Chapter 6: Chemistry and scars

His brother had brought him home after the first session. He didn't comment about the crying and he didn't ask what had happened. Sherlock thought it was Dr. Michelson's doing. After they had left the bathroom Mycroft had offered him his coat. He had thanked her and they had left. It was Friday and the roads were busy but the silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable. Sherlock was able to relax or better to further calm down. Somehow his therapist was able to push all the buttons without him noticing until it was too late. It wasn't her blindness, it was the way she could see him without seeing. He hadn't deduced more out of her then the dog and her being single. It rarely happened but it had happened with her. He thought she was doing her job well and she wasn't too bad. Maybe he could get her to send Chestnut out. But that would be mean and no solution for his problem with animals. He hadn't noticed the dog until he had asked for it. 'Why had he asked?' It wasn't necessary to know the dog's name; he could have skipped over the topic.

Sherlock was exhausted when they arrived back home. Mycroft sent him to wash his hands and then come down to have dinner again. He should eat something and then he could go to bed if he liked.

Sherlock just followed his brother's instructions. It was easier that way. Not that he was hungry and hiding under his blanked sounded good to him. That was exactly what he did after dinner. He fell into his bed and wished for his mind to forget. Until now he had been around John or overloaded with new things but talking about it had opened a wound Sherlock hadn't noticed he had and it bled right into his soul. The ugly feeling of guilt.

Mycroft watched his brother the next morning as he walked over to the table and started nibbling at his toast uninterested. He hadn't questioned the therapist's decision to go inside the bathroom to talk to Sherlock alone. She was good, very good. She chose her patients and he didn't know what had upset Sherlock so much that he got sick. They had spent nearly an hour inside the bathroom and as they had finally emerged his brother's eyes were red from crying.

Now his eyes were tired and dark rings underneath them told the story of a night without sleep. Maybe he had to talk to Dr. Michelson about sleeping medication. But for now he would watch his brother's condition.

They could go to the public library and in the afternoon Sherlock would have his first lesson with Miss Wilder. It wouldn't take long to find the things Sherlock lacked and he was sure it wouldn't take much time to close the gaps.

It was a surprise to him that he had chosen her. But maybe he wanted a woman or he was interested in her story. Mycroft could also read people and she was by far the most interesting person that had come. Not the best, but the most interesting.

The car ride was spent in silence again, like the day before, but Mycroft was able to manage to get a few work things done. He had to go back to work again on Monday. That was unavoidable and Sherlock would be busy enough during the day with his lessons and therapy. Maybe he would find a subject he was interested in and he could go to university, have a normal life and finally come home.

Sherlock wasn't interested in shopping, he explained that he had enough clothes and hadn't found anything that was missing. But he would say so if he needed something. To Mycroft's delight Sherlock eyes started shining when they entered the library. He stayed all the time near the science books, especially the ones about chemistry. Sherlock took at least 15 books. While his brother was searching the shelves, Mycroft got a library card for him and Sherlock was happy to have it. It had his name on it. For him it was still something very special to have a family name. Mycroft couldn't understand the feeling of not having an identity but he supported his bother in everything.

Before the time for first lesson with Miss Wilder came, they had a quick lunch in a café as they had spent more time in the library than planned. But Sherlock had gotten a bit of color back and was happier than in the morning. Mycroft sent a text to Anthea, his assistant, to gather information on chemistry courses at the university.

Miss Wilder was already waiting for them at their home. A bit shy but also looking forward to this opportunity. Sherlock shook her hand after Mycroft and together they entered the hall. Mycroft led them to the study and after a look towards Sherlock he left them alone.

Sherlock eyed her, deduced everything that would help him to figure her out. After the disaster with his therapist he wouldn't let his guard down. But she had no dog or any other animals, only the child.

"Sherlock where would you like to start? Do you want to tell me what you learned so far? Or would you like me to present you with a few topics and the ones you are not familiar with will constitute our first lessons? I can also give you a list of subjects und you tell me which are the ones that interest you the most?" His choice again, this is something he had noticed. Everyone let him choose but this must be something his brother had told everyone beforehand: to let Sherlock take his own decisions, to let him choose and not follow Mas… Moriarty's orders.

"I want to know where this scar is from." Instantly she laid her hand on the scar, surprised but not angry which surprised Sherlock. Fear went through Miss Wilder's eyes, as well as a bit of sadness and then pride. He wanted to know everything about the people around him.

"Alright. Quid pro quo. I tell you about my scar and you tell me about the things you would like to know first." She smiled at him. All shyness and insecurity were gone. Sherlock nodded to signal his approval.

