Mirrors

Chapter 13: Requiem

        John was allowed to move through the compound at his own leasure. Sherlock had told John that he was free to move around as he pleased, but was warned to not attempt to leave. The compound had snipers on the roof that had the liberty to shoot on sight. John was too riled to sleep, so he watched where Sherlock was going. John’s brow furrowed slightly as he sees Sherlock walk up to a room in the back of the compound, flanked by two armed guards. Sherlock nods to them and they open the doors for him to go inside. John’s confusion grows when the guards shut and lock the doors after Sherlock.

        Curiosity got the better of the doctor in the end as he went to investigate the scene that was unfolding before him. The guards look up as John approached. “Excuse me, it’s Doctor Watson, isn’t it?” John looked up at the new voice as an elderly gentleman walked up to him. “Yes?” John asked, curious. The man holds out a hand for John to shake. “I would tell you my name but the current...settings would deem that unwise. Besides, Jim never calls me by my real name, his way  of underminding. I am called the Physician. I am the one who patched up Holmes after Jim and Moran released him from the clutches.” the Physician told John as the shook hands.

        “You have my gratitude for that, sir. But can you tell me why Sherlock just locked himself in a room?” John asked. The Physician looked uncomfortable and put a fatherly arm around John’s shoulders to guide him away from the door.

        “Working as a doctor under the consulting criminal,  have seen my own fair share of blood. But...seeing the aftermath of what this Academy did to Sherlock… I have never seen anything like it. It was horrible. The room back there? It’s the only safe place for Sherlock to sleep. If you were to look into the room, it’s bare except for a single mattress on the floor. Sherlock has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He has some of the worse nightmares I have ever seen. That’s part of the reason he looks ghoulish. He barely gets any sleep. And when he does sleep he is plagued with flashbacks and memories as his mind is desperately tries to heal itself. Take my word for it and leave Sherlock alone when he goes into that room. For your own sake.” the Physician stated sympathetically, and gives John’s shoulder a gentle pat.

        “One last question before you go. You seem...decent. How did you get pulled into?” John asked. The Physician smiled sadly. “Jim found my pressure point. My grandchildren. So long as I work for the consulting criminal, my family stays safe. In a way you are fortunate for not having anything Jim can hold over your head. If i were you, I would get out and run. Get as far away from this place as possible.” The Physician said solemnly. “That’s not quite true. Sherlock is my pressure point.” John shrugged.

“Then I pity you.”

“Why?”

        “He’s not a man. Not anymore.” The Physician stated, the frown pulling his lips down as he looked at John with concern. Before John could ask for any more questions, the Physician adjusted his glasses and walked off.  

        John suppressed a shiver as he muses over the advice he was given. “If he’s not a man anymore…. what is he?” John thought as he makes his way back to his room. As he walked, his path took him directly in front of the locked room where Sherlock slept. John was about to pass the room when a sound stops him dead in his tracks. It was the sound of a muffled scream. John’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks over at the door to the room. The guards were gone, they had gone to sleep as well, leaving John alone with his dilemma. “Don’t do it…”  John thought, trying to convince himself not to. The thin long scream happened again, and all prior reservations John had are thrown out the window. John throws open the heavy doors to see Sherlock in a tight protective ball in the center of the mattress. In the dim lighting, John could see Sherlock was shaking violently, hands curled into fists.

        “Sherlock.” John gasped softly, his heart ached to see his friend like this. John dropped to a knee on the thin mattress to place a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. With a roar, Sherlock snapped awake, and flinched away from John. John was horrified to see that Sherlock was soaked in his own sweat and that a thin line of red was dripping out of his eyes and nose.

        “Oh my God! Sherlock!” John panicked at the sight of the blood. Sherlock, however, was less than amused with the intrusion. “What are you doing in here?! Get out!” he roared , face twisting into a feral snarl. John backed away instantly. In his haste to put some distance between them, he falls back on his bum. “What were you doing in here?” Sherlock hissed. “I-I heard screaming. A-And you are bleeding…” John ventured. Sherlock’s hand instantly went up to his face to wipe his nose. “Not again…” Sherlock groaned softly as he looked down at the dark stain balefully.

        “I’m a doctor. I want to help.” John said softly. “Hmmm. Then perhaps I should get your professional opinion on the matter.” Sherlock purred. John was a little shocked how he could go from blind with rage to calm and cold in the matter of seconds. Sherlock sat back down on the cot. John watched with widening eyes as Sherlock removes his shirt to show the doctor the full extent of the damage the Academy had done.

        John’s mouth goes open wide as he looked Sherlock over. Sherlock’s marble skin was riddled with scars. John was a medical man, he had seen his own fair share of gruesome injuries and gore but this, this was something else. Sherlock’s skin was a testament to the hell he went though. There was evidence of branding, scoring, electrical shock, waterboarding, and God knew what else. John sways slightly and has to take several calming breaths to avoid passing out from the massive rush of blood to his head. He felt like crying, screaming, hitting something, but the only sound that conveyed John’s shock was a choked gasp of breath.

               Sherlock silently watched John’s reaction with a pokerface. “It isn’t pretty, I know. But there’s also this.” Much to John’s shock, Sherlock’s hands take hold of wrists to guide John’s fingertips to a very large raised scar under his hair. At that, John’s floodgates open and John lets out a loud sob, his knees giving out to kneel in front of the detective. “Oh Sherlock, Sherlock. I am so sorry. I am so sorry they did this to you.” John sobbed.

        Sherlock was silent the whole time John sobbed, his heart closed off to John’s misery. Sherlock felt something stirred in him but the brainwashing didn’t allow him to have empathy. “Your sympathy does nothing for me. What is your professional opinion so I might catch the sons of bitches that did this to me.” Sherlock said softly.  

               John clears his throat loudly. “Well...they… to be frankly honest, fucked you over in a truly professional manner. The cuts were made by some who knew what they were doing. They knew how to inflict pain. Some of them were not even straight or consistent in pressure. This means you were awake for everything. You struggled. The marks show this wasn’t all done in one session. They let you heal only to cut into you. Again. And again. And then again….” John whimpered. “Why didn’t I die?” Sherlock asked softly.

“You weren’t given the mercy.”

“They made me into a monster.”

“No...No don’t say that. You are not a monster.”

        “Oh but I am. That was the intent. They wanted me to become this. They succeeded. I am a monster. In every sense of the word. Now get out of my sight. I am letting you live despite the fact that you have seen me in this state. Don’t make me regret that choice.” Sherlock growled, voice taking on a sinister hiss. John closes off his fear and frustration and leaves the room without a second look back, leaving Sherlock alone in the dark.