Hospital (2016) - Day 7 - Late morning
Morning in the hospital was slow and John and Greg stayed with Sherlock for most of it. They were thrown out briefly for the morning rounds and routine examinations.
It was almost noon when Mycroft finally arrived. Without much introduction the older Holmes started to brief them on what he had learned from the doctors.
It took John a moment to realise Mycroft had just been in an in-depth meeting with the staff - without John's presence. He felt overlooked and cut out. The anger that followed blurred his focus on Mycroft's layman tries to convey what he had learned.
"You decided to leave me out?" he interrupted, after he had managed to overpower the enmity.
"Obviously. You are in a state almost as compromised as my brother. You do realise his distress last night might be the direct result of the disturbance you caused? You came very close to being thrown out. Though I am not sure I find it reassuring that you were addressing an hallucination instead of him."
The remark was not unexpected, nevertheless, it hit John like a mental kick in the teeth. He sank into a chair and kept his mouth shut.
Mycroft puckered his lips and set aside his umbrella and the coat he had carried over his arm.
He didn't walk over to his brother's unconscious body, stayed near the entrance instead.
"I value your input and your care for my brother but I required a neutral opinion on his state, first. I needed to gather as much information as possible. You will have the chance to discuss anything you wish with the specialists later. I have kept your indiscretion to myself for now, but if you display even a hint of any aggression in his presence, I will have you thrown out."
"Understood," John mumbled, still ashamed. Mycroft had every right to be pissed. Getting his anger under control was harder than it used to be.
"Ella Thomson tried to call, Sherlock's doctor will call her back soon." Mycroft continued.
"So, what did they say?" John tried to move the conversation forward.
"Basically, that he is neither in a coma nor awake," Mycroft sounded frustrated when he summarized the information he had been given.
"I came to the same conclusion," John said. Sherlock had uttered the words 'This is not real,' last night. Barely understandable, but it pointed in this direction, as did a fair amount of other details John had gathered.
"According to our timeline, Sherlock's meth withdrawal is either currently at peak or about to reach peak," John explained. "The initial crash phase is over, he is experiencing intense cravings. He even told Greg."
Lestrade had been quiet the entire time, sat next to Sherlock on the other side of the bed. With a tired sigh he stood up and stepped closer.
"Now that they have ruled out the most likely physical causes they are focussing on psychological ones," Mycroft explained while he stared at the linoleum, "I am not too fond that they do it this early and I certainly did not encourage them to do so or addressed the topic at all. They did, and knowing my brother, I have to admit it is a possibility."
"Shit," John shook his head. "How did you react when they mentioned it? What did you tell them?"
"Not much. But I will tell you," Mycroft pulled a chair out of the corner and sat down, at the opposite side and as far away from the bed as possible.
The silence lasted longer than John liked but before he could urge the older Holmes brother to continue, Mycroft spoke in a low voice.
"I told them that my brother has lived through some very dire weeks and that it is possible that he isolated himself. I did not tell them I thought it is probable but I am sure it is. He was so depressed and overwhelmed it wouldn't surprise me if he locked himself in - somewhere deep in his mind. He is emotionally unable to handle all that has happened in the past two months. Additionally, now there is your issues on top of his own problems."
John stared at Mycroft, a bit shocked to have Sherlock's emotional state addressed so bluntly.
"The mind palace," John made an equally blunt try to change where the conversation was heading.
"As I have said before, the mind palace is a memory technique, it does not-"
"And as I have said before – you are wrong. I tried to explain it to you when we worked on the trauma he brought home from Serbia.* Of course it is a large storage for all kinds of remembrance, but that is only part of it. It is like a mental building and can be customized for experiments, problem solving and recreation. We used it as a safe environment to confront his triggers, quite successfully. It worked a lot better than expected. I thought you knew that. Haven't you violated his privacy and hacked into his medical files?"
Mycroft gave a resignedly sigh, "I only read the summaries. They didn't contain that much detail. I am not ready to address the mind palace topic with his doctors, they won't understand."
John raised his eyebrows. Mycroft rarely kept Sherlock's private things private, but he had his own experiences with things that had gone wrong in the past.
