There is no John

Hey everyone I hope you enjoy this famfic, the idea came to me on a whim and I had to write it out.

What if Sherlock is a schizophrenic and John is just one of the voices.

I do not own Sherlock but I would love to lock him up in my eerie for a few weeks

story has been edited
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"sherlock."

The sound of Microft's voice slowly broke through the haze that enveloped Sherlock's mind.

"What?" the young man asked, although the word came out in more of a slur.

Sherlock fought to focus his eyes and slowly the face of his older brother appeared in front of him.

"What are you doing here, did John let you in? John!" Sherlock yelled. After a few minutes he tried again but there was no answer.

Instead he heard a woman's quiet voice.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Holmes, I didn't realize it was this bad."

Sherlock tried to sit up and look at Mrs. Hudson, but his body felt boneless and all he managed was to roll his head to the side.

The woman continued, obviously speaking to Microft. "He usually gets in his moods and locks the door for a few hours and the flat is a mess when he finally lets me in. This time, however, it's been locked for two whole days."

Microft let out a soft sigh, "It's not your fault. I should have realized he needed constant supervision."

The middle aged man reached into his wallet and pulled out several pounds. "I will have someone sent to clean up this mess and to replace anything that is broken."

Sherlock drifted on a haze, barely conscious of his being half carried out of the small flat he and John lived in.

John, at that thought Sherlock's eyes popped open. Reaching out to grab the railing,he failed around. "John needs to know where I'm going, he'll get worried."

Microft let out a sigh, "there is no John, Sherlock. There never was."

Sherlock's fingers slowly let go of the railing as he stared at the floor in defeat.

"We're on a case," he whispered to his house shoes.

Microft fought not to cry as he looked down at his little brother.

How many times has he dragged the younger Holmes to the hospital to get cleaned up and take proper medications for his schizophrenia?

Of course the real question was how long until he finally decided to keep Sherlock in the hospital indefinitely.

The car ride was tense as Sherlock huddled against the child locked door, muttering to himself about the supposed case.

Microft was so wound up during the trip that he felt sick with relief when the car pulled up to the entrance of Bart's Hospital for the mentally insane.

As soon as the car stopped, a nurse came out to meet them with a wheelchair. Unlike a normal hospital chair, this one had leather straps on the armrests to restrain potential violent patients.

Sherlock sat still, not bothering to defy the familiar protocol as the nurse and Microft strapped Sherlock in the chair before wheeling him inside for check in.

An hour later, Microft sat in one of the stuffed brown leather chairs, staring at his shoes. Sherlock was sprawled on a matching leather couch across from him.

The room had been decorated in soft blues and greens with plants situated on small tables in the corners to create an encourage and relaxing atmosphere.