“John, I can’t take care of a child.” I said. 

John sighed. “You won’t be. I will be taking care of her.” 

“But why does she have to come here?” I complained.

“Because she has to. She has nowhere else to go.” John explained again.

“But why can’t she go somewhere else. Doesn’t she have family to take care of her. That is what normal families do, isn’t it?” 

“Sherlock, she is my niece. I am her family now. And she is 10, so she can take care of a lot. More than you would, I’d wager. And yes, families do take care of their kids, and that is what I am trying to do.”

“But, John, she’ll get in the way. And if you want me to work on cleaning, if that will keep a stranger form joining us, I will.”

“Sherlock. I am going to bring her in now. She is staying, whether you like it or not.” And with that, John went downstairs. 

When he came back with his niece, I was sitting on the couch, staring at the skull, and I didn’t move when John came back. “Sherlock, this is Lizzie.” I didn’t respond. “Sherlock, say hi.” He didn’t move. “Sherlock.” John warned. 

I glanced at the girl. She was 10, she was also mature for her age, as well as an only child, she seemed to have been crying recently, probably because her parents had just died. She also was strong mentaly, or at least putting on a very good act of it. She had walked here from the tubes, and was tired, but didn’t make a big deal of it. She seemed to be handling the whole situation quite well, especially for a young girl. I looked back at the skull. 

John sighed. But before he could say anything, I spoke. “Car crash?” John sighed, exasperated. Lizzie nodded. “Before you ask, John, I figured that because she walked here from the tubes, rather than take a cab. Also, she was recently crying, probably because of her parents death. That is what normal people like you two do, is it not? And she broke her leg a few years back. Though I am not sure how, but I have a few ideas. And-” I would have kept going, but John interrupted him. “Sherlock!” I looked at him. “Yes, John?” 

John glared at me. “Can’t you see that she is upset enough? And having you do this to her the moment she walked through the door… Don’t you understand what she is going through? Have you no sympathy?”

I looked away. “According to many, I have no heart, so I wouldn’t have those feelings. And I don’t.” I stood up and grabbed my violin. Then I walked down to my lab. 

John sighed and turned to Lizzie. “How about some tea?” She nodded. 

I was looking at some dirt samples when I heard a scream, followed by a “SHERLOCK!” from a mad John. John came down and barged into the lab without knocking. I didn’t look up from the microscope. John slammed down the toes. “What did I say about leaving body parts around today!” There was another scream followed by a crash. 

“I suppose she found the eyes. And you both ruined my experiments. Please leave.” I said. John didn’t move, just continued to glare at me. “John. Leave. Now.” I said, not looking at him. 

“No, Sherlock. You are going to come with me and take care of your experiments and I would ask you to apologise, but you wouldn’t anyway, and I would just be wasting my breath, so come. Now.” When I didn’t move, John grabbed me roughly and shoved me towards the door. I wrenched himself from John’s grasp and turned around and almost punched John in the face, just barely stopping my fist in time. John flinched a little, but didn’t back down.

I felt bad. I did not want to turn out like my father. And I had almost hit John because I was upset. This was not going to be good. At all. 

So I grabbed my violin and went outside, ignoring John yelling after me. I walked to the nearest empty park and started playing. I got so engrossed in his music pouring all of my emotion into the music, all of the angst, all the worry, all of the fear, all of the pain, all of the memories that were flooding back after so many years of suppressing them. I had tried so many times to delete all of the bad memories, but I couldn’t. They were to ingrained in who I was now to disappear. And whenever I saw Mycroft, they would come back, and I would have to repress them again. John never noticed, and I was glad of that. I didn’t want to have to explain it to him. 

When I finally stopped playing, there was a large crowd, clapping and crying. I wasn’t sure how to handle it at all, so I turned heel and walked out of there and back to 221b Baker Street. I needed a case.

But when I got back, the girl was cooking spaghetti. John was in the kitchen with her. John glanced at me when I came in, but didn’t say anything. The girl didn’t say anything either. So I immediately walked to my lab instead. I kept looking at the samples, and ignored John when he came in. 

