Sherlock 1. Chapter 1

John was looking through Sherlock's things like Mycroft had told him too. Mycroft had explained that it was completely necessary to keep Sherlock safe, and if he was a real friend, he would do it.

John had never felt guiltier. He was Sherlock's friend, for god sakes, and he didn't even trust Sherlock enough to tell him if he was back on drugs. Of course, john knew that Sherlock would never tell him something like that with the intent of getting help, and that just made this more important.

He had been riffling through Sherlock's room when he found the boxes. A whole closet filled to the brim with cardboard boxes, and the boxes were full of Sherlock's childhood.

"It's important" He had told himself, "Even if he does find out, he'll have to forgive me." The first box was labeled **3****RD**** GRADE**. Inside was a report card, and it shocked John to see that Sherlock had gotten all F's. The comment from his teacher was:_ Sherlock is very stubborn and aloof during class. He has no friends in or out of the classroom and has no respect for the classroom aid._

Next was a notebook. On the first page Sherlock had drawn a picture of what John could only assume was his teacher. Dead.  
He shuddered, and moved on. At the very bottom of the box was a metal lunch box.  
"The perfect place for hiding drugs." John told himself. Maybe this was necessary, though it looked like the box hadn't been opened in years. After brushing away the dust, John realized that it was a Spiderman themed lunchbox. The front had several dents and John wondered if that had been done by bullies, or Sherlock himself.

Carefully, John opened the metal lunchbox. He had been expecting rotten food, drugs, or nothing at all, but inside was a little notebook and a broken pencil. The notebook was full of mathematical equations far beyond 3rd grade level.

"Of course." John chuckled. He wasn't sure why he found this funny, but he did. John put lunch box back into the box and realized that it wasn't, in fact, at the very bottom of the box. Under it had been a thick file labelled** William Sherlock Scott Holmes; ages 7-8. **John raised his eyebrows, not having known that Sherlock's first name was really William. He would have to use that sometime.

The first page looked incredibly professional. So professional, in fact, that it made John afraid to hold it. He set it down on the floor and began to read. The first section was labeled:

_Reason for Admittance. _

Admittance to what?

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes has been admitted to the home for troubled and dangerous children because of behavior he has shown at school. Several teachers have reported seeing him yell at, hit, and bite other children. They have also reported that when upset, it was necessary to call his brother in to calm him down, not his parents. _

"Oh" John said quietly. His parents had sent Sherlock to an insane asylum. How nice.

Reading on, John became more and more shocked and horrified. Treatment had been anything from isolation to shock therapy. No one seemed to recognize Sherlocks' genius. They just thought he was some crazy kid.

The file ended with a summary of how Sherlock had "Progressed" from all the treatment. _It seems that William Sherlock Scott Holmes has become more hostile towards adults and other children. He does not need his brother anymore and expresses the need for solidarity. William Sherlock Scott Holmes has also stopped biting out of rage. This is a big milestone, considering that biting has been an ongoing struggle for him since a very young age._

Disgusted, John threw the file back into the box, and the box back into the closet.

"No wonder he does drugs." John murmured as he looked under Sherlock's' pillow.


	2. Just Wondering (Authors Question)

Just wondering if I should continue this. Thanks! 


	3. Chapter 2

It was two weeks later when his curiosity finally got the best of him. Actually, John was surprised that he had even lasted two weeks, considering what he was about to do.

Two weeks before, John was checking Sherlock's bedroom for drugs when he found that Sherlock's closet was filled with cardboard boxes, and the boxes were filled with memories. Though it did raise questions of where he kept his clothes, it also made him wonder about the other boxes. The horrors from the first box had to be just the begging.

That's what brought him to this. Sneaking into Sherlock's room while he was out. It made John ashamed, really. He hated doing this, but he just couldn't help it.

John approached the closet door, almost afraid. Perhaps Sherlock knew he was doing this! Maybe he shouldn't….

The next moment he was opening the door.

