Danger Nights

Chapter Four

Although not a psychiatrist, John Watson knew about the controversy surrounding ECT. Some doctors lauded it as a quick-acting miracle for difficult cases while others decried it as archaic and unreliable in its efficacy. No medical authority could explain exactly how it worked to treat mental illness either. That bothered John more than anything.

"You can't be serious," he breathed.

"I assure you that I am."

For a moment John was too stunned to continue. Then he stammered, "Y-you're telling me you've been treated with ECT before?"

"Twice. The first time was in 2002. The second was three years ago. Not long before we met." Mycroft laced his fingers tightly together and gazed out the window into the back garden, where three armed bodyguards patrolled. "John, I love you, and I appreciate how worrying this must be. But I must inform you that my decision has been made. I will be seeing Dr. Lowery at ten. If you would rather not accompany me, I shall understand."

Not even depression could soften the iron will of Mycroft Holmes, it seemed. His blue eyes shifted from the window to John, assessing the doctor's reaction.

John had always accepted that he'd never know everything about Mycroft's past or even his present. The elder Holmes was the shadow side of the British government, responsible for activities and projects that outsiders could never learn about and live. But nothing could have prepared John for discovering that Mycroft's singular brain had been assaulted by 240 to 400 volts of electricity- at his own direction.

John wanted to argue, to remind him that ECT, while not the medically sanctioned torture of fifty years ago, was mainly a treatment of last resort for bipolar disorder and drug-resistant depression. The known risks were potentially catastrophic: diminished learning ability, permanent loss of some memories, and shock-induced heart complications. But Mycroft would already be aware of all that. Unlike Sherlock, he rarely rushed headlong into danger zones.

"How many treatments have you actually received?" John finally asked.

"Six in total. Three the first time, and another three the second. In both instances I improved greatly after the third session, so no more were necessary."

Although upset, John couldn't help but be curious from a medical perspective. "And you had no adverse effects?"

"I was quite uncomfortable each time I woke up, but experienced no memory loss or cognitive impairment. The rapid elevation in mood was remarkable. Dr. Lowery has a theory that the shocks serve the same purpose as antidepressant tablets. The way that the brain processes mood-regulating chemicals is altered for the better."

"God, Mycroft." Objectively speaking, John knew that ECT would not alter Mycroft's personality, his essence. He would not wake up a different man. But what John realized from a scientific perspective and what he feared as a loving partner were two different things. He wanted to argue and plead and dissuade until his throat bled.

"I appreciate how distressing this must be for you," Mycroft continued. "But it really is the best way for me to handle this problem. I've already explained why I cannot afford to be treated pharmaceutically. And even if taking tablets would not put my career and potentially my life at risk, I'm not at liberty to wait weeks for the dosage to take proper effect. My responsibilities are too immediate and urgent."

"Does… does Sherlock know?"

Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

"No," John sighed, "I didn't think so."

The elder Holmes placed his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "The situation in Prague was apparently a nightmare even by my standards."