“Sherlock, you might want to eat.” I ignored him. “Sherlock. You need to eat and stop moping about a kid here. Lizzie will be staying, whether you like it or not. Now, you need to eat.” I kept looking at the samples, hoping he would leave, but he didn’t. “Sherlock, you need to eat. Doctor's orders. Eat it. You haven’t eaten yet today.” I glanced at the plate of spaghetti. “Not hungry.” I said. John glared at me. “You will eat. So eat it.” 

Father used to say that to me when I had something that I didn’t want. Usually it was bad, but somebody had to eat it. So I did. And I did now, choking it down. It actually was pretty good, but I ignored it. As soon as I finished it, I turned back to my microscope, hoping he would leave now. But he didn’t, 

“I heard you had an audience at the park. Normally, you don’t play in public. What changed?” He asked. More than you know, I thought. 

“I wanted to play, but I also didn’t want to be here. So I found an empty park and started playing. Can you leave now?” I asked, getting impatient. 

John sighed. “You should come upstairs and actually say hi to Lizzie. She was hoping the spaghetti would cheer you up. Please at least say hi. Come on.” He gently pulled me up and to the door. I took my arm back, and was very upset to see him, subconsciously, flinch. I used to do that whenever Father would do anything. And here I was, my only friend flinching from me. I kept my face blank, but inside, I was really, really, really upset. 

We went up to our flat and Lizzie was sitting there, waiting for us. She smiled when we came in, though I knew the smile was for John, not me. Not that I could blame her at all. I was a rude stranger, and he was her kind uncle. 

I swallowed. “Thank you for dinner. It was good.” I said. She smiled again. 

“Thanks. I like cooking.” She said. 

I smiled. “Great.” Then I went to my seat and sat down, ignoring the other two. I started thinking, not really about any case, because I didn’t have any, but previous cases, and stories, such as Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, because I liked to see how long it would take me to solve the cases. I usually solved them about halfway through the book, although I would read the whole thing to see how it happened. Or I would watch shows and yell at the people, correcting them when they were wrong. Which was often. 

“Sherlock?” John asked. 

I looked up. “What?” 

He smiled. “Lizzie and I were going to go for a walk. We were wondering if you would like to come with us?” I shook my head. John sighed. “You never know, we might find a case.” He said, trying to get me to come. 

I sighed. “If you want me to come, then just say so. If you ask, I probably won’t.” I said. 

“Fine. Sherlock, Lizzie and I are going for a walk and you are coming too.” John amended. I nodded. “I’ll grab my stuff.” I said, getting up. He smiled. I grabbed my scarf and put it on over my coat. I nodded and we headed out. 

We didn’t make it very far before I started to regret coming. People started whispering as we passed, and I heard different things. Things such as the fact that we had a kid with us, or people commenting on how they didn’t know that I played violin, and very well too. Those were the main whispers, but John and Lizzie didn’t seem to hear them, and I ignored their petty comments. 

The other two kept walking, and I followed, not really caring where we went. Somehow, we ended up in a cemetery. John and Lizzie wandered to another part of the cemetery, and I went to a different corner, where my parents were buried. I found them, right next to each other. I ignored my mother and walked to Father’s, and I punched it as hard as I could, ignoring the pain in my fist. I punched it again, and a few more times for good measure. Then I walked over to where the other two were. Lizie was in front of her parents headstone, the grave was fresh, probably within the last day or so. John was behind her, with his hand on her shoulder, and he was crying too. I felt very uncomfortable standing there, so I backed off and waited for them at the entrance.

When they finally came out, it was quite obvious that they had both been crying. I didn’t say anything, realizing that if I tried, it would not go well, so I kept my mouth shut.

John noticed my hand about halfway back to the flat. “Sherlock? What happened to your hand?!” I looked down and saw that it was dripping blood. I had ignored it until now, ignored the pain, and I still did. 

“Nothing.” I muttered, and walked faster. “Sherlock?!” John warned me. I stopped and turned around. “Just leave me alone, John! Ok? I don’t want to talk right now.” I then turned around and ran back to the flat, where I grabbed my violin and went back to my lab and locked the door. 

When John came back, he knocked on the door, and asked to be let in. I ignored him, and anything he had to say, just sat in my chair and remembered. It was rough, remembering all of the things that I had tried to forget for years. Memories of violence and pain, mostly from Father, although Hit the Freak was a popular game wherever I went. Mycroft would often start it, as he was only a few years older than me and we both went to the same school. I didn’t start school until I was 10, when I learned that I really was a freak. I had been told that I was my entire life, but I had nothing to compare it to, until school. School confirmed it. 

