Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles - A Johnlock Story

Gone Mental

AN: Not all of the Mental ward memories are in here, he doesn't tell John all of it, but that will come later, I promise. It's mainly stuff you guys already knew, just compacted with some context. Also, this story is not in any way meant to demonize or portray mental wards/hospitals as bad, unkind or uncaring. I have had relatives go in for a while, and they are actually really helpful and great!

I looked over the room full of suicidals and sighed. They were mostly idiots, too consumed by their own thoughts to even blink. Only one didn't fit this pattern, and I watched her as she glared out into the room. Her icy blue eyes warily scanned the room, and she was curled up in the corner of the room.

Her mahogany colored hair was anything but limp, it cascaded down is huge waves in an enormous amount of volume. I didn't need to get any closer to see the scars covering her wrists and arms. Daughter of an abusive, alcoholic set of parents, working in a family run business. Both parents had been arrested, and she was taken care of by an older sibling. She wore a 'little sister' bracelet, meaning it was likely that there was a big sister or brother one.

I'd been in here for less than a day, it had been less than a day that by own brother betrayed me and shoved me in here. Though, perhaps it was granted after a 5th suicidal attempt. I walked over to the mystery girl, realizing exactly how young she was. She was maybe 14, if that. She looked up at me looming over her, and hugged her knees even closer to her chest. I sat down next to her, leaning my back against the hard wall. She stared at me curiously, the way a cat would watch a mouse. She cocked her head.

"How long have you been here?" I asked, stretching my legs out. She resumed her survey around the room as she answered. "2 months, this time." She had a thick Scottish accent. Of course, she'd been here multiple times, her older sibling was running a business, they couldn't both do that and take care of a depressed, suicidal, self harming sister as well, they probably didn't know how. "Brother or sister?" I asked. She lifted her head, looking at me confused.

"Do you have an older brother or sister? Which is it, who takes care of the business after your parents went to jail?" Her jaw went slack, before she set it angrily. "How did you know about the shop? And how the hell did you know about my parents?!" She asked. I told her my deductions, and she sat in silence for a moment. Next thing I knew, she was on her feet, screaming at me, cursing me, cursing at me, screaming at me to get out. I'm fairly certain she would've clawed my face off had it not been for security dragging her off to her rooms. I didn't see her until the next day, in the cafeteria. She sat next to me, plopping her tray down, yet not looking at me. She kept her eyes trained on her tray but stuck out her hand.

"Alice Truby," I took her hand and shook it. "Sherlock Holmes." She smiled cautiously, still quite coy.

"You're new here," she remarked, taking a bite of her apple. "And you aren't," I replied somewhat defensive. She swallowed and took another bite. "Fourth time being in, all in the past year." She was so casual about it, so unhurt, so unbelievably calm. I asked her about it and she shrugged. "Ah, I probably deserve it, it's probably the best place for me right now." I nodded my understanding, except that I really didn't understand. "You're incredibly forgiving of your older brother." She shrugged again. "And you aren't?" I was at a loss for words. How could I explain the way he betrayed me by throwing me in here? "They mean well, they really do. They can't always take care of our needs, and they think this place can give that to us. They really can't but the thought is there." I nodded, turning it over in my head, but it just didn't fit with how Mycroft was, it just didn't.
"What is your family's business?" I asked, curious. "It's a restaurant, almost like a diner, but also a bakery. We're home to the best lemonade and the best peanut butter cookies you'll ever taste," she grinned proudly. "I make the peanut butter cookies, and the gourmet cupcakes, they're my specialty."

"Do you want to run thee business when you're older?" The smile disappeared, but not sadly, just thinking. "Not really, I want to become a writer, or a photographer when I'm older. I want to take pictures of and then write about different cultures and places in the world." I nodded, it wasn't as clever as science or technology, but interesting and neat.

***

Alice had taken my cot, splaying out in it. I sat on the ground of my room, my back leaning against the wall. She swung her leg as she talked a mile a minute. "You know, I really don't think that we're the crazy ones, I think it's those out in the big bad world. They're insane enough to stay sane. To them, we are the odd ones, when in reality, it's quite the opposite. There's so much harshness and cruelty in the world, how on EARTH do they keep their sanity? That's the truly crazy thing to me. I mean, they don't care about us here. They fatten us up, heal our scars, tell us mantras and shove us back out, not once checking in on our emotional progress."

Alice had taken to sharing her opinions of the world only when it was the two of us. It had been two weeks since I had been slammed in here, a month since she had. The place stunk wretchedly, and no real kindness existed here, save for Alice. It wasn't the horrible place Victor had been in, but it wasn't great. I got daily visits from Mycroft, though I'd taken to calling him my nemesis.

I'd never forgive him for this, never in a million years. He cried the first few days, apologizing so much the word almost lost sense and definition. Alice got daily visits from her brother too, though I suppose they went much better than my own. She seemed to forgive her brother, more than forgive him, really. She was thankful to him, almost worshipped the ground he walked on. She told me how he had called the police when he learned that it wasn't just him getting beat. Initially, it had just been him, but then Alice had begun getting beat as well. When he learned that, he immediately went to the police. I vaguely remembered Lestrade telling me about it. I told her this, to which she laughed. "That's funny, you know?" I did know, oddly enough. She was a shining beacon of hope in this dark night of a ward.