Note: Sherlock's headspace is currently all over the place, so this chapter is more stream of thoughts than anything else.
Sherlock's POV
The ride to his brother's flat is quiet, neither his brother nor either woman says anything.
He spends the ride staring out the window and thinking about today. He just spent the last six hours sitting with whom he assumes is his newest doctor without saying a word and the doctor just accepted it. He wasn't forced to speak or interact. They just shared companionable silence and he was still reeling. When was the last time anyone just sat with him and accepted his presence? Not since he was a child and Mycroft would read to him. How is he going to tell his brother he wishes to do it again? He could write it down, or maybe steal his brother's phone and text him.
When they get to the flat his brother's PA stays in the vehicle while Mycroft, Miss. Morel, and him all get out to head inside. It seems to be the same, still feels like it is cold and unlived in, not even like a crash pad. Though he does notice there are a few small changes with the décor, anything that could be considered dangerous is nowhere to be seen.
"Your regular room is ready for you," his brother finally states, as he comes to a stop beside the stairs. For some reason his brother seems stiff and just a touch unsure of himself as he continues to speak, "Also, I have assembled a small lab in the basement for you to run experiments on. Doctor Watson suggested that I encourage you to return to healthy activities, and I have accepted that suggestion. There is a new section in the library on a variety of sciences. While I am sure you do not wish to attend university at this point, I thought you may be interested in the books still." Pausing for a breath, Mycroft motions to the woman, "Miss Morel is staying in the downstairs guest bedroom for the duration of her stay."
He nods, not saying anything. A small part of him wonders why his brother even bothered with the suggestion but he does not plan to ask, because as long as he does not ask, he can take it as an apology for hating him or not wanting him.
Wandering away, he heads up the stairs to his bedroom, opening the door and slipping in. Looking around, he notices that the vast majority of his things have been left alone, though he knows that his brother must have gone through his things to make sure he does not have a stash anywhere. The bed is made up with his favorite blankets and sheets, and sitting by the window is a music sheet stand with four instrument cases.
Despite the fact he does not want to be curious, he heads over to the cases, wanting to see what's in them. Kneeling down, he opens the first case, discovering a beautiful natural oak wooden flute within it. Several minutes are spent with his fingers tracing the grain, getting a feel for the weight of it, before carefully replacing it in the case. The second case is a gorgeous violin. It's far better than any violin he has ever had a chance to use before. Gently, with the greatest of care, he sets the violin back in the case once he is done stroking it and testing its strings. The third case belongs to a skillfully carved Celtic lap harp of the palest ash. When he strums it gently, he discovers he enjoys the variety of sounds it makes, the pureness of the cords. After the violin, the harp has always been a favorite though he spent years getting tormented by bullies for playing such a perceived feminine instrument. The last case holds a beautiful, rich red wood cello that he touches and explores without removing from its case since it is the biggest of his new instruments.
Tomorrow he will look at the new books and the lab. Tomorrow he will see if he can figure out Mycroft's real motivation. Tomorrow he will see if John actually wants him around or not. Tomorrow.
Quickly stripping and changing into a different his pajamas he crawls into bed even though he has not eaten yet. Honestly, he is very tired of the forced food meals that he barely pecked at. Sleep comes surprisingly quickly, and is far better than any he has had in months.
He's awake four hours later, his mind automatically coming online even though he would really prefer to still be asleep.
Getting up, he roots through the dresser and closet looking at his clothing options before settling on some skinny jeans and a dark colored shirt. Slipping a pair of sneakers on after some socks, he leaves the room, quietly making his way to the basement in order to look at this lab his brother has supposedly set up for him.
He is rather surprised by what he finds.
It could easily rival the lab at the school he had attended for a while. The equipment was all carefully placed within glass fronted cupboards he cannot recall being their previously. He can see all the basic equipment like beakers, microscopes, ladles, stir rods, and funnels, and more carefully organized so he can easily get to any of it. Within the mini fridges he discovers even more items and things of use. There are chemicals and elements, and all sorts of other things. While most of it is geared towards chemistry, he notices that some of it is stuff for other sciences.
There is even a bookcase full of books on the equipment and there uses. Along with an entire shelf full of empty folders and writing material so he can record any project he does himself.
He knows he is frowning as he moves around the basement, exploring all of the things within, and spotting a notepad and pen, at the top of it is a note telling him he can request whatever is missing within reason.
His eyes narrow as he considers the lab before giving a small shake of his head.
Heading upstairs, he leaves the lab with questions burning through his mind. He is not surprised when he discovers his brother in the library, settled behind the desk that takes up almost an entire wall as he works through paper work. Even though his brother has an office, he knows that Mycroft prefers the library because it stays warmer.
His eyes flicker over his brother, trying to read him the way he reads other people but as always there is nothing there. Mycroft is as blank as always when he looks at the older man, and he wants to scream, but knows that no noise is going to escape his lips, because he still hasn't figure out why speaking is so hard. He used to never shut up, hoping that maybe if he spoke enough something would catch his brother's attention or let him find someone else with shared interests, only it never happened. Now he cannot seem to speak at all, trying makes his throat swell shut and causes panic to rise sharply in his chest.
"Good morning Sherlock," his brother greets him. Looking up from whatever he is working on to continue, "Those three bookcases there are for your science books so far."
His eyes follow his brother's motion, and without actually thinking about it he wanders over to look over the books in question, some he has read before, others are new. All of them are in excellent condition.
Several minutes are spent in surprising silence as he looks over the book options, mind still whirling, because he doesn't understand. Mycroft is doing more than he has to in order to play the part of a caring brother, but he is quite sure that his brother does not care, so why is he playing the part? Damn it, why does he have to be the one person that reading with a glance is so hard with?
His thoughts are interrupted by the person in question commenting, "As we were leaving Doctor Watson texted me. According to the message you would like to have another appointment tomorrow afternoon. Is that correct?"
Yes, he wants to say, but ends up swallowing hard instead before he finally nods instead.
"I will have Anna make the arrangements," his brother comments, "Unfortunately, I have appointments tomorrow afternoon that means I cannot attend with you."
He nods, keeping his face neutral as he goes back to looking at the books, his mind whirling and questioning what's going on. Eventually the silence between them starts to feel oppressive, rough, hard on his nerves, makes him want to scream just to get some sort of reaction. Instead he leaves the room, heading to his bedroom where he eyes the instruments before pulling the violin out and setting in to play for a bit. It's been a while, but his body still remembers and he allows himself to get lost in the sounds, letting it do his speaking since he cannot seem to speak himself. Too bad no one actually understands what he is trying to say with it.
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