"They are focusing on 'dissociation'. I have to admit that when he suffered from it before, it sometimes appeared similar to this," Mycroft's voice was cold now.
When he paused briefly, John frowned, sensed the other man was holding something back.
"When exactly did you see him dissociate?" John tried to remember if Sherlock had ever mentioned that his brother had seen him have an episode.
The idea that this was dissociation was one more sign of post-traumatic stress that was laid out in front of John within a few hours.
Mycroft didn't answer but he seemed to have read John's mind.
"Actually, the idea that this is dissociation is intensely discussed by the staff," Mycroft revealed. "They are currently consulting a PTSD specialist."
John expressed his despair by falling into another chair and burying his face in his hands.
"The cookie cutter approach will do more harm than good. He needs someone who is familiar with his issues and special needs," John tried to summarize all the problems he felt threatening. They had been through this before.
"No need to tell me the obvious, doctor. I am well aware there is very little research on the combination of autism and post traumatic stress," Mycroft spat, uttering the actual words, which he rarely did. John knew his frustration was not directed at him or Sherlock's doctors, it was about what Mycroft had witnessed in the past. Things that that had gone wrong because doctors didn't bother to learn about neuroatypical individual's issues. Medical issues that had been overseen or treated poorly because no one bothered to find out what the problem was. The doctor in John had figured out years ago that this might be one of Mycroft's issues.
Overall, Mycroft seemed strained. John suddenly realised that seeing Sherlock unresponsive in a hospital bed was probably a reason for Mycroft freaking out internally. He started to eye the other man and seek out signs. Mycroft's profession was to hide things. After all, Sherlock had learned from a master.
"To be honest… some part of me came to a similar conclusion last night. I wasn't ready to face it but… I am aware the possibility exists and I see where they are coming from. Dissociation is an avoidance coping strategy, sufferers are often not even realising it is happening, it's not a conscious response. Being powerless and helpless results in disconnecting from harmful things that are happening. It basically is a protective mechanism, " John explained.
"Maybe we should contact Dr. Winkelbach*, then," Mycroft suggested.
"No. I am not ready for that," John admitted and his frown deepened when he understood something else.
"You know, the mind palace kind of developed a life of it's own after... Serbia. It kind of... It was damaged... like a real building after a bomb exploded. Mental issues caused virtual physical damage that he had to handle. What if the mind palace is not letting him out because he is a danger to himself? His subconscious has shown some level of self-protection, even if Sherlock doesn't."
Mycroft stared at him if he had lost his mind, then he hid his face behind his hands. John saw him pale, although he tried to hide it.
"You know what you are saying?" he asked.
"Well...?" John wasn't sure.
"Does that mean that the only thing that can get him out of there is him actually wanting to leave?" Mycroft asked.
A long silence followed.
"Is there a way for us to get in?" Mycroft finally asked.
"Not if he doesn't allow us in," John mumbled. "He did tell me once that even if he doesn't allow stimuli from the outside world enter, my voice always came through."
"Apparently this is not the case at the moment - or Sherlock is ignoring you. But it is said that people in a coma can hear things. Maybe it does get through he just doesn't bother to answer. That would be at least better than him being in a constant state of dissociation," Mycroft said.
"To be honest, Mycroft. Maybe that is both the same."
Mycroft paled further.
"So what do we do if he decides the real world is too much trouble?" he whispered.
John couldn't help but sense that there was much more behind this than Mycroft was revealing.
"We wait, I suppose… and talk to him," John huffed and stood up. He stepped closer to Mycroft, eying him carefully.
The older Holmes started fiddling with his phone and John suddenly realised the man's hands were shaking.
"Mycroft, what the hell is…" John started, but Mycroft stood up, picked up his coat and umbrella and left without another word.
When the door was banged shut, John turned towards Greg, who had silently listened to it all and was now standing in the corner next to Sherlock's bed.
"What did just happen?" John asked Lestrade.
"I don't know, mate. You know him better than me."
John rubbed his stubble, "Well, that looked as if he was fleeing."
"He was always distressed when Sherlock was unresponsive. Probably been confronted too often with him struck down by his drug of choice. It must be a sore spot seeing him this lifeless," Greg surmised.
