Chapter Text
4x03 - Trying to remember - Part 2
"All right," John agreed to help his friend through this.
Unsure of how to assist him, he fetched two pillows from the ground and sat down next to the mattress. While Sherlock continued to pant-breathe, the doctor leaned against the wall and switched on the tablet.
He needed more background knowledge. If this really brought Sherlock in a state similar to having taken mind-expanding or psychedelic drugs he should be prepared.
Planning to read the chapter about the companion's role in this in depth next he browsed the index.
A moment later John noticed that Sherlock's breathing rhythm was in sync with the drums of the music, it was also quite fast, pressed out, the emphasis on the exhalation. As a doctor he knew what hyperventilation did to the body and his gaze moved toward his friend's hands.
Like in slow motion Sherlock's hand's started to stiffen up, while his fingers straightened out and moved towards the wrists. John knew Sherlock was experiencing an intense tingling sensation under his skin right now. Some minutes later his hands now looked like a bad case of 'main d'accoucheur'.*
After a while, Sherlock rolled towards him with his eyes closed, still panting in the frantic rhythm.
The book said it was a very important rule that the assistant should only participate if asked to do so.
John wondered if Sherlock would be able to actually ask... although, he had done such this huge step only moments ago already, asking John to stay.
No, he hadn't really managed that, he had asked him 'not to leave', which was kind of a difference when it came to the detective, one that spoke of tentativeness and insecurity about the question if he had the right to do so.
Overall it was quite monumental to be asked a thing like this at all when it came to Holmesian standards.
Four years ago, John was sure he'd have called an ambulance immediately - or Lestrade for a drugs bust, or Molly for an urine analysis – if confronted with a situation like this.
Sherlock's open-mindedness and his willingness to seek new paths and test the boundaries of science had certainly broadened his horizon, not only in a medical way, but also in a psychological way.
He was way more open to observe alternative ways and try new things nowadays, though a healthy amount of distrust and cautiousness remained.
So John just sat next to the mattress and waited, watched his best friend on his 'journey towards wholeness' for several minutes, then continued reading on the tablet computer.
He was aware that he should keep his eyes on his friend constantly, but he had been thrown into this without any background knowledge and he needed to know what to look out for.
He tuned into his best friend's movements while he read and when Sherlock's rhythm went off the beats fifteen minutes later he immediately noticed and moved closer.
The detective had turned to lie on his front a few minutes ago. His breathing wasn't going in panting style any longer, it had changed to something John would describe as hitching.
Or maybe kind of sobbing?
If Sherlock was making any kind of sounds John couldn't hear them, the music drowned out anything below loud speech.
He leaned closer to hear.
"Nononononono..."
Was he supposed to interfere if he had the gut feeling that something was not going well?
"What's happening?" he asked in a volume that would allow Sherlock easily to ignore him should he want to choose to do so.
"No. You tell him. I can't..."
"Sherlock, what do you see?" John asked, wondering if this felt like a hallucination on Sherlock's side.
"Mary... is distraught because Rosie misses her," Sherlock heaved.
John winced; this sounded like kind of a bad hallucination and brought back difficult memories of him feeling Mary's presence.
But who was he to name those 'bad'.
He had lived and interacted with Mary's ghost for weeks and not even told his therapist - Shit, Eurus - about her.
There were hints that Sherlock had the same issues, at least once John had overheard Sherlock talking to her.
Isn't that right, Mary?
John had been quite flabbergasted about that comment, since Sherlock had repeated the exact words Mary had said to him before – Mary's ghost had said it.
He had shrugged it off as a coincidence.
"I don't know how to do this...." Sherlock was now in some obvious distress, his voice raspy.
"She has always been able to puzzle your abstract thoughts into meaningful things... Just talk to her," John gently reassured his friend.
It had helped him to do so, why not Sherlock, too?
The widower tried to hold his own grief, not ready to do this but dragged into it by Sherlock's subconsciousness. A bit of anger rose in him, about the fact that he was thrown into this unprepared, but it evaporated when he felt warmed about the fact how much Sherlock was actually grieving for Mary. Not in the sense of liking to see him suffer but in the sense that it was proof the other man had appreciated and valued her deeply.
Talking to her was what John himself had done, hadn't he? Maybe it would help Sherlock, too.
Sherlock's mixture of silent sobbing and panting lasted eight minutes, John monitored it closely, then he calmed down again.
For another ten minutes Sherlock just continued to breathe, fast but normal, then he rolled onto his side again, facing John.
A moment later something changed, Sherlock seemed to cross paths with another thing that was plaguing him.
Maybe this whole thing was in fact working the way it should, or maybe it was allowing Sherlock to be a spectator of what was going on subconsciously and/or emotionally.
John had a hard time figuring out what was happening this time, although it should have been easy to recognise from the start.
