Chapter Text
“I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?” Mycroft says sternly.
“What do you think of this shirt?” Sherlock asks, acting like he’s pointedly ignoring his stressed out older brother.
“Sherlock! For England’s sake, at least go back on your medication. A man gave his life for this information, I need you functional enough to focus on this.” Mycroft says through gritted teeth. It’s always near impossible to have any sensible conversation with his unreasonable, manic brother.
Sherlock rolls his eyes at him. “Need I remind you that I managed to successfully dismantle Moriarty’s web, without the pills making me slow? Why should I go back on them?”
Mycroft stares at him for a long moment. “How about this: our parents are going to visit soon, and they want you to go with them to a matinee of Les Mis.”
Sherlock grimaces at the very idea.
Mycroft continues. “If you go back on your medication, I will go in your place.”
Sherlock raises an eyebrow in disbelief. If he, himself, has sensory processing issues, his brother is even worse. The idea of his brother willingly offering to torture himself, makes his lips quirk into a mischievous grin.
“You promise?” He asks.
“I promise.” Mycroft confirms.
Sherlock considers it. He just feels way too good as to think of going back on his medication. He finally feels like himself. Free, energised, invincible, smarter than his brother could ever be.
“No.”
Mycroft makes to protest, but Sherlock beats him to it, telling him that he will find the underground terror cell, followed by asking about John.
All attempts at going back to the previous conversation are stubbornly ignored.
When his brother visits him to check on his progress so far, Sherlock is still in good spirits and making another show of focusing on anything besides the terrorist attack.
Sherlock soon learned that he wasn’t as stable as he thought he was. The confrontation with John from a day ago, had gone so badly that his brain is now torturing him with hallucinations of John angrily mocking him when he takes on a case.
He managed to get through the setup Jack the Ripper case — if you could even call it a case — but he was quickly losing his sanity.
The hypomania was now merging into a mixed episode, and for some reason, hallucination-John was not on his side any longer.
He had had a lot of John-hallucinations during the two years he spent around the globe. But they had always been positive, supportive, encouraging him to keep going, to not give up.
Now he isn’t sure why he’d bothered to come back at all. What was the point? He’d fought this hellish disease for two years, and what for?
“Why would someone go to all that trouble?” Molly’s question comes at an ironically fitting moment.
“Why indeed, John.” Sherlock replies, regarding the hallucination-John, fleeing from the underground room.
I never want to see you again.
He might as well have died in the process. It’s not like anyone would have been any wiser.
He doesn’t feel like himself anymore. He isn’t even sure who Sherlock Holmes was ever supposed to be.
He is broken, defective.
He pulls out his new iPhone from his coat pocket, sending his brother a text before his thoughts would undoubtedly stop him from getting help, and instead make him jump off of Saint Bart’s for real.
I’m taking you up on that promise. - SH