John almost screamed as something fell on his head. The felt around blindly for what had hit him. His hands landed on a cardboard box.  
"Oh," He said, almost laughing. It had been the same cardboard box he had opened two weeks prior. He must have not put it away properly. No wonder. John rubbed his head as looked for a box that seemed interesting. One near the back was labeled **T &amp; D Children.** John of course assume this stood for Troubled and Dangerous Children, and his heart leapt. The mysterious insane asylum.

Through the waves of guilt, he couldn't help but feel excited.

Carefully, John opened the box and took the first thing out. He looked at it for a second, then threw it aside and began frantically wiping his hands on his jeans. It was a syringe. A bloody syringe. Just thinking about it made Johns hands twitch. Slowly, John inched forward to the medical waste lying on the floor. It definitely was a syringe, but, just like the lunch box, looked like it hadn't been used in years. In fact, rust was covering the tip and parts of it looked cracked. John picked it up (with his shirt sleeve covering his hands) and quickly tossed it back into the box.

He was almost frightened as he went to see what else Sherlock had hiding. Johns' heart started beating again when he found a video camera in the box. No cocaine or drugs, just a camcorder. When he pressed the "play" button, he was met with nothing but static for a few moments until a scene popped up. The screen showed a little boy – no more than five years old – sitting on large chair that made him seem even more miniscule. The boy looked very, very uncomfortable. A voice rang out.

"This is Williams first session. He has expressed greatly that he does not want to be here and-"

"My name is _not _William." The man behind the camera was quiet for a moment.

"Well, then, what is your name?"

"Sherlock. Call me Sherlock." The boys' voice sounded harsh, and cold. A little surprising for such a small child.

"Do your parents call you Sherlock?" The deep voice asked.

"No," Young Sherlock responded "My does."

"And who is My?"

"Mycroft. My BROTHER." The boy shouted, obviously annoyed. John wondered how long Sherlock had been sitting there before the man with the camcorder had come in. How many times had he been asked that same question?

"Now, now. No need to shout." The voice began, tensely.

"Yes, there is a need to shout! You've been asking me the same questions over again and not even letting me speak and then you get a video camera and start filming me an' I'm all away from my brother and family an'-an'" Young Sherlock hiccupped slightly before bursting into tears. It broke John's heart to see Sherlock, even a past version of him, crying like this.

A woman hustled in with some sort of medication, and attempted to give it to Sherlock who resisted. Just before the video ended, John could hear Sherlock screaming.

"Stop it! I want My! Where's my brother? Stop! STOP!" The video ended, but John could still hear him screaming.

Just then, something reached his lips. When he put his hand up to his face, John realized had been crying.

The last thing in the box was a note for Sherlock. It was addressed to John and said:

_John, please put these things back carefully once you are done with them. They are very dear to me._

_-Sherlock._

Please tell me if this sucked, this was kind of speed writing for me. I really just wanted to get it down before I forgot it all.

Just wondering something else, do you all think I should go on with the asylum-thing idea, or explore more of Sherlock's childhood?

Your choice,

K' bye.

Ps. Thanks so much to everyone who read and/or reviewed!


	4. Chapter 3

Throughout the next few days, John's view of Sherlock had changed completely. Before he had found the boxes, John always saw him as a cold, shut-off man with an incredibly mind. Now, he saw more of a broken, afraid child stuck in a man's body. It didn't help that now whenever Sherlock flinched or overreacted to something, John immediately tried to bring it back to the asylum.

And he was sure Sherlock had noted the differences in the past few days. How John was a little more careful about mentioning drugs, Mycroft and things like that. To Sherlock's everlasting credit, he said nothing. One thing that frightened John was the fact that he wanted to question Sherlock about it. About his childhood, the lunch box, the bloody syringe, everything. But the note he had left made it loud and clear: I'm letting you look through these, just _don't_ bring it up. To help solve his dilemma, he texted Mycroft.

