Locked John or John locked?

Trauma and- GET THE FUCK OUT MYCROFT

Hi, I'm Loki (that's not my real name but whatevs) and sorry if I take long to update and stuff plz enjoy!!! Also, im not the best at writing and sometimes I get lazy and stuff so sorry like right now im lazy so lol but I try to not make mistakes and stuff also I don't write in the txt abbreviation thing so yeah sorry if some things aren't accurate I do my best but im only fourteen and I'm horrible at proof reading
NONE OF THESE CHARACTERS ARE MINE AND ALL THE DISCLAIMER SHIT THANK YOU
~~~~~~~~~
SHERLOCK'S POV
I remembered lots of things. If you needed to identify tabacco ash, I could help you. If you needed to know when the Big Ben was built, I knew the exact date.
But I tend to forget the little things. Why did I open the fridge? No clue. What did I come into this room for? Absolutely no idea.
Anyhoo, apart from those little insignificant things, I remembered nearly everything, unless I deleted it.
As I was reading a book (300 types of poisonous plants, very interesting), there was a knock on the door. Since John was busy playing with Rosie, his daughter, I put a bookmark in my book and went to get the door.
When I opened it, Mycroft was on the other side. "Greetings, little brother—" he started saying, but I slammed the door in his face and sat back in my chair.
John looked at me. "Who was it?" he asked innocently.
"No one important," I answered, opening my book. Mycroft knocked again and this time John opened it.
"Oh, Mycroft," John said, finally understanding. "What brings you here?"
"A case," he said, waking to our flat without permission.
"This better be a triple murder," I muttered, not looking up from my book. "If not, out."
Taking a deep breath, Mycroft said, "It was a robbery."
"BORING!" I exclaimed, still reading the book. I pointed at the door.
"Sherlock, they— she left a note."
I looked up, confused. Mycroft was obviously distressed, and judging from his clothes, he just came back from an important meeting. He sighed and simply said, "Eurus."
I stood and placed my book on my armchair. "She escaped the mental asylum again?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes. And she left a series of instructions."
"What for?" I asked as Mycroft handed me a piece of paper.

INSTRUCTIONS TO CATCH ME REDHANDED
1) Call Alexander Mycroft Chad Holmes to the crime scene
2) Give him this price of paper
3) Hello Mycroft
4) Show this to William Sherlock Scott Holmes
5) Ripeninger

"Your first name is Alexander?" John asked as I passed him the piece of paper.
"Irrelevant. Sherlock, you look pale," Mycroft noticed.
In fact, I felt as if the floor had been swiped away from beneath my feet. Ripeninger. It wasn't the first time I had heard that word. But how come I couldn't recall where I'd heard it—
"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked me, snapping me out of my trance.
I looked at him. "Oh, yes," I looked at the floor again, "yes, I'm fine." I sat back in my armchair. "I just can't remember something..."
"You can't remember something," John repeated.
"Yes, John, that literally what I just said," I snapped, giving him a look. Why did he have to repeat what I said?
"You, Mr Mind Palace, can't remember something?"
"The mind palace is simply a mnemonic device, I can still forget things. It's simply improbable, but it is possible," I replied. But if this Ripeninger was so important, why did I forget it? I asked myself.
"If it has to do with Eurus, then perhaps with was the trauma that made you forget it," Mycroft hypothesised.
I made a face. It irritated me that I forgot or edited my memories. Why did the human brain have to answer like that to trauma? "Perhaps," I conceded. Rosie started pulling on Mycroft's pants.
"Go away, irritating child," Mycroft hissed at Rosie.
"Don't talk that way to my daughter," John snapped, and picked Rosie up. I looked at the little girl as I struggled to remember.
Rosie was growing up to be just about the only female Homo sapiens who I could possibly say that I loved more than my own life. She had John's grey-blue eyes, like the ocean after a storm, and blonde hair like both her parents. At the moment, she was drooling all over her hand and giving Mycroft an interested look, as if she were trying to look into his soul. I was afraid that she would have to look for a long time, since Mycroft had no soul.
"Well, goodbye," I told Mycroft after a moment. I sauntered over to the front door and opened it for him.
Giving me a glare, Mycroft said, "You need to solve the case, Sherlock, and you'll need my help—"
"We'll come to you if we need help," I assured him with a sarcastic smile. "Out."

"Sherly, wanna play a game?" Eurus asked me. I was six, and all I wanted to do at night was play and play and play.
"Yeah!" I excitedly replied, my curls bouncing on my forehead as I nodded.
