First off: Sorry this is a few hours late, I could have sworn I typed all this up, but when I opened the files, both on Word and Google Docs it was no where to be found.
Secondly: my muses threw me for a loop, I totally did not expect this chapter to go the way it did.
June 14th, 2005
Sherlock's POV
Since he has to use the loo, he leaves the office to head in that direction, ignoring the squeak of Miss Morel who wants to know where he is going. It gives him a minute to catch his breath, splash cold water on his face, and just breathe. He really hates the fact he has a sitter, though he gets it to a point, after all it looks good for Mycroft, and is probably part of his release conditions. What he wants to know is why it has to be an idiot. Though he must be out of practice because he had not realized it immediately, and he should have, he so very should have.
Once he feels collected again, he heads back to the office, not surprised to see that John has returned to typing while she is pacing in the hall. Glancing about, he spots the button that the doctor had mentioned and presses it, looking in the office at the same time, noticing the small light above the door he had missed earlier, and the light on the desk which he had noticed but originally thought was for the computer. That's actually an interesting set up, he thinks. It lets him know someone is there without having to worry about whether he feels the vibrations or not.
The blonde looks up, smiling at him before clicking something and standing.
-You're brother said he would deal with her,- John tells him, waving a lazy hand in her direction when done signing.
He nods slowly, not bothering to answer in any other way.
-Shall we see if your ride is here?- the blonde queries.
Again he nods.
With a small smile on his lips, the doctor shows him to the outer doors, ignoring Miss Morel as he does so much to her annoyance according to the squeak of indignation she makes. That is amusing and proves his point about her being foolish since John can't hear it, making it pointless. When they reach the outside of the building, one of his brother's cars pulls up and the PA climbs out, dark eyes darker than normal and full of annoyance. A moment later a cool mask covers her face.
Turning to the blonde standing beside him, she signs politely, -Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes asks that I extend his fullest apologies. I will be insuring that Miss Morel is replaced with a better assistant, one who can follow directions and understand sign language.-
Seriously, John nods once, before glancing at him with a smile. –Until later, have a good night Sherlock.-
He blinks and nods, not answering again, but shocked when he realizes that John has already personalized his name, not spelling it out, yet he understood that the 's' followed by a sharp, quick sweeping motion was his name.
A slow smile curves his lips at that realization. It is something personal just for him, without anyone else forcing him to. Even though he is moderately certain John is supposed to be his doctor, he is acting more like a friend, or at least someone who wants him around and wants him to be comfortable. No one else is acting like that.
"If you're ready Sherlock?" his brother's assistant murmurs softly, keeping her voice low, which is surprising, why is she keeping her voice down.
He nods distractedly, hands flickering for a moment towards John, -Goodnight.-
The blonde nearly beams at him before heading back inside and he hears the click of the lock. Heading to the car, he slides in it, looking out the window rather than looking at either of the women.
The ride to his brother's home is quiet, Miss Morel is sulking and Anna is typing away on her phone. When they get to the house, he quickly gets out of the car and heads directly to his room, on his way there he hears Anna light into Miss Morel.
A small smile plays at the edges of his lips as he closes the door to his room, selecting the violin from the collection of instruments and setting to playing, slowly at first than a bit more, getting back into the feel for it. He doesn't pay attention as time flies by and he continues to play until he is tired. When he does get tired, he tucks his violin away and collapses on his bed, not bothering to change before falling asleep for a few hours.
It's three hours later when his mind snaps back on and he stretches before heading to his bathroom in order to take a nice relaxing hot shower. Since it is the middle of the night, he debates about whether to play with one of his instruments, read, or go through his new lab.
Instead of getting in another suit, he puts on some comfortable jeans, a tight t-shirt, and his tennis shoes before heading downstairs to the lab area. He doesn't know what he wants to work on right now, but he does want to spend more time going through it to see how well it was put together.
He doesn't know how long passes between when he starts going through things and when his brother appears at the door, his suit mildly disheveled and looking sleepy.
"Sherlock," Mycroft quietly states, "Miss Morel is gone. Anna will be selecting a better assistant for you."