Sherlock suddenly flinched so hard he fell off the mattress, towards him, almost broke the tablet under his angular elbow.
"Shit."
At the very last moment John managed to shove the device out of the danger zone and carefully reached for Sherlock who was half in his lab.
"Hey? You're okay?"
Sherlock winced, frozen in what seemed to be a memory of intense pain.
"Sherlock?"
He flinched again, trying to scramble off.
John reached for him and tried to help his friend back onto the resting place, but he was too heavy to be rolled back up.
"Hey, what's happening? Remember that you are in Mycroft's house with me, in the bunker. We are safe and sound, nothing will hurt you in here."
Sherlock relaxed but didn't open his eyes. His head was now resting next to John's knees on the ground, his legs still on the cushions and his hip turned in what must be a painful twist.
Instead of getting back on the mattress Sherlock completely rolled off it, and towards John, so that he was on his side, his back resting against the length of the cushion, using its height to snuggle into the corner between it and the hard ground John was sitting on.
"No, you need to get back onto that thing. That's the rules."
"It hurts."
"Where?" John couldn't hold back trying to help.
"My back," Sherlock breathed. "I need pressure on my back."
John wondered if his damaged back was bringing forth memories of being tortured. The scars were - to this day - still very visible, and Sherlock still had nightmares about the events that marked him.
In the past weeks John had had plenty of opportunities to see the lasting damage.
Withdrawal also seemed to promote the reappearance of bad memories, Sherlock's nightmares had been vivid and hard to witness.
After the explosion of 221b Sherlock had needed quite a large number of stitches to repair the new damage to his back, he was still in quite an amount of pain.
"Alright. If you want to, you can just let those memories pass by, remember?" John reminded him, "They will not harm you."
Oh god, he sounded like Ella at one of the few occasions when their session had actually triggered him and he had freaked out.
Also Sherlock should know that perfectly well, so why reminding him?
But his friend nodded, obviously calming down.
The detective moved, curled up, and his forehead come to a halt against the outer side of one of John's bent knees.
Out of reflex the doctor started to move away to give the other man space, but then he wondered if it was deliberate and froze.
The gesture was so very unlike Sherlock John wasn't sure what was happening.
After several long seconds of hesitation and when Sherlock didn't break the contact, he interpreted it as a need for touch and placed his left hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
He cursed inwardly, aware that Sherlock barely managed to recognize his needs himself, so asking for them was something quite unlikely.
Besides, quite often the detective was either too proud or too afraid of being not independent and that stopped him from doing so - even if he knew he needed help with something. Over the years it had become better when trust between them grew... or maybe John just hadn't understood when he was asking for before.
They had talked about it once, and Sherlock had stated he had asked, just not in a way a normal person would ask and therefore John hadn't realised.
That issue burdened him with a rather large responsibility Sherlock was aware of and reluctant to give in to.
So the doctor was the one who had to decide if this was a request for contact or not. Normal rules just didn't work with his best friend.
He remained insecure if it wasn't too proactive in this kind of setting.
But to his ease the same thing happened he had witnessed before: Sherlock relaxed under his touch.
They stayed like that for almost twenty minutes.
Sherlock's breathing slowed down and he seemed to be processing something, busy handling the memories, maybe but not as surprised and vulnerable as in the moment it had first hit him.
Finally, he uncurled and then a long-winded climb back onto the mattress followed.
"You need something?"
"No, John. Thank you," the other man replied hoarsely.
This new side of Sherlock was still a bit odd - when he was kind of shy, polite, and caring in a not quite, but close enough, society compatible way.
Once Sherlock had repositioned himself he started to breathe faster again.
Somehow John had hoped this might be over, but this meant Sherlock was going for another round.
Was there a suggested time limit for this?
John fetched the tablet computer again and started a search about recommended length, the answer was it would last as long as it lasted, so he continued to read about the positive outcome this could have and the healing it could assist with.
He was still quite sceptic about the whole thing, the positive effects were almost too good to be true. On the other hand what some people experienced during such sessions was seriously heavy stuff.
And he was understanding the reason Sherlock was doing this when he read on. His friend hoped to regain access to the lost memories of his childhood and his sister.
Up to this day Mycroft refused to elaborate.
They had had long talks about the topic, in which Mycroft had gently revealed a small amount of nicer aspects of their sister, trying to jog his memories carefully this way, or by revealing little details, but it was no use, the younger Holmes could only remember vague fragments.
Sherlock had been frustrated because he couldn't haul the things out of the dark by sheer force of will. And Mycroft was too stubborn to give in and just tell him everything, claiming that specialists had advised him not to.
As a last resort the detective had even tried to call his parents, but they had either been warned by Mycroft or where still in so much grief they refused to talk, too.
Then John reached a chapter with in depth description of peoples' experiences.
Out-of-body, reliving-birth and several other things that sounded quite intense were listed in detail. He cringed when he once more read that the assistant should not interfere or touch if not explicitly asked.