"Okay, we'll play hostage."
"What's that?" I asked.
"You sit in the chair, and I'll torture you to make your friend beg for mercy," Eurus explained. The smile on her face was eerie, but I didn't think of that. My sister had always been a bit weird, and she often smiled that way. I knew she cared for me and that probably she was just smiling like that to get my attention.
My smile wavered. "It's just for pretend, though, right? No one— you won't hurt me, right?" I clarified.
"Of course not!" Eurus promptly answered.
"Okay! Who'll be my friend?" I asked, sitting in the chair Eurus had pointed at.
"Mrs Ursa," Eurus told me, grabbing a teddy bear.
She tied me to the chair, and took a tin lunchbox out. "This is the Ripeninger. It's called like this because it ripens victims." She caught the look on my face. "For pretend."
After having knotted the Ripeninger's string around my wrist, she turned the Ripeninger on.
For a few seconds, I felt nothing, but then the pain came. It was like a hundred guns worth of bullets hitting my body, all at the same time. I screamed in pain.

JOHN'S POV
After I put Rosie to sleep, I decided to go and talk to Sherlock about the case. He had gone to his room right after dinner (during which he hadn't touched his plate) saying that he needed to access his mind palace. Since it obviously irritated him that he couldn't remember what that word meant, Sherlock wanted to find out at all cost.
"Hey, Sherlock?" I said as I opened his door after knocking. I found him sleeping, but it didn't look like he was having a good dream. His dark curls were sweaty and they were plastered on his forehead.
"Sherlock," I repeated as I sat down if his bed. Sherlock's eyes suddenly opened and he gasped for breath. "Oh god, are you alright?" I asked.
He sat up and turned to me.
I don't think anyone's eyes are quite like Sherlock's. Was it even physically possible to have green, blue, and brown eyes at the same time? If the lighting was right, you could see all those shades alternating like a kaleidoscope. And the intelligence behind those eyes was even more impressive. You could practically see all his smarts sparkle in his eyes, like gems in a deep cave, endless and magnificent.
"I'm fine," he whispered, running a hand through his hair.
"Are you sure?" I thought about today and theorised what could've given him the nightmare. "Was It about the Ripeninger thing?"
He looked at his bed sheets as he nodded. "I— I remembered what happened."
I leaned in. "What happened?"
After shaking his head ever so slightly, Sherlock answered, "It was a torture device."
My stomach dropped. "Did— she tested it on you," I realised. Giving me my answer with a small nod, I growled, "I'll kill her."
Sherlock looked at me. "I can't tell if you're serious," he quietly joked with a smile.
What worried me the most right then was the fact that Sherlock was so quiet about it. He usually blew me away with all his split second deductions and snarky comments and his fair share of sass, but now? I didn't like how very... I don't know, I guess quiet is the word that comes to mind in this situation, but it isn't quite right. "You don't look so good right now," I told him. Which was true. His face was all clammy.
"Nor do you. Did Rosie make a mess during dinner?" Sherlock asked, pointing to the baby food on my shirt.
"You were there, you tell me," I grumbled, remembering how she had thrown the spoon at me.
"I wasn't paying attention."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you weren't," I muttered.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing, nothing." I stood. "So, do you need anything?"
Sherlock shook his head. "No. Thank you. Tell Lestrade that we'll talk about the new case in the morning. Oh, and tell him that Mycroft already gave it to us."
"What—" I started saying, but just then I heard a knock at the front door. I gave Sherlock a look and I went to open it. Sherlock followed me. "Since you're here, you can tell him yourself," I told him.
"Oh, no, I don't feel like talking to idiots right now."
"You're talking to me."
Sherlock gave me a look like, 'You can deduce what I mean yourself'.
"You don't think I'm an idiot?" I asked.
"Obviously not, though that question is making me doubt my judgment." Sherlock opened to door to the stairs, behind which Lestrade was standing with a gun to his head. "What the fu—"
"Language, brother," chided a female voice next to Lestrade. Eurus Holmes pushed Lestrade into our living room. "I've come because you're slow."
With a confused expression, Sherlock said, "Excuse you?"
Eurus rolled her eyes. "Brother, brother." She tutted. "And to think you're the older one."
Sherlock gave her a, I beg your pardon, what the fuck did you just say to me?
~~~~~~~
Hey my peeps plz comment and stuff sorry if I'm slow w/ updates and stuff b/c I have a busy life thx 4 reading I'm updating right now so yeah I'll publish it asap