_Do you know about the asylum Sherlock was in? Why he would keep a bloody syringe?_

_-JW_

Mentally, John smacked himself. Mentioning the syringe was a mistake, and Mycroft would go haywire!

_Yes. Is he back on?_

_-MH_

_No no no. The syringe is old. But I'm wondering about it._

_-JW_

There was a pause.

_Ask him yourself. And keep him out of trouble. I worry._

_-MH_

"Of course." John muttered. "Make me do all the work." So, John devised himself a plan. He would look through the boxes while Sherlock was home, and if Sherlock wanted to intervene, he would. Before he could put his plan into action, Mycroft called.

"John."

"Mycroft."

"Don't go looking through anymore of Sherlock's things. I want to explain some things to you.""

"Ok, shoot."

"Not over the phone. Meet me at the diner on 3rd street in ten minutes."

"But I-" Mycroft hung up.

. . .

"Sherlock," John yelled- "I'm going out!"

Sorry it's so short, but I'm going to put a another chapter up today, so don't worry!

How is everyone liking it so far? Please tell me if the phone part was confusing, I always have trouble writing like that.

K' bye.

Ps. Thanks to everyone who gave constructive criticism! It really helps! And to everyone who just reads : hope you like it!


	5. Chapter 4

John sat down at the table, facing Mycroft. In front of him was a cardboard box, taped shut. John looked at him questionably and Mycroft beckoned towards the top of the box.

Slowly, John opened it up. The first thing he found was a letter addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Holmes,_

_ We regret to inform you that William Sherlock Scott Holmes, age 9, has attempted suicide._

John gasped, and looked up at Mycroft, who just nodded grimly.

"Keep reading." Mycroft ordered. "Go on."

_The boy is fine and currently being put into isolation to insure his safety. We advise you not to remove him from treatment, as that may encourage the destructive behavior that William has shown over the past few weeks._

John put the paper down on the table in disgust, not wanting to read any more.

"So, what do you think so far?" Asked Mycroft.

"He was nine." John responded, shaking his head.

"You know," Mycroft began "We weren't even allowed to see him. After it happened. The people there said it would just make it worse."

"That's horrible."

"Don't you want to know what he did?"

John continued shaking his head. "I don't think-"

"It was the syringe. No one know how he got it, but they found him with it still in his arm."

"HE WAS NINE!" John shouted at him, outraged. "You should have helped him! He was all alone, why couldn't you do something?" John stood up, knocking his chair backwards as several people in the restaurant looked over.

"John, please calm down. And try to understand, we had no choice."

"No." He said simply "You know what? I'm done. I'm done with these boxes, with going through Sherlock's personal space. I'm done with everything. Good bye, Mycroft." John left the diner, and hailed a taxi.

"221B Baker street." He told the cab driver, his ears still ringing; Good bye, Mycroft.- over and over again.

DON'T WORRY! One more chapter coming up today! Please tell me how this was, im not sure if this was the right way to do. Maybe ill make separate stories for each scenario…

I don't know.

K bye.

Ps. 3 chapters in one day! I'm going to be fanfictioned-out. Oh, and also, I don't own Sherlock Holmes. (Maybe I should have put that at the beginning out the chapter. Oh, well.)


	6. Chapter 4 and a half

John stomped his way up the stairs to his flat on 221B Baker Street, mumbling to himself.

"If I just forget about it, act like it never happened…" But he knew that wouldn't solve anything. The closet full of boxes would still be there, and so would the tension between him and Sherlock. The door to the flat he shared with Sherlock was open ajar. Perhaps he hadn't closed it completely when he left. John put away his keys and walked inside.

"Sherlock, what in the- oh my god, Sherlock!"

Dear everyone:

This chapter is for whoever is waiting. Just to tide you over until tomorrow. Internet connections not great, and internet explorer is being, well, internet explorer. See you tomorrow!

K bye.


