Sherlock's Second Vow [FINISHED]

Chapter 18: Sherlock's Love

Hey guys!

I apologize, I need to not bitch about "how few views im getting" because if I actually imagine 165 people in a room with me that's a lot of fucking people. 

So thank y'all for reading. :)

This chapter is gonna be shorter but it's not gonna be super depressing! Sorry for taking so long on this one, I was working on my blog "What am I?" 

Also we've made it to 104 pages now! So that's nice!

There is going to be a treatment called VNS included, here is a lil pic from google on how it works:

18

The nurse took him outside of the ward and down the hall into a seperate room. There was a raised seat in the center of the room he knew was for him, so he took it.

A doctor was waiting for him as well. Sherlock deduced him a little to calm himself down. Mid forties, happily married, at least two kids and a small dog. Breathe.

"We're going to try something a little different today, William. We haven't been getting the responses we hoped for with the TMS therapy, so we want to try the VNS that we discussed."

"Get on with it then."

The doctor looked a little surprised. He asked Sherlock to unbutton the top part of his shirt.

The procedure had been explained to him before he signed the form. They would use a local anesthetic, numbing his chest and neck. He would remain awake. The process would take about an hour-- implanting the pulse disk a little below his collarbone, then winding a lead wire up through his neck where it would meet the second incision and a series of electrodes.

It didn't scare him. What was this compared to what he'd been through on his adventures with John? He decided to focus on that as the doctor positioned the scalpel on his chest. He focused on John.

When are you going to stop being such a drama queen? She is happy, and we are closer, but not because you were gone.

Rosie misses you. Hell, I miss you. Come home.

Come home.

He admitted to himself, in the little room far from home, that he had been wrong. He had miscalculated. He had miscalculated feelings, he had miscalculated people-- he had miscalculated John.

Sherlock knew everything there was to know about the motivations of fear and anger and lust, all those dark things that made his quarry do what they did, all those dark things you had to know to connect the dots, find the link, and bring them down.

John said he missed him.

Sherlock glanced down at the large red gash in his chest. He felt nothing but a slight pressure, a slight emptiness, and a slight wrongness as the doctor made the little hole inside him.

He and John were friends. The first real friend he'd ever had. And compared to his observations of others, they were bloody good friends, or had been. John had gotten busy with family, with life, and that had been fine, although it made Sherlock's days emptier.

And he'd been protective of Rosie. Good parents were always protective of their children against threats, and Sherlock knew he counted as one. He wasn't exactly a safe, sane, or in any way normal person.

He'd come to terms with the fact that John would want him gone. And when the time came to leave, he'd made himself do it before he could change his mind.

Sherlock found he had a dangerous amount of sentiment in him for John and Rosie Watson.

And when they'd found him he hadn't wanted to come back, hadn't wanted to endanger them, especially after seeing how far they'd come together when his absence was the only variable that changed.

They had been good to him, and the last thing Sherlock wanted was to hurt the people he... the people he...

"Loved," he said, startled.

The doctor looked up. "Sorry, what?"

"Oh it has nothing to do with you, finish cutting me up already!"

Bloody sentiment. He loved John. He loved Rosie. He loved John.

Sherlock bloody loved.

This was a bad, bad thing. Mycroft had told him this was bad, and it always ended badly, but it had been years now, John had lasted years he had lasted through the Fall and through this, surely he was safe to love.

"You okay there? Your heartbeat is going pretty fast."

"I'm fine."

It didn't exactly feel bad, even if it was supposed to be bad, even if it was supposed to be for people lower than him. It felt kind of warm. It always felt warm when he was with John, or when Rosie sat near him and practiced her deductions.

When they said they missed him.

When they said come home.

What has gotten into me? He thought tiredly.

Something heavy and faintly cold came to rest in his chest, and a slight prickle of something winding up his neck made him clench his jaw.

If they wanted him back, he would come back. But not until he was safe for John and safe for Rosie. John couldn't lose her.

Even if it took breaking himself and losing his mind, Sherlock was coming home.