Father also had his own set of issues, most of which revolved around drinking. When he started drinking, he got angrier, and he would take out the anger on the freak. Mother ignored it, and Mycroft sometimes participated in it. I remembered why I worked so hard to suppress these memories, as all they brought was pain and anger. And fear. I was scared again, just as scared as I was then, even though now it was pointless. There was nothing to be scared about. Even Mycroft was kinder now, and my parents had both died in a crash, due to Father being drunk. 

When we received the news, Mycroft was virtually inconsolable, and I was fine. I mean, I was also a little relieved, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t shed a tear, and that is mostly why I was branded as emotionless, of having no heart, and it just continued from there. Soon, I was shoving away every emotion, because they were untrustworthy and painful. That changed a little when John came, but now it was back, full-scale. I didn’t care. In fact, I was relieved that I could be my normal self again. When I had said that I might not talk for days on end, that was true before John came. But he had changed me. And now I was back to the not talking for days on end. I’ll see how long it takes him to notice if I just stay in here. Probably not very long. 

Already I could hear him coming down. There were two sets of footsteps though, and the girl was not with them. I knew who it was. It was John and Mycroft. I got up and opened the door when they arrived. 

“Hello, brother. Hello, John. What brings you two here? Can’t you see that I’m busy.” I said, gesturing to my samples. Mycroft sighed. “John, can Sherlock and I speak alone?” He asked. John nodded and left. I stepped back when the door closed behind him, but I kept my face blank. Mycroft sighed. “I had hoped that you were over this. What happened?” He asked kindly. 

I sighed and looked around. “I don’t want to be like Father. Or you.” I added, glancing at him. Not his face, but his hands. “I almost punched John because I was upset. And now there is a kid here, that I am partially responsible for, and I don’t want to turn out like Father.” I explained. He nodded. He was the only other one who might understand why I felt like this. John wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have an abusive household growing up. I would have known that. Seen it. I actually envied him at times. Mostly when I was having a rough time, and he didn’t understand it in his little brain. 

“Sherlock. You won’t be like him-” 

“You don’t know that!” I interrupted, then looked away. “I’m sorry.” I muttered. 

Mycroft sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how wrong everything was. Not for a long time, and I should have realized that hurting you because you were special was wrong. And I was stupid for not realizing the impact that it would have on you, Sherlock, and I’m sorry. Truly, deeply, sorry. I understand that it would be extremely difficult, possibly impossible, to forgive me, but-” 

I interrupted him. “I forgive you, Mycroft. I forgive you, but I can’t forget. And I don’t think that I ever will, but I forgive you. Though I don’t think that I could forgive Father. He died, so I won’t actually be able to talk to him and stuff, so I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive him. And Mother, well, she just ignored me. You know that, but, I just, I just, I-” I couldn’t keep talking, I just broke down. After such a long time of suppressing everything, it all came out violently, like an explosion. 

I crumpled to the floor, sobs hacking at my body, tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t entirely sure as to why I was crying, but I couldn’t stop. I heard a door open, and knew that John must be here now. He started to yell at Mycroft, like Father used to, but he never hurt Mycroft. Instead, he would turn to me and I would get punished for it. Even when I hadn’t done anything wrong, I would still get punished. And that was what was going to happen now, right? But John wouldn’t, would he? No, he wouldn’t, right?

Sometime during my argument with myself, I had stopped crying and was hunkerd against the wall, trying to hide. When nobody moved, I glanced up, John and Mycroft were both crying. Why were they upset? Had I hurt them? “I’m sorry. I, I just, well…” I trailed off, because that just made them cry harder. Uh, what was I supposed to do? Right, normal people, when distressed, preferred physical contact, usually hugs. So I got up and awkwardly hugged them. They both kind of collapsed on me, one on each shoulder, and I almost fell backwards, but my back was
against the counter, so I had some support holding me up. I just stood there, hugging them awkwardly, until Mycroft stood up, and we shared a look, more of a ‘I understand you and I am sorry’ look, and then Mycroft left, pausing to say goodbye at the door. John was still there, and I kept hugging him. He didn’t move, and I started to wonder if he had died on my shoulder. But then he stood up, his eyes puffy and red, and his nose was running, his cheeks wet with tears, and I smiled sadly when I saw him, and I was glad that he was not dead. 

