Chapter 2
John sat next to Sherlock Holmes, staring at the man for any signs that could help him care for the new patient.
"Have you taken your medication today, Sherlock?" Henry asked. Sherlock nodded, but John knew that he was lying. John didn't know how to explain it. He just could tell. He just knew. John shook himself and glanced in Henry's direction. Henry was swaying cautiously by the doorway as if Sherlock may try to bolt. John understood that Henry was just looking out, but it was making John nervous and the last thing you want your patient to see is that you are afraid of them. That definitely doesn't help them recover at all.
"Henry, can you wait outside for a second?" John asked kindly. Henry stiffened and his eyes trailed to the patient sitting with his head against the small window. His eyes shimmered from the nervous gaze to a dark and eerie glare that made John want to shiver.
"Alright, I'll be outside the door if you need me," Henry stated, before closing the iron door and locking it behind him. John let out a sigh. Well, it doesn't look like he can run if Sherlock goes crazy or something. He's stuck to deal with it on his own.
"Thank god, I thought he was just going to sit there like an idiot all day," Sherlock sighed, glancing at the closed door. John smiled slightly.
"So, tell me about yourself, Sherlock," John stated, guessing that maybe he should see what he has to deal with. Sherlock shrugged and turned his icy eyes onto the doctor.
"Why should I? You won't believe me anyway," Sherlock stated. John nodded in agreement. So Sherlock knew that trust wasn't a common thing here; interesting. John tapped at his cane, staring at the clever patient.
"How long have you been here?"
"Not a good question," Sherlock stated.
"What? Why not?" John asked, his mouth falling into a frown. Sherlock sighed dramatically and pointed at himself.
"According to the doctors here I've been here for years, but I believe I've been here for only a couple days," Sherlock stated. John frowned at him further, leaning forward.
"Why do you think that?" John asked. Sherlock frowned at him and then jumped out of his chair, startling the doctor.
"Oh, no you don't! You're trying to break me like the rest of them!" Sherlock screamed. John stayed seated, remaining as calm as possible.
"No, Sherlock, I just want to help you."
"Why?" John paused for a second, choosing his answer carefully.
"Because we-'re…friends," John slurred as the words popped into his head. Sherlock smirked.
"I don't have friends." John stared at Sherlock as he said that. That line seamed so familiar. John shook himself again.
"Well, now you do," John stated. "Friends protect people and that's what I plan to do for you." Sherlock stared at John. The blazing starlight blue of his eyes dimmed, making them almost look sad. John was puzzled. Had he said something to hurt the detective? John chewed at his lip. Maybe Sherlock never had the chance at friends yet.
"I believe that because when I look at the charts the doctors bring into my room only around ten days are filled out. If I was here for years wouldn't more be filled out?" Sherlock stated, sitting back into his chair. John thought for a second and then nodded in agreement.
"Yes, I admit that that does sound accurate. If you want I could look into it for you," John stated. Sherlock stared again at him for a long while before asking,
"You're not going to report that I've lost it?" John shook his head. Sherlock's body un-tensed and his eyes looked around the white room. John looked around with him. The light flickered on and off again. There was nothing in there that could have suggested a previous life.
"So are you going to answer my question?" John asked, gaining Sherlock's attention.
"What question?" John rolled his eyes to tease the man.
"Are you going to tell me about yourself?" John asked again. Sherlock looked hesitant for a few seconds, but when John patted his hand reassuringly he opened up.
"I was a consulting detective. I worked with several people and my flat mate. I investigated murders and robberies…pretty much anything exciting," Sherlock sighed, smiling at the memories. John stared at Sherlock's eyes, noting that the man was not lying.
"So, what happened then? " John asked. Sherlock frowned at him.
"How do you mean? I just woke up and found myself being told by idiot doctors that I was mad and that my life was all a fake," Sherlock spat. John held his breath, absorbing Sherlock's story.
"What do you remember happening before you woke up here?" John asked. Sherlock went silent, fiddling with his long fingers.
"I was on a case with my flat mate. That's all I remember," Sherlock sighed, lowering his head and letting the black curls fall into his eyes. "Well…that and the pain." Sherlock suddenly shivered, gripping at his stomach area. John frowned, stepping closer to Sherlock.
"What kind of pain?" John asked, reaching out at the white hospital shirt Sherlock wore. Sherlock flinched as the doctor's hand came closer, but John looked him in the eyes, hoping that maybe he could see that he meant no harm. Sherlock must have understood because he relaxed and watched as John lifted the white shirt, revealing faint burn marks. John sucked in a shaky breath and stared at Sherlock. John opened his mouth to speak, but Henry opened the door.
"Sorry to interrupt, but the boss just called. He wants to meet you, Dr. Watson," Henry stated. John patted Sherlock's shoulder gently and whispered in a hushed voice so henry wouldn't overhear,
"I believe you." Sherlock's body shook slightly at the words and John couldn't help, but to smile. He wondered how long it has been since he heard the B-word.
John turned, fallowing Henry out of the room, leaving Sherlock alone in the dull room. The madman stared at the locked door and whispered softly,
"Please remember me."
So what do you think so far? Is something a little off with the mental asylum? The answer to your question lies ahead so you'll have to wait and find out my devilish little plan for poor Dr. John Watson and patient Sherlock Holmes.