Fill - Double Dose, Part 2alindor1306February 14 2011, 18:33:46 UTC
A/N: Wow... this section was going to have a brief explanation of Rory not being like Sherlock... but then it went into a deep explanation of Sherlock's behaviour! Still, hope you like.
~~~~~~~
John sighed, stepping out of his bedroom and closing the door behind him.
“How is he?” Sherlock asked, turning from his position staring out of the window to face the doctor.
“He has a bit of a chest infection.” John told him. “Probably nothing to worry about. I'll write out a prescription for some antibiotics, and keep an eye on him, but he should be fine.”
“Ok.” Sherlock said. “Shall I take the prescription somewhere to collect it? We need milk anyway. And Rory only ever eats Cheerios for breakfast.”
John gaped. “Sherlock?” He said hesitantly. “Are you offering to go shopping?”
“Yes.” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth. “You're the doctor, you should stay here. And if he wakes up, he might be... confused. Strange place. I've heard friendly faces help in situations such as these.”
“So surely you should be the one to stay, then.” John said reasonably. “I mean you're his brother. He'd never met me before tonight. Waking up in a strange bed with a strange man around would probably be even scarier. Surely you'd be best.”
“John.” Sherlock said seriously, staring intently at his flatmate. “I'm a sociopath. His girlfriend has cheated on him with his younger brother and then thrown him out of his flat to live on the streets. That's the kind of thing people get emotional about. I know from experience that I'm bad at these situations. Eventually I will say something very Not Good. That he's an idiot for moving in with a girl who'd already slept with his brother. That he's an idiot for moving into a flat solely in her name. That he's an idiot for sleeping on the streets in winter with nothing but jeans, a t-shirt and a hoody to keep him warm. Or maybe that, in a way, he's nearly as morally questionable as they are for being willing to swap girlfriends with his brother again and again. So tell me, John, which of these observations do you think Rory will appreciate the most?”
John stared. “You do have a brain-to-mouth-filter!” He commented, shocked. “If you know what you're saying is not good, why do you still say it?”
“Sociopaths are capable of love.” Sherlock informed him dryly. “Granted we love in a very selfish, all-consuming way, but we can still love. There are times when I genuinely don't know that something is unacceptable, but when I do know that I'm thinking something not good, I say what I'm thinking and what I have observed because I don't care about the people I'm saying it to. There are few people I love, but I won't say what I know to be bad to those few because it causes me discomfort to see them hurting, even if they are hurting because of something I can't understand.”
John hesitated, absorbing this rare insight into the way Sherlock's mind works. “When were you diagnosed as a sociopath?” He asked, cringing visibly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
Sherlock thought for a moment, clearly weighing his options up in his mind. “When I was twenty.” He finally said, smiling to himself.
”Twenty?” John repeated, his eyebrows raised. “That's a bit late for diagnosing a personality disorder.”
“I saw a lot of child psychologists.” Sherlock told him with a sigh. “All incompetent. All bending facts to suit theories rather than theories to suit facts. They were unable to see anything but a child with Asperger's. It wasn't until Mycroft was in a position to find me competent psychologists that I was diagnosed with both.”
~~~~~~~
John sighed, stepping out of his bedroom and closing the door behind him.
“How is he?” Sherlock asked, turning from his position staring out of the window to face the doctor.
“He has a bit of a chest infection.” John told him. “Probably nothing to worry about. I'll write out a prescription for some antibiotics, and keep an eye on him, but he should be fine.”
“Ok.” Sherlock said. “Shall I take the prescription somewhere to collect it? We need milk anyway. And Rory only ever eats Cheerios for breakfast.”
John gaped. “Sherlock?” He said hesitantly. “Are you offering to go shopping?”
“Yes.” Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth. “You're the doctor, you should stay here. And if he wakes up, he might be... confused. Strange place. I've heard friendly faces help in situations such as these.”
“So surely you should be the one to stay, then.” John said reasonably. “I mean you're his brother. He'd never met me before tonight. Waking up in a strange bed with a strange man around would probably be even scarier. Surely you'd be best.”
“John.” Sherlock said seriously, staring intently at his flatmate. “I'm a sociopath. His girlfriend has cheated on him with his younger brother and then thrown him out of his flat to live on the streets. That's the kind of thing people get emotional about. I know from experience that I'm bad at these situations. Eventually I will say something very Not Good. That he's an idiot for moving in with a girl who'd already slept with his brother. That he's an idiot for moving into a flat solely in her name. That he's an idiot for sleeping on the streets in winter with nothing but jeans, a t-shirt and a hoody to keep him warm. Or maybe that, in a way, he's nearly as morally questionable as they are for being willing to swap girlfriends with his brother again and again. So tell me, John, which of these observations do you think Rory will appreciate the most?”
John stared. “You do have a brain-to-mouth-filter!” He commented, shocked. “If you know what you're saying is not good, why do you still say it?”
“Sociopaths are capable of love.” Sherlock informed him dryly. “Granted we love in a very selfish, all-consuming way, but we can still love. There are times when I genuinely don't know that something is unacceptable, but when I do know that I'm thinking something not good, I say what I'm thinking and what I have observed because I don't care about the people I'm saying it to. There are few people I love, but I won't say what I know to be bad to those few because it causes me discomfort to see them hurting, even if they are hurting because of something I can't understand.”
John hesitated, absorbing this rare insight into the way Sherlock's mind works. “When were you diagnosed as a sociopath?” He asked, cringing visibly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
Sherlock thought for a moment, clearly weighing his options up in his mind. “When I was twenty.” He finally said, smiling to himself.
”Twenty?” John repeated, his eyebrows raised. “That's a bit late for diagnosing a personality disorder.”
“I saw a lot of child psychologists.” Sherlock told him with a sigh. “All incompetent. All bending facts to suit theories rather than theories to suit facts. They were unable to see anything but a child with Asperger's. It wasn't until Mycroft was in a position to find me competent psychologists that I was diagnosed with both.”
Reply
Leave a comment