. Is it working? I've been asking you mentally for a few minutes."
"No, I don't see anything. Or hear anything." John's eyes widen in shock. "I couldn't hear you at all when you touched me." Sherlock sighs impatiently, while John revels in the characteristic of Sherlock Holmes.
"Are you ready, I'm going to let go." Sherlock asks, kind of sweetly.
"You don't have to worry about that, another one of your quirks is that no matter how abrupt the connection it never hurts with you. Before you ask, no, I don't know why." John states.
"This is slightly alarming." Sherlock states hesitantly letting his hands drop, still afraid of hurting the doctor.
John shrugs, "I'm used to weird and alarming." He states, standing up and moving to the kitchen, rinsing his mug.
He hears Sherlock walking into the kitchen.
"John."
John sighs contently.
"Why are you here?" John hears Sherlock lean against the door frame.
"What do you mean?" The doctor cleans his mug and sets it down to dry.
"Why do you stay? I inhibit your ability." Sherlock sighs sadly.
"Now, for a genius you really are stupid." John says turning to face the detective, leaning against the counter. Sherlock's nose scrunches up at the term.
"Everyday since I died, I never thought I would be normal again, then you came in and day by day, not only saved me from the mundane and horrible life, but you gave me silence when I didn't even think I wanted it." John states, feeling vulnerable. "You, in your weird and erratic life, create a sense of normal."
"Well, that's...terrifying." Sherlock states, smiling.
"Don't I know it." John replies.