Saturday 8th October 1999
Dear Diary,
This afternoon I travelled back home to London on the train, on my Mother's request. I suspected that Mycroft had been speaking to her, and it seems that I was correct. As soon as I was through the door, she ushered me into the kitchen and offered me a sandwich which I refused.
She sighed.
"Sherlock, eat the sandwich. You can't do this again."
"Mother, please."
"I'm serious Sherlock, you eat that sandwich right now or I'm phoning the hospital."
"Fine."
I left the kitchen and retreated to my bedroom.
There is nothing she can do and she knows it. She can't force me into hospital, even if she pays for it privately, and I'm quite a way off being sectioned again. The sad thing is, I've been doing relatively well over the last week, but coming back to my childhood home and being pressured so blatantly by my mother has made it difficult again. I know she's trying to help me but it feels like meddling. She's meddling in my head, making things more confusing and chaotic and my response is to calm things down with order and predictability, with restriction and weight loss.
Sherlock Holmes
x