He pauses what he is doing, not turning towards his brother, but tilting his head slightly so he is looking in that direction.
"One of us should have interviewed her rather than using the human resources. Anna has already selected three to interview, and will have a person by this afternoon." His brother tells him seriously, "Arrangements have already been made for you to see Doctor Watson tomorrow and to possibly have an outing on Saturday."
He nods slowly, eyes closing for a moment.
"Breakfast is on the table if you are hungry. I was not sure if you wanted to take vitamins or eat the foods with the ones you need, so both options are available." Mycroft continues before nodding and heading upstairs.
Frowning at the bookshelf in front of him, he considers that for a few minutes, wondering if they are really vitamins or if they are the other pills those blasted antidepressants the rehab tried to force him to take. What if they really are just vitamins? He knows he is not in the best shape. All he has to do is look in a mirror to know that. The vitamins might actually help.
Closing his eyes, he forces the noise of his mind racing to slow down by just focusing on one thing. His mind goes back to the fact John has already individualized a name, from there he focuses on remembering every moment of the visit to the office from the time he got there to the time he left. He had communicated a little bit, not a lot, but enough to have a small conversation. It had been nice not to be forced to communicate if he did not want to.
Perhaps if he shows he can 'behave' the minder will be relieved of duty and he can go back to spending time on his own. He would really rather not have to deal with having a minder, but he knows if he tries escaping the minders attention he will probably be forced into a situation he doesn't like again, such as being put back in a rehab or sectioned.
Sighing, he puts what he was doing away before heading up to the dining room where he discovers a selection of foods. All of them things he has enjoyed and doesn't mind eating. There are a lot of foods he has issues with the tastes, scents, or textures of but even when speaking comes easy to him he cannot explain it.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, before opening them back up and making his way to the table to sit down. Chewing on his lower lip, he decides what he wants to eat. Hesitantly, he makes himself a small plate and nibbles on it, and spends nearly two hours working on eating what's on his plate. He's rather happy there is a full pot of lemon tea. When his plate and the pot are empty, he stands and stretches, returning to his room.
This time it is his cello he gets outs to use before settling on the edge of his bed while he gets a feel for it. It has been years since the last time he touched a cello. The cords come to him slowly but after hours of focus, he has it back to where he does not sound like a fool who doesn't know what he is doing.
A knock at his door draws him out of his focus. Blinking, he sets the instrument on his bed, moving over to the door to open it, he reveals his brother standing there.
"Anna has found a possible assistant for you. He is waiting in the library," his brother tells him, "I have a bit more paperwork to do, afterwards would you like to have dinner?"
He blinks, startled because why is Mycroft asking if he would like to have dinner? Since when did he care if he wants to or not? Or about him for that matter? Mycroft hasn't cared about him in years. This doesn't make any sense.
Nodding slowly, he considers asking what's going on, but he has been the 'stupid one' too long and doesn't want to be the stupid one here either. So instead he just follows his brother through the house after closing his bedroom door.
In the library he finds himself confronted by a slender man a bit shorter than him but taller than John with dark eyes, black hair, pale skin, and a rather nice suit.
"Sherlock, this is Jim Moriarty, he is on loan to us from MI6," Anna tells him as she rises from her spot on the sofa in front of the fireplace.
His eyes sweep over the slender man again. Something seems off with him, like he's not quite there even though he is standing in front of him.
-Hello,- the dark-haired man signs, -She indicated that you rarely sleep, don't communicate much, eat as little as possible, and bounce between activities depending on your energy levels.-
He nods slightly, acknowledging the statement but not answering past that. Turning to his brother, he nods again before leaving the room, heading back to his bedroom to toy with his violin some more while thinking about his newest minder. He wasn't expecting a man, particularly not one who registers a lot like Mycroft when he looks at him. Just what he needs, another person in his life who thinks he is an idiot that he cannot read just by looking at him.
He is surprised when he isn't followed, though he leaves the door partly open as he heads to the bed, grabbing the cello to put it away before moving on to pull the violin out of its case and set to playing. Playing always makes him feel better, gives him a way to work through whatever is bothering him, even if no one else understands. It's soothing, particularly when he is confused about something.
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