"Perfect. I was attacked with a knife. Your turn."

"I have learned many things about causing explosions and creating poisons but now I want to know everything about chemistry, not only the 'bad' stuff."

"The man that attacked me killed my boyfriend."

"I like science, I think, and I guess there is more to science than the most effective way of killing a living creature or using the laws of physic for your own benefit."

"I got nearly killed while I protected my child."

"I have no interest in History or Literature. I don't know how it would help me in life to know who was king a hundred years ago or reading a piece by Shakespeare. I only know the guy, because I visited one of his plays to meet a client."

"The man who attacked us fell of the bridge. My child was safe, my boyfriend died and I nearly died too; I would have if the ambulance had taken a minute longer."

"I think I know enough about mathematics to survive. It's interesting and all, I don't know what the standard is in the British school system but I think I don't need more in this area."

"The man only wanted our money, a young family like we were, we didn't have much money."

"I'm trained to fight and have a good fitness level that doesn't need further education."

Both went silent after that. Sherlock didn't have knowledge about other school subjects and it sounded like she was done with her story too. He had spoken openly about his knowledge, his opinion on subjects about things he liked and things he has no use for. The question about her scar was answered. Open and truthfully as far as he could tell. Among the people his brother had found were a few strange people to help him find his place. Sherlock wanted to write John about them and about the library.

"I think we will start with science." She gave him a smile, not a look of pity nor did she try to avoid his glaze after he had told her some things about his life. He liked her. They started with really easy stuff. Sherlock could memorize the topics easily and, without the pressure and threat of punishment, it was fun to learn. It was more than fun and, when the lesson was over, Sherlock took the first of his chemistry books from the library to the living room and laid with it on the sofa for hours until his brother called him to dinner. After dinner he continued his study without a break. Somewhere around midnight he finished the book and fell asleep on the sofa.

A black hand appears on his arm, the grip gets tighter until it hurts. Another one grabs his left leg; the next one is on his neck. More and more hands appear and hold Sherlock down. He can't move, he can't breathe and he can't scream because of the hand that is over his mouth. Shiny eyes appear around him and look at him with hate, hate and disgust.

Sherlock bolts up. Breathing heavily. He was still in the living room but the light was dimmed and a blanket that someone (most likely his brother) had placed on him was lying partly on the floor and partly around his feet. It had been only a dream. A nightmare. The eyes he had seen and the hands he had felt were not real. Sherlock shook his head to get his mind back to the present. He took the blanket and placed it around his shoulders. He felt cold and lonely but what should he do? When he felt like that with Moriarty he just bared the loneliness and the next morning was not allowed to look as if he had had a sleepless night. The days with John had been different but then everything had been so new. John had told him he could wake him if he needed something or wanted to talk to someone or just not be alone in the dark hours of the night. He had never woken him but often watched John sleeping. That was nice too.

Mycroft had told him the same. If he needed something, he should ask for it. And right now he needed a living person who didn't blame him or judge him.

Sherlock got up and walked upstairs to his brother's bedroom. He knocked twice and opened the door. His brother must be a light sleeper because he was looking at the door, a bit surprised to see Sherlock standing there.

"Everything okay Sherlock?" He nearly left again but the memory of the black hands and the eyes chased him into the bedroom. "Can I sleep here with you?" Mycroft could see his brother's shaking figure and the fingers gripping into the blanket around his shoulders.

"Of course. Come here." Mycroft made room and Sherlock climbed into bed with the blanket. The king-size bed was big enough for both of them.

"You know, you used to come to me before too, when we were kids. One night we had a very loud thunderstorm over our house and you were afraid. You wanted to sleep in my room and I let you. Mummy and Daddy didn't mind when we both sneaked into their bed when lightning hit a tree outside." Sherlock didn't remember and didn't mind the fact. It was nice to hear things like that about his past. He would probably not remember even if he had not been kidnapped because he was too young then. But his brother filled the night with words and stories that didn't belong to the man that had hurt so many people and destroyed so many lives.

"I will show you in the morning some information about nearby universities that offer studies in chemistry, if you are interested." Sherlock nodded and made a small sound to signal that he heard him.

Silence came into the room. A good kind of silence that would allow them to fall asleep soon. Sherlock thought about studying, it sounded interesting in some ways. He would learn things about a subject he is interested in, he would meet new people and it would mean a busy, normal life. Exactly what he needed. With this last thought and lying near his brother, he fell into a dreamless sleep.