Chapter 6

Sherlock was going to see John today. He was looking forward to it, but he was also nervous. How could he explain why he'd been avoiding him?

He was sitting in the empty room again waiting in another jumper gifted to him. This one was striped with two different shades of purple. He was watching the door, but the moment the door opened and his best friend appeared, he looked away.

"Still don't want to see me then?" John said, hesitating before sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

"It's not that," Sherlock mumbled, watching the other man out the corner of his eye.

"Then what is it?" John asked, "I've come to visit you twice and was sent away without an explanation. Were they not allowing you to have visitors?"

"No, I was allowed to see you."

"So, you just didn't want to."

"No, I did."

"Then why?"

"I wanted to see you, John, I did. I swear. But…I needed to see Jim. I−"

"Really? So seeing him was more important than seeing me, your best friend. Why am I even here now?" John moved to stand and leave, but Sherlock caught the sleeve of his jumper.

"John, please…please don't leave. You don't understand."

John stared at his best friend in shock. He had never heard him sound so desperate since he found out about his relationship with Moriarty. "What don't I understand, Sherlock?"

The younger man bit his lip and fiddled with the sleeve of his friend's jumper. "I-I know you don't like me going to see Jim while I'm here and that you think I'm not getting better, but I am trying. I've been talking and participating in therapy. I'm trying to get better, but…I…sometimes, I wake up and I forget that Jim is alive. I can't not see him. I feel physically ill if I don't see him, and sometimes…sometimes I…I just have to see him, and I was supposed to see him at the same time that you were coming to visit me, and I already feeling terrible. I just needed to see him so I could be okay. I told myself I'd see you next time and explain, but when the next time came, I felt so guilty about sending you away the first time that I sent you away again. I'm sorry."

John stared at the other man. He looked so vulnerable and hesitant and so many other words he never would have used to describe his best friend before. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled his sleeve away from fidgeting hands before pulling the younger man into a hug.

Sherlock hesitated for only a moment before returning the embrace.

"I'm glad you've been trying harder. I really am," John said quietly.

Sherlock pulled back to look at his friend. "I talk in group therapy almost every day," he said, biting his lip, "I don't always say a lot, but I try to always say something. And I even talked to Mycroft the last time he visited, and I hugged him, and it was almost like things were okay between us. I mean, I know everything's not completely okay yet, but I'm willing to try and he seems willing to try. And it was Jim that made me talk to Mycroft in the first place, so he's helping me too because I never would have thought to say anything. Or I might have. I've been really different since before I even came here, haven't I?"

"I think you've been who you've always been underneath the mask you wear against the world," John said, staring at his best friend. "In here, there's no need for you to hide your emotions, so you've stopped a bit, and that's why you seem so different."

"Mycroft said it's because of whatever's wrong with me."

"Well that too. Have your doctors not discussed your diagnosis with you?"

"I think they did when Mycroft first brought me here, but I deleted anything anyone said to me around that time, so I don't remember," Sherlock admitted.

"You should talk to them about it at your next therapy session."

"I will," he said, nodding. He bit his lip and started to fidget with the other man's jumper sleeve again. "John, what do you think is wrong with me?"

"Um, I'm not that kind of doctor, Sherlock, so I couldn't say for sure."

"But if you had to say, what would you say?"

"Um, well, from what you said about M-Jim, I'd say you've got separation anxiety, and from what Mycroft has told me about your…harmful tendencies and the change in your behavior, maybe you might be depressed. Like I said, I'm not that type of doctor, so I can't be certain. Talk to your therapist, okay? He'll be able to tell you and talk to you about the specifics."

Sherlock nodded and changed to subject to what the older man had been up to until their time was up.

Later, he lay in bed thinking. When he was a child, most of the people around him had been sure that he'd had some type of social disorder and he had too. He'd snuck into his father's study and looked through almost every medical book he could find to figure out what was wrong with him, but nothing fit completely. There were aspects of different disorders that fit, but there were also aspects that didn't fit. The only thing that seemed to fit the most was Anti-social personality disorder. Sherlock's relief at finding what he'd been looking for was short-lived. Knowing what was wrong with him only made him feel worse. At least, when he was uncertain, he could pretend that there was nothing wrong. Knowing didn't seem to help him much, so he deleted what he'd found.

At his next individual therapy session, Sherlock asked his therapist about his diagnosis. Antisocial Personality Disorder. Mild Clinical Depression. Separation Anxiety. Even though John had mentioned the last two, finding out his diagnosis officially was distressing. He spent the rest of the day in his room curled up in his bed.

Sorry this chapter is so short. I'll try to update sooner!