“I was starting to wonder if you had died on me, John.” 

John laughed. “No, but I thought that you had, when I came in and you were a mess on the floor, and Mycroft was just standing there, I thought that he had hurt you. You are alright, right?” He asked, concerned. 

I nodded. “Better then I have been, practically all of my life.” I said. 

“Mycroft told me about your childhood, Sherlock. I just wanted to back him up when he said that you won’t be like your father, he was right. You won’t. Now, will you please come upstairs? Lizzie wanted you.” 

I was confused. “Why does she want me? You’re her uncle.” I pointed out. 

“Yes, but she wants you. Please come.” He said. I nodded and followed him up to the flat. 

When we got there, Lizzie was standing in the kitchen. She grinned when she saw me. “Great. We need you to reach something for us.” She pointed to a box in the top shelf in a high cupboard. “Brownies?” I asked. She nodded and I reached up and grabbed the box. “Have fun.” I said, handing it to her. Then I turned around and started to leave, but John blocked my way. “Nuh-uh. You are going to help. Get a large bowl out.” He instructed. I sighed and got a bowl. Lizzie poured the mix into the bowl, and John cracked the eggs. I went to the fridge. “John, where’s the milk?” I asked. John rubbed his face. “I’ll go to the store and get some.” He said, sighing. I laughed. “It was a joke, John.” I said as I pulled out the milk. “You little-” He said, before I interrupted him. “John! There are children present.” I said, and we both laughed. We finished mixing the brownies, and put them in the oven. 

While they were baking, and Lizzie and John were talking, I snuck off and sat in my lab, where I was spending more and more time, and I was starting to feel better about being alone again. Which was good, because with his niece here, John would be spending less time with me and more time with her, so I had better start getting used to it. Besides, alone meant that no one could hurt me. I looked at my samples until John came down with a brownie.

“Sherlock, why are you distancing yourself from us?” John asked, handing me the brownie. I ate it slowly, because it was probably one of the best things that I’d had. 

“Thank you for the brownie.” I said, not answering John’s question. I hoped that he might not notice. He noticed. 

“My question still stands.” He said. 

I looked up and blinked. “Sorry, what question?” I asked, playing dumb. 

He sighed. “Why are you distancing yourself from us?” He asked. 

I nodded. “Oh yes, that question.” I said. 

“And?” John pushed. 

I sighed. “Why should that matter. It doesn’t. It does not matter, John. Please stop worrying. I’m fine.” I said. 

He shook his head. “No, you’re not. You are not fine, Sherlock, and we both know that. So stop trying to hide it. Stop hiding! Please.” He added when he saw my expression. Or rather, my lack of expression. “No, Sherlock, please don’t do this. Don’t hide from me. Please, Sherlock. I’m sorry.” He said, feeling bad. 

I kept my face blank. I realized that I was hurting him, but that would make it less painful when I left.”Please, Sherlock, you don’t have to fake anything. Not with me. Please, please, Sherlock, I’m sorry.” He said, visibly upset. 

“Stop doing that!” I shouted. John looked confused. 

“Stop what?” 

“Stop apologising and stop begging!”

“But-”

“NO!! Stop! And you said that I don’t need to fake anything with you? Well, I have been. I’ve been faking it all, John. Everything. I have faked my entire life! If you are going to say something about just being yourself, I don’t know what myself is! I DON’T KNOW!! I have faked everything, and I’m not about to stop now, just because you asked me to! Now, please, leave.” I yelled, about ready to hit something. John must have known that, but he still stayed, like the loyal friend that he was. I looked away and tried to calm myself. 

But before I could, John said something. “Sherlock, I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” I shouted, snapping my head in his direction.

“-orry.” He finished. I didn’t want to hurt him, so I turned around and punched the wall as hard as I could. Several times. I was surprised the wall didn’t break. Apparently, so was John. 

“Got it out of your system?” He asked calmly. I punched the wall again. I had reopened one hand, and split the knuckles of the other. John looked at my hands. “We should get that cleaned up.” I shook my head. “No, John, that won’t be necessary.” John looked upset. “What do you mean?” He asked. I sighed. “I mean what I say, and I say what I mean. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like some quiet.” I said, hoping desperately that he would take the hint and leave. 

He didn’t. “Sherlock, you need to rest.” I shook my head. “No. We should go out and take a walk. Come along.” I said, grabbing my blue scarf. I was halfway out the door when John spoke again. “Actually, Lizzie and I were going to go to the movies. You can come if you want to.” He added when he saw my reaction. I shook my head, sad again. “No thank you, John. Have a good time.” I took my scarf off and put it back. Then I sat down by my microscope and waited for John to leave. When he finally did, I sighed. I grabbed my violin and started playing. 

I stopped when there was a knock on the door. I listened, but didn’t know who it could be. I opened the door. “Wh-” I stopped myself when I saw who it was. But he was dead. He died! How was he alive, and how did he find me? It must have been Mycroft. But how had he known where I was right now. I looked behind him and sw Mrs. Hundson. So that’s how he knew where to find me here. 

I examined my father. He was sober. He wasn’t angry, but he definitely was feeling some sort of strong emotion. I glanced at his clothes. They were clean and well-kept. He had also shaved recently, electric shaver. He had cleaned up nicely. 

“Hello, Sherlock.” His voice was weak. In fact, his whole posture looked like a weak man pretending to be strong. And his voice shook a little when he spoke. He was scared, as he well should be. 

I nodded in response. “Father.” 

He sighed. “I am sorry for the way that we all treated you. Especially the way I treated you. I realize that-” 

I cut him off. “Mycroft put you up to this. He told you what to say to get me to forgive you. He said the exact same thing earlier. I told him that I probably could never forgive you. I still feel that way.” 

He sighed sadly. “I understand. I should leave. I am truly sorry, though. I didn’t know how else to act. I grew up the same way you did, and I regret treating you, and Mycroft, and your mother, that way.” He turned to leave. “She loved it when you played violin.” Then he left.

I didn’t bother following him. If I ever wished to speak with him again, Mycroft would know where to find him. I wouldn’t want to though. I’d had more than enough of his excuses. In fact, prison for child abuse seemed like a good idea, but Mycroft would dissaprove of it. And I didn’t particularly feel like getting on the bad side of him or my Father. At least not any more than I already was. 

A few hours later, John and Lizzie came back from their movie. Lizzie went to her makeshift bed in the bedroom, so I was sleeping on the couch, which I kept telling them that I didn’t mind, and I didn’t. 

John came down, and the moment he came through the door, I smelled something strange. “What is that smell?” I asked. John sighed. “You could smell it already?” I nodded. He sighed again. “I found something that I think would be a fun… experiment.” I was now interensted, as he knew that I would be. 

“What sort of experiment?” I asked. 

He smiled. “Well, I found a potion thing that I thought would be fun, however, only one person should take it at a time, if the other one wishes to know what happens” He saw I was going to interrupt him, so he held up a hand and I stopped. “Let me finish. This potion will show your true state, without hiding anything.”

I interrupted him. “No, absolutely not. I will not do this.” I was shaking my head addemently. John looked upset. 

“Please, Sherlock? I will go first if you want.”

I sighed. “If you want to do it, have fun. I will not be participating in this.”

He smiled. “Fine.” Then, he opened one of the flasks and drank all of it. He really was doing this. “How long did he say it would last?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Alright. Now I will just wait.” I said, so I sat down and watched him intently. He started shaking.  Then he sank to the floor and covered his ears. He started yelling. I didn’t want him to wake Lizzie up, so I got up and crouched beside him and started rubbing his back. He slowly calmed down. He looked up, slightly confused. 

“You just had a PTSD attack.” I explained. He nodded. “Should we go upstairs?” I asked. He nodded. “Alright.” So I helped him up and we walked upstairs. Lizzie was asleep in the bedroom, so John sat in his chair and I, on the couch. 

I studied him again. Not much was different, except he seemed a little more scared and affected by the war. There were definite signs of PTSD. Other than that, he was pretty much the same, so that would mean that he didn’t hide very much of anything from me. That made me feel sad, but also happy, or proud, I couldn't tell which, that he trusted me this much. It was a rough night for him, and I stayed up with him through the night. Thankfully, by morning, the drug had worn off and he was back to normal. 

“Are you alright, John?” I asked. 

He nodded. “Yes, and if not, I will be. It’s your turn.” He said.

I shook my head. “No, we need to take care of Lizzie today.”

John sighed. “Fine, but you are going to be taking it tonight.” 

“Don’t we need sleep? Or at least, don’t you need sleep?” I said.

He sighed, annoyed. “Fine. We will arrange for someone to watch Lizzie tomorrow, and we will do it then. I will not let you back out of this, so you will take this tomorrow.” He said, using his captain voice. I gave a two-fingered salute. “Yessir.” I said, fighting to keep a straight face. I managed to keep it straight, thankfully, and John looked a bit concerned. “Lister here, Private. This is not a time to be messing around. People have died out there, and you’re making a joke of it! You should be-” 

I interrupted his rant. “John. We aren’t in war. The war is over. I am not a soldier, John. And I’m sorry for doing that. I wasn’t thinking.” I said, looking at the floor, then back up at him. 

He looked a bit shaken. “Right. We are in London. You are not a soldier, and we are not at war. Right. And I forgive you, Sherlock. Now, where were we? Ah, right. You will be taking this drug tomorrow. Lizzie will go to one of her friends’ house, and you will take it. Clear?” He asked. I nodded, and didn’t say anything. “Great.” He sighed. “Now that that’s over, how about some tea?” He smiled and put the tea on. 

*The next day* 

"You ready for this?" John asked. I shook my head. "No, John. I'm not." He laughed a little. "Is the great Sherlock Holmes scared?" I looked down. "Yes." I murmured. He stopped laughing. "Sorry, Sherlock." I just nodded, and steeled myself. "Let's do this." He nodded and gave me the drink. I downed it quickly, ignoring the bitter taste. The effect was instantaneous. 

I was confused as to where I was, because it looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Same thing with the man who was watching me. Did I do something wrong? What did I do wrong? I looked around, trying to figure out what I did wrong, but I couldn’t see anything wrong, besides the fact that the whole room was a mess. Did Father want me to clean it up? Was that what I did wrong? Where was Father? Or Mycroft? Even Mother would help me figure out what was wrong, and what I was supposed to do. 

The man kept looking at me. “Sherlock?” I looked at him to see if there was anything that he wanted me to do. “Sherlock? Are you alright?” He sounded a little concerned, and I was confused. Nobody ever asked if I was alright. I nodded slowly, hoping that that was the right answer. He was about to say something else when I heard footsteps, and quickly looked to the door. I knew those footsteps, and they scared me. I knew better than to hide, because that often made things worse.

The door opened, and Father was there, along with Mycroft. Mycroft stopped when he saw me, and looked to the other man as if for answers. I didn’t say a word. “John, what did you do to my brother?” He said, in a tone of warning. “There was a potion, one that would take away the defense mechanisms and show the true self. I took it first, now Sherlock took it. I don’t know what happened, or why something went wrong, but I didn’t mean any harm.” He looked very worried. Had Mycroft hurt him before? No, it wasn’t that kind of fear. It was more of a “I care for someone, and I think they are going to die” kind of fear, which just added another layer of confusion to all of this.

I looked to Father for any type of direction, because I needed to be doing something, or else my brain might fry. He thought for a moment, then said something. “Sherlock, go make us some black tea.” I nodded and hurried into the kitchen, and started looking for the right stuff. I found a tea kettle and set it to boil, then looked for the tea bags. After finding them, I added them to the boiling water, and let it steep while I got out two cups. In my hurry, I brushed one off the counter and it shattered. No, no, no, no, no! I got down and started picking up the pieces, but Father was already in the kitchen, and the other two were right behind him. 