It was what he had done earlier, overruling Sherlock's note because he thought he was doing the right thing. The rules about how to do this were required to be followed to the point, it was stated again and again in the text that only educated people should to this.
.
Half an hour later Sherlock started to whisper, but due to the music John couldn't make out the words.
It went on for quite some time and was quite creepy. Sherlock rolled from a supine position to lying on his side, then back and a minute later moved his body into a prone position and back again. Overall he was very restless and tense, now and then even rocking back and forth.
The doctor's uneasiness rose but up to now nothing that was happening was in contrast to what he had read in the past two hours. Overall it was still quite moderate.
That was until another fifteen minutes of rolling around later Sherlock suddenly emitted a bloodcurdling scream that caused John to drop the tablet in surprise.
"Shit!"
Horrified, he was on his feet immediately, only to whiteness as Sherlock clawed his hands desperately into his long-sleeved T-Shirt, tugging at it.
The doctor dialled down the volume of the music.
"Control, control, control..." he heard Sherlock gasp.
Then his friend pulled the shirt so forcefully the seams gave way.
"Sherlock?"
"John?" it was barely a whisper.
"I'm right here, what can I do?"
"Control..."
"What?" John stammered.
Desperately, the doctor wondered if the harsh breathing had caused one of the injuries still healing to cause problems again, or if Sherlock was remembering being shot.
Sherlock's knuckles where turning white now and his movements were changing, from pulling on the fabric to rubbing his chest violently.
"Control..." Sherlock repeated.
"Stop that, you're going to hurt yourself."
"Hurts..." Sherlock moaned.
This was getting a bit too much, Sherlock's agitation skyrocketed and he didn't stop the chafing, even intensified his efforts.
"Hey, what's happening? Talk to me."
John relaxed a bit when the rubbing movements dragged away the now damaged neckline of the shirt and – for a moment – bared Sherlock's chest. There was no other visible injury than an angry redness Sherlock was causing right now.
"Was bleeding..."
Past tense, then.
Sherlock was very aware of everything that was happening, this was obviously not like being thrown into a flashback or suffering from a bad trip.
Sherlock seemed kind of in control and fully aware where he was.
Nevertheless, John didn't dare to believe in his conclusions and made a mental reminder to check his friend out later.
Sherlock's erratic movements weren't slowing down though.
Enough, John decided, this was close enough to Sherlock's hurting himself, which was the only reason for interference by the assistant.
Very slowly John wrapped both his hands around Sherlock's cold fingers.
As soon as his friend had registered the touch, his hands blindly reached for John's hands, then forcefully caught them in a vice-like grip, holding onto them.
John flinched in surprise but allowed the movement. The force with which Sherlock encased the doctor's hands in his, though, made John grunt. The cuts in his palms were still painful now and then, though the bandages and stitches were gone, his palms still felt sore.
Then the detective pressed John's flat hands to his ribcage - with force.
Once the contact was established Sherlock relaxed a bit, his breathing slowed down, became less frantic.
The position of their intertwined hands was odd, over the second and third rib, between the clavicle and the sternum. Helplessly, John watched and followed the frantic movements, puzzled but ready to do whatever his friend needed.
After a few moments, Sherlock's hands relaxed further and John lessened the pressure to his chest, but this caused another wave of panic from Sherlock, who immediately pressed his hands down again - with John's hands buried under them.
"Don't... don't..."
Obviously Sherlock was unable to actually put his needs into words, but John got it nevertheless. He applied a bit more pressure, but not enough to do any harm.
To his amazement his friend started to completely relax under his hands, his suddenly limb arms and hands fell away and his left came to rest next to John's knee on the mattress.
He was leaning over the other man, pressing down.
Sherlock's breathing slowed down dramatically, and for over five minutes Sherlock just relaxed more and more, it was an interesting process once it caught John's attention.
Gradually and very careful John lessened the pressure, watching his friend's face as it turned into an expression of total relaxation and then... peace maybe?
Whatever it was, John had never seen it before.
He looked relaxed... more relaxed than the doctor had ever seen him.
Not even deeply sedated or under the influence of drugs Sherlock looked like this.
Although there was one aspect of his expression that John knew - the fact that he looked suddenly fifteen years younger - that he had seen when Sherlock was drugged or high and completely out of it.
But this was different.
Sherlock's breathing was very shallow and his body slackened.
Peaceful.
Had he passed out?
The question was answered a few moments later when Sherlock's right returned to John's hands and lightly wrapped around one of his wrists.
It was a very gentle touch and John lessened the pressure further, until it was just a firm touch, but he didn't let go.
Obviously, it was okay since Sherlock didn't protest, he just relaxed and maybe John saw even a hint of a tiny smile ghost over his face.
This was actually amazing.
* I couldn't find an English word for this.