Sherlock's Second Vow [FINISHED]

Chapter 20: Miss You

Hey thanks for reading y'all. This one is actually not super angsty and depressing, if you can believe it!

It's actually rather soft. :)

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20

"That John guy dropped some stuff off for you. Said he can't stay, but he wants to bring Rosa back later this week."

"It's Rosie."

Jay, the nurse, handed Sherlock a small suitcase. "It's group time right now, but you can go ahead back to your room and look through it for a few minutes."

My coat. He put it on immediately, it's heavy, familiar weight comforting.

Right underneath it was a pair of dress pants and the purple shirt. John had known this was Sherlock's favorite. He'd paid attention.

That made Sherlock feel a little better, in a weird kind of way. It showed that John cared, still. He slipped off the coat to dress in the new clothes. When it landed in his lap, he noticed something in the left breast pocket.

A photograph. He didn't remember leaving one in his pocket. Had John seen it?

Sherlock pulled it out. John hadn't seen the picture, he had taken the picture. With Sherlock's camera. Oh. He had left his coat in the trunk. John must have gone through everything!

He kicked the suitcase across the room, where it bumped against his cot. "Dammit."

Sherlock remembered everything in the trunk anyway! They were all in his mind palace, why had he taken the risk and saved those, especially in his flat?

Because he had trusted John not to go snooping around his room. That was Sherlock's private place, after all.

The photo had been taken recently, perhaps even yesterday, at his flat when they were packing his things. Probably by Mrs. Hudson, she had a steady hand. He brushed a finger along the words signed at the bottom.

Miss you, - J

Miss you, - R ☺

Sherlock tucked the photo back into his coat pocket. They were waiting for him, if he could get through this, make himself do this.

They gave him drugs to change the chemistry of his brain. Not the way he sometimes smoked or did them for recreation. They were specifically to make him think different. To not be exactly himself.

Therapists telling him how to think.

He was living in the place of the broken, people who couldn't think straight or didn't care to live. There were fights, and groups, and he lived alone. He was a broken man to the nurses, too, they wouldn't talk to him except about medicine and what to do and where to go.

He hoped John would come back soon, for someone to talk to. And Rosie, but he worried seeing this place might scare her. He had to get used to the drugs, and he had a bright red scar crawling up his neck. Those things might now scare her outright, but they were not comfortable sights either.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, holding himself until he calmed down. They were coming back soon, he would see them soon. Until then he could do what he'd always done-- live in a world of his own making.

He walked out of the room, leaving the rest of the sorting for later.

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John was here.