John furrowed his brows. Mycroft had never looked this unsettled about Sherlock being hurt before, not even when Mary shot him.
.
Greg had to go to work a bit later and John assumed Mycroft had left the hospital. The more surprised he was when about an hour later, the older Holmes reappeared.
"Mrs Thompson's report," he said and placed the file on a side table. Overall he seemed more collected than before. "You can ask the nurse for all his other medical files, they will provide a copy."
Chewing on his inner cheek, John went over, picked up the file and started to read.
The first thing Ella had mentioned - in a succession of medical terms of course - was that she deemed Sherlock in danger, thought she wasn't sure how and why. It was clear to her that Sherlock was worried and unsettled to an alarming degree.
It hadn't taken her long to understand that Sherlock's motive for seeing her was to spy on John. Ella had apparently tried to block the stalk-y aspects of their meetings but understood his misery and tried to help him nevertheless.
She described Sherlock as close-lipped, insecure, and avoiding her gaze. He hadn't opened up to her, except when he thought it would reveal more information about John.
John was surprised when she underlined how very different Sherlock was from how John had described him - self conscious and a mess.
They had met twice. The first session had been more or less normal under the circumstances. The second had raised an alarming amount of red flags. Sherlock seemed not himself. On both occasions he had shown signs of clinical depression and exhaustion.
Further, she described him as a highly sensible, grieving man who was desperate but not ready to speak about himself. She suspected substance abuse but Sherlock refused to address the topic.
The report concluded with the recommendation for intense behaviour therapy and an in-patient stay.
While John read the file, Mycroft nervously walked up and down the room but kept his distance to the bed Sherlock was resting in.
"Mycroft, this all is… daunting… but…"
"Well, doctor, I assume you want to discuss proceedings. I will not submit him to any treatment that disregards his neuroatypical issues. This hospital has a good reputation when it comes to physical issues, but they are not equipped to help patients with his background. They have a bunch of highly recommended psychologist and some therapists, but not what he needs."
Mycroft made a heavy with meaning pause that lasted a bit too long.
"So?" John urged.
"I want him out as soon as they are absolutely sure this has no physical causes," Mycroft stated.
"Alright."
"There are several options," Mycroft continued. "His sensory issues mean that a prolonged stay in a foreign environment is out of the question. A hospital will make him worse, no matter how high quality."
John raised his eyebrows. He had expected to fight to take Sherlock home. Agreeing on this made things a lot easier. John blew out air in relief.
"Either I take him home with me, we take him to our parents or we take him to Baker Street. I want him monitored 24/7 and not by just you. I want another doctor and a nurse present all times. You are in no state to take care of him alone and his needs just changed profoundly. He'll need repositioning and a feeding tube and… other things," Mycroft was not ready to say terms out loud, that were daily routine for John.
"Right. I am glad we agree on that," John relaxed a bit. "I think he should wake up in Baker Street. That's where he needs to be. The more unfamiliar the surroundings the more unlikely is a speedy recovery."
"I expect you to be there as his friend, not his doctor," Mycroft added in a slightly warning tone. Another blunt request John hadn't expected. He took breath to respond but didn't know what to say. It wasn't the first time this was requested.
"Sherlock craves being understood, having a confidante. You denied him that. If you plan to remain in his life, you need to return to your former… association. My brother has no other means to convey fondness than the most extreme. His deplorable tendency to use self-sacrifice to express it is very disturbing. I hope you will refrain from creating situations that tempt him to use it again in the future."
John felt the revelation punch all air out of his lungs. Once more fell into one of the chairs, speechless.
Mycroft just turned and left, but not before John could catch another glimpse of the brittle shakiness he had seen first when they found Sherlock on the plane, under the influence and on the edge of an overdose.
John slowly walked over to Sherlock's bed and sat on it's edge.
"Hey, you heard all of that?" he tipped the back of Sherlock's slack hand with his fingertips to attack his attention, with his other hand he stroked back Sherlock's greasy hair, then allowed it to rest a bit on top of his head.
"We are going home, soon," John continued. "You're safe. We will take care of you. I will make sure you are safe."
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There is fanart for this story on tumblr and DA. search for the title 'The Chemist'
Thank you to all the wonderful kind people who left reviews for the last chapter.