	7. Chapter 5

John stomped his way up the stairs to his flat on 221B Baker Street, mumbling to himself.

"If I just forget about it, act like it never happened…" But he knew that wouldn't solve anything. The closet full of boxes would still be there, and so would the tension between him and Sherlock. The door to the flat he shared with Sherlock was open ajar. Perhaps he hadn't closed it completely when he left. John put away his keys and walked inside.

"Sherlock, what in the- oh my god, Sherlock!" There was shattered glass everywhere,, and Sherlock was propped up against the wall of the living room, slumped over. One of his hands was pale, blood dripping down his arm. In the other hand was a syringe, the same old, rusty, and bloody syringe John had found in one of the cardboard boxes.

Sherlock had broken the new lamp John had bought earlier that week. John liked that lamp.

"No. Snap out of it!" He told himself, and rushed over to Sherlock, avoiding the glass. Quickly, he took Sherlock's pulse.

"Still beating." John murmured. Maybe his own heart would start up again, soon. John wiped the blood of off Sherlock's arm with his sleeve, and picked him up. The syringe rolled out of Sherlock's hand. John stepped on it, reducing it to pieces. After putting Sherlock to bed, John wiped out his friends mouth, disinfected his arm, and cried.

After a few minutes of crying, Sherlock spoke.

"You should have left me."

"Oh Jesus Sherlock. I didn't realize you woke up."

"I'm fine now. You can leave." The harshness of his voice reminded John of the video he had seen of Sherlock in the asylum.

"Why would I leave?" John asked, picking his words out carefully.

"You know about my past, now. You know that I really am a freak." The word freak sliced through the air.

"Well, I'm not leaving. Do you need any water? Tea?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him. John shuddered; the man's usually clear green eyes were blood shot.

"John, please. I know you feel it is your "duty" to keep me safe, but I can assure you, it's not. Look at me, I'm fine!" At this, Sherlock raised his arms to indicate how "fine" he was, but immediately flinched, retreating into ball-like state on the bed.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, but quieted down when he realized that Sherlock was, well, he was crying.

"Sherlock," He said in his best comforting voice. "It's ok, I'm not leaving." He put his hand on his friends back, but Sherlock only flinched away.

"That's what they all did. They all left. Why haven't you left?" Sherlock's strangles sobs became more and more heartbreaking with each word.

"Who did, who left?" John asked.

"Everyone. Mycroft, my parents, the nurses, anyone who promised to help me. Th-they gave up. **I **gave up."

"And you thought that I would leave, too."

"No, I knew you would leave. No one can handle me. No one should have to handle me. And now you're going to call Mycroft, he's 'gonna take me away!" Sherlock's voice, John noticed, seemed to be regressing to the one he had as a child. Maybe this was a good thing.

Not knowing what else to do, John hugged him. And Sherlock let him

Weeeeee, that was fun! And sad :( Updates will come tomorrow- hopefully! Maybe there will be some other traumatic experience that Sherlock went through at the asylum, one that really traumatized him…. Who knows? Oh yeah, I don't own Sherlock. Seriously, who thinks I do? 

K bye.

Ps. Thank you soooo sooooo much too everyone who is reading. Thank you to everyone who comments, favorites and subscribes! I love you all and I'm so happy that everyone's enjoying the story so far!


	8. Chapter 6

Sherlock had fallen asleep hours ago, but John still wouldn't leave his side. Maybe it was because the doctor in him made him feel compelled to stay, maybe it was because Sherlock's head was resting on Johns arms and he was afraid that even the slightest movement would wake him.

Or maybe it was because John was Sherlock's friend, and would never, ever leave him own his own like this.

Sherlock stirred. His head moved slightly, as did his mouth. He was murmuring, probably having a nightmare.

"Shhhh." John whispered, stroking his head, but this seemed to make it worse. He tossed and turned. John could just barely make out what he was saying.