“I’m sorry! I’ll fix it! Please don’t be terribly mad! It was a mistake, and I am very sorry!” I stammered, trying to pick up the pieces. “Be quiet and get up.” Father ordered. I stood up and was silent. “Much better. Now, Mycroft, please go get Mrs. Hudson and tell her that someone accidently broke a cup and that we need a broom. Go on.” Mycroft hurried out. Father nodded. “Alright. John, can you get him cleaned up? Be careful, he is very fragile at the moment. I’ll finish the tea.” John nodded, and motioned for me to follow him. He led me to the bathroom, and turned on the water. “Please rinse your hands. I’ll go get tweezers, and we will get that glass out of your hand.” Then he left, and I started rinsing my hands of the blood that was on them. By the time John got back, they were clean. “Good job. Now, I need you to hold out your hands so I can get that glass out of you. This might hurt.” He was right, it did hurt, but not more than anything else. 

“Well, I do think that’s all of it, Sherlock. I think your father might have the tea done by now. Come on.” He said, so I followed him. He led me back to the kitchen, where Father was done making the tea, and Mrs. Hudson had finished sweeping. John smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Care for some tea?” He asked politely. “Thank you John, I wouldn’t mind that for a change. Just remember, I’m not your housekeeper.” She smiled as if sharing a little joke. I didn’t understand. 

I didn’t have any tea, but the others all did, and seemed to enjoy it. John was a nice man, apperantly protective of me, although I had no idea why. He had only just met me, right? But he was familiar, and I just couldn’t place it. I thought about aking him, but I had learned long ago to not ask dumb questions, and this would certantly qualify as a dumb question. All of my questions were dumb, and we all knew that. Mycroft reminded me often enough. 

“Thank you for the tea, John. It was quite good. However, I’d better get back downstairs. Behave yourselves.” Mrs. Hudson added as she left the room. I looked around a little, unsure of what to do. Father must have seen that. “Sherlock, go get your violin, please.” I got up and grabbed it. “Now, why don’t you play a little something?” He asked. I thought for a moment, trying to remember what his favorite piece was, and an old one came to mind. I started playing, hesitantly at first, but gradually getting better as I remembered more of it. 

Father started smiling, misty-eyed. John got up, and Father waved at him to sit down again, and he obliged. 

I was over halfway through when Father raised his hand to stop me. “Do you remember the last time you played that piece?” He asked quietly. I thought for a long moment, but I couldn’t ever remember playing it. I shook my head. “No, sir.” He sighed. “You played it at our funeral. I was sitting there in the back row, watching the whole thing.” 

Then he said something that I had very rarely heard him say before. “Thank you, Sherlock.” Then something that I had never heard him say before. “And, I’m sorry, Sherlock, for everything I have done to you. I would understand if you can’t forgive me, And I’m not asking for you to try to force yourself to do something like that that you don’t think you can do. I just wanted to say that I am sorry and that I deserve whatever punishment you see fit.” 

I knew that line, as I had said it many times before, but hearing him say it gave it a different meaning to me. I had the control here, and it felt strange. Something that I was not ever used to, and I didn’t know if I liked it. It kind of scared me. But I knew that I couldn’t hurt him, I didn’t have it in me to hurt my father, even if he was mean. So I did the only thing that I could do. 

“I forgive you, Father.” He started crying. I looked around, unsure of what to do again. I started getting worried for my safty again. John started rubbing his back, trying to comfort him, but Father pushed him away. John motioned for me to try, so I put my violin down and sat next to him. I slowly started rubbing his back the same way that John had, and he didn’t push me away. 

It took him a while to recover, and John and Mycroft had left to go do something, I don’t know what, I didn’t ask. When Father calmed down, he started hiccuping, so I got him a big glass of water. He smiled sheepishly as he took it from me. “Thanks, Sherlock.” I nodded, and he drank the water. “Should we go see what the others are doing?” He asked. I nodded. 

We found them in a lob, comparing notes about something that was on the counter. “Sherlock, come here.” Mycorft said when he saw me. I hurried over. “John and I are having a digagreement about this. We need you to settle it. What would this serum do?” And how long might it last on, say, you?” I looked at the formulas and directions on the paper. At first it made no sense to me, but then it just did, like a lightbulb flashed on. 

“I believe that it would alter the chemicals in the brain, the prossesing and memory parts. One would, hypotheticly, be incapable of hiding true emotions. It also makes memories seem much more real, and much closer. One might forget certain things, such as things that have happened sense a specific time, which would depend on the persom. And the amount of time it might take to wear off also depends on the person. In fact, uh, nevermind. You asked how ling it might last on me? Well, that depends. If I took it right now, it wouldn’t take very long because I am not hiding very much. If, however, I was, for whatever reason, hiding all of this and my past, it might take a full 24 hours. It should never take longer than that, though, because it simply can’t survive in the host’s mind any longer than 24 hours.”

John looked a little confused. “Host?” He asked. 

“If we had a sample, I could make sure, but I am fairly sure that it is, in fact, a parisite. It would have been geneticly modified, or even created in a lab, to get such results, and I can’t think of any parisite with similar effects, so, in conclusion, it was most likly made in a lab. And it is a parisite because anything else would simply not work. Are there any more questions, or has this been useful?”

Mycroft sighed. “I do believe that is enough. How did you know all that?” He asked. 

I shrugged. “I don’t really know, it was just there, and I understood it.” He looked amazed. “Sherlock, you are very smart.” I gave a slight smile. “Thanks, Mycroft.” 

We were interupted by a knock on the main door. “I’ll go get it.” I said, quickly. It was Mrs. Hudson with a girl. ‘Hello, Sherlock. Lizzie came down with a bug, and they brought her back.” I looked around for help, and John came to my rescue. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. We will make sure that she gets better.” Mrs. Hudson nodded and left, saying something about rest and tea.

I turned my attention back to the girl, Lizzie. “John, why are there people here? And what’s wrong with Sherlock?” She looked quizically at me. I turned away, and thought over this new information. Maybe this wasn’t one of Father’s places, it might belong to Mycroft, or even John. And how did this girl not only know me, but also know me well enogh to think that something was wrong with me.

Interesting.

I started feeling weird, going dizzy, and sat down. Everything came flooding back, and when I looked back up, I knew exactly what had happened,

"I am fine, John. And I remember everything now. You can all go now. Goodbye." I tried to get them to leave but they were all so stubbern.

"The only thing that I don't understand is why it didn't run it's course, but I don't care about that, not right now. I just want to be alone." I went back to the kitchen, and made myself some tea. When anybody tried to come in, I just pushed them out, ignoring their protests. I don't really care what happened with the length of time it was in my system, but I do rather care about how I acted while I was under it's influence. It was embarrasing, thinking back on it, and I don't think that John will be willing to let it go. We will have to see who can hold out longer, me or him. It will have to be me, because there is no way that I will let him know.

John's phone rang. "Hello? Oh, alright, yes, that would work. Thank you, I will let them know." He hung up the phone, and knocked on the door. "Sherlock? I'm coming in."

I refused to look at him, and he sighed. "They have found a closer family member for Lizzie, one that she knows better, and they want her. You should come say goodbye."

I shook my head.

"You will come say goodbye."

"Fine." I walked out the door, crossed over to Lizzie. "Goodbye." Then I walked out the door. I don't know where I was headed, but I found myself at the store. "Maybe John needs milk." So I went in, and grabbed some milk. I then realized that I didn't have any money on me, so I put it under my jacket, and walked out of the store, and all the way back.

By the time that I arrieved back at 221b, nobody else was there, except John. He looked up when I walked through the door.

"I got milk." I said, then put it in the fridge, next to a full carton of milk. Apparently he didn't need any.

"Sherlock, what happened today?" I sighed.

"Nothing. I am not going to talk about it. Now, if you don't mind, I need to find a case."

"No, you need to tell me what happened. I am not going to let you leave until that happens."

"Fine. They come here anyway." I flopped down on the couch, and ignored everything that he said. Everything. I didn't care. Why should I, I said that I was not going to talk about it, and I wouldn't. Ever.

Two hours later.

"And that's what happened. Happy?"

"No, but now I know how to help, Sherlock."

"I don't need help. I'm fine."

"Sherlock,"

"I"M FINE, JOHN! I'm fine, just don't talk about it, and everything will be fine."

"You don't want to talk, fine. Don't talk, I'll go make you some more tea."

"I don't want tea."

"Well, then what do you want?"

"You to stop talking."

"Fine."

I heard some rustleing, and then I felt something on my back. It was a blanket! "I don't need-"

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

And after that, we never spoke about that day again, but I notieced that he was nice and calmer around me, which felt odd, and he kept complimenting me, and eventually, I started feeling better, actually fine.

This was a good time.