"Stop…no, stop it…Mother, make it stop… Father, Mother, stop…no…." Sherlock's hair now clung to his damp forehead and his voice become louder. Eventually, his moans turned into wails of distress.

"Help! Help me, make it stop, My! No no no, stop it!" John knew he should wake Sherlock, or at least get a wet washcloth for his burning forehead, but something about seeing his friend in such despair made him freeze up. Suddenly, the nightmare became much more intense. Sherlock's arms and legs seemed to seize up, and then release in a spastic manner. He threw his head back, hitting the backboard of the bed and began to scream.

"Stop it! STOP, NO! Mycroft, help-PLEASE don't leave! Mother, father, stop them!" John reached out towards him and attempted to grab one of his arms. He had barely touched him when Sherlock's arm went flying out and hit him hard in the face. John staggered back and then instantly went into army-mode.

John stepped forward and firmly grabbed Sherlock's arms, forcing them to his body. Then, he picked him up, carried him to the bathroom, and despite his friend's screams of terror, dropped him in the bathtub. Sherlock was burning up now, and John was fairly sure that when the cold water hit his skin, it sizzled.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he clung to John, sobbing and shaking. John was relieved that Sherlock was awake, but also horrified at what had just happened, and mad at himself for just tossing Sherlock in the tub.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry, I-" He began.

"John, oh god John. They had me. The nurses had me, they yelled and shouted but I couldn't hear anything. They held me down, John. And my parents- my parents just laughed." The grown man shivered, despite having a high fever. His clothes were soaked, but he couldn't care less because he was burning up anyways. "And then they brought me into a room. A b-big w-white room full of needles. Then they left. They just left me, John. I was just a child!"

John held Sherlock tight, letting the bath overflow onto the floor.

The cold water felt strange as it soaked his shoes.

* * *

Well, how was it? Be honest, please. Constructive criticism makes me happy! Oh, and I was wondering If anyone had Ideas for another fan fiction I could start? I would really appreciate it- Updates tomorrow!

K bye.

Ps. I love you all! Thanks for reading, reviewing, Favorite-ing, Subscribing….ummmm….other stuff-ing.


	9. Chapter 6 and a half

"John!" Mrs. Hudson pounded on the bathroom door. "John, is Sherlock there? There's water everywhere! Are you OK?" John snapped out of his trance and looked at the floor. Mrs. Hudson was right, there was water everywhere. His pants were positively soaked, and Sherlock-

"Shit, Sherlock." Sherlock was still clinging to John. He hadn't moved at all, despite the freezing water, and his lips where a pale shade of blue.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Hudson." John called out. He waited until he heard her leave before shutting the water off and hurriedly pulling the plug in bathtub. He helped Sherlock out and wrapped his poor shivering friend in a towel.

"We're all fine." John called out again. "Everything's ok." He said, a little quieter. He knew that he was really just trying to convince himself. John grabbed a few more towels and led Sherlock out of the bathroom and onto his bed. He wrapped Sherlock in about a thousand towels and then used the remaining towels to soak up all the water on the floor of the bathroom and bedroom. He then changed his own clothes before inching towards Sherlock.

Once he was at the side of the bed, his slowly reached out towards his friend. Sherlock did not flinch, which John took as a good sign.

"S-Sherlock? It's John. Your, um, clothes are all wet." Sherlock stared blankly, and John wondered if he had even heard him.

"Sherlock, you can't s-stay in wet clothes." John said again, hoping Sherlock would realize what he was getting at. But, the man did nothing but stare ahead.

"Fine." John said, suddenly annoyed, "I guess I'll have to changed you." Immediately, Sherlock whimpered and inched away from John. John smiled.

"I'll put some clothes out for you and then I'm going to go the kitchen to make some tea, you hear?" Sherlock nodded slightly, and, if John hadn't known any better, he would have thought that Sherlock was blushing.

* * *

So sorry for the small chapter :( Just got a bit of a writers block, BUT NOT TO WORRY! Stuff will happen tomorrow, hopefully! Just a reminder: I love you all! Thanks for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it!

K bye.

Ps. I don't own Sherlock. Will I really get in trouble if I don't say that?


	10. Chapter 7

John walked back into Sherlock's bedroom, holding tea in one hand and saltines in the other. Sherlock was lying in bed and looking rather pale._ At least his clothes are dry_, John thought, noting the pile of wet clothes Sherlock has left on the floor. John set the tea and crackers on the bedside table and looked at Sherlock for a few moments before speaking.

"We have to talk." John said, trying to sound firm, even though inside his heart was beating out of his chest. Sherlock looked over at him and sighed.

"Might as well get it over with." Sherlock murmured while propping himself up with his hands. "What do you want to know?" John was surprised by how straight forward Sherlock was. He had been sure that he would need to pry his friend open with pliers before getting so much as a "hello."

"Just tell me why you did it." Responded John. He gave himself extra points for not stuttering.

"Did what?" He asked. John couldn't respond. Something was just not right with this scenario. Sherlock was supposed to be crying, or yelling, or at least resisting a little. And wasn't John supposed to be an absolute nervous wreck? He then caught Sherlock watching him, staring.

Sherlock frowned. "Something's wrong. Or you just think there's a problem with all of this." He said. John nodded, not exactly hearing what Sherlock had said, but getting the main idea.

"Something is wrong, this is supposed to be emotional! You practically killed yourself back there, and here you are calm as ever, sipping tea!" John shouted, suddenly angry. Why couldn't Sherlock be normal? Why did it always have to be so complicated with him? John was about to shout again when Sherlock spoke quietly.

"I did it because I thought you'd leave." John opened and then closed his mouth, unsure of what to say, and in the end settled on;

"I will never leave."

Sherlock sighed, once again.

"They all said that. The nurses, the counselors. Teachers, friends, family. And look at who I have now!"

"You have me.

Besides, Sherlock, I'm not lying. I really won't leave, no matter how hard things get."

"But you don't know how bad it can get!" Sherlock cried "I could scare you, hurt you-"

"You've already punched me before." Reasoned John.

"That was different. I just don't want you to make a promise you can't keep, I guess." Sherlock said. "And I don't want you to have to take care of me just because you feel it is your "duty." If you want to leave, I don't want to stop you… I'm not a charity case, John. Or someone who needs to be pitied."

"That still doesn't answer my question." The tea trembled in Sherlock's hands, and he could see Sherlock beginning to get sweat "Tell me why."

"I thought that m-maybe if I was gone, you wouldn't have to deal with me, and then regret choosing to stay, and then-"

"-leave you." John finished. Sherlock nodded, close to tears. His whole body shook, and the tea he was holding threatened to fall out of his shaking hands. John slowly reached over and took the tea from him, carefully placing it on the night stand.

Without something to hold, Sherlock felt incredibly vulnerable (and alone.) Naturally, he grabbed on to the one thing closest to him, John. John happily pulled Sherlock into a hug, letting him cry into his shoulder and dig his nails into his arms. To him, Sherlock seemed incredibly frail at the moment, like someone who hadn't eaten in days. Like someone who had purposefully overdosed the day before.

"Never, _ever_ try to do that to yourself again." John couldn't bring himself to say commit suicide. Not know. "If you do, I'll kill you."

Immediately, Sherlock started to laugh. It seemed like years since either of them had heard Sherlock's laugh. Even though he was still crying, John could see Sherlock's shoulders shake from laughter.

"Oh, John" Sherlock said, tears still streaming from his eyes, "It feels so good to laugh."

* * *

Please, if anyone has tips on writing dialogue, I would really like to hear it. I found the dialogue in this chapter incredibly hard to write, and I don't know why. Help if you can, thanks for reading!

K bye.

Ps. I **_STILL_**don't own Sherlock. and you know what? THIS IS TRUE FOR ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS!

done.


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Sherlock, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort