Sherlock has DID
anonymous
June 1 2011, 13:03:28 UTC
A thought that came to me after thinking about the scene where Sherlock charms his way into that woman's flat--
The reason Sherlock is so good at acting is that he has some form of dissociative identity disorder-- but has, through sheer force of stubbornness and intellect, managed to control it. He can communicate quite fluently with his other personality, and they work in tandem, essentially acting as two people in one body. Neither of them find this strange because it's the way things have always been. No one else knows, though, except possibly Mycroft.
The other personality is friendly, cheerful, and generally very agreeable, but defers to the "main" personality because it just seems logical to do so; Sherlock knows so much about the world that any input the second personality might provide would be redundant. Sherlock enlists its help in situations where he needs to show emotion, and rewards it with time "in charge" when they're alone at home, where no one can see them. It doesn't really mind the seclusion, content to putter around the house and make tea and tidy up a bit.
Until a problem arises where Sherlock's main personality is hurt in some way, and he retreats into himself so thoroughly that the second personality can't reach him.
John comes home that day to find a thoroughly distressed "Sherlock" sitting on the couch, who walks up to him and says "Dr. Watson, you don't know me, but I need your help..."
Re: Sherlock has DID RTYI?
anonymous
June 2 2011, 00:43:48 UTC
ayrt
Sorry if I gave the impression I was the OP, I'm not, I was just trying to correct my incredibly stupid error in the above comment. By non-integrated, I meant a person with fully aware and co-operative personalities functioning well in society, with no need or intent to integrate. It would be nice to see DID being portrayed as a functional way of coping rather than as something that makes a person broken or damaged.
I'm not the OP though, so whatever they prefer is law.
This is based off of both personal and friends experiences of what it's like to have headmates. There's no right or wrong way to be multiple and while this isn't probably going to line up with everyone's views on it, I'm hoping that it is a respectful depiction of one variant of multiplicity.
Now for the non-important notes: This is my first p0rompt fill and I'm playing a little bit fast and loose with it in that Sherlock isn't completely cut off but more that he's choosing to hang out inside the headspace instead of coming out and William and John are just going to have to deal with it while he recharges a little.
And uhm...Yeah. That's it. There'll be more tomorrow. Tired anon is just dead tired right now.
~~
He knew it was coming, could tell as soon as he woke up. It was the kind of day where everything was harsh, where the lights burned too brightly, where every minute detail stood out and it all bombarded him at every turn.
But he also knew Sherlock, knew that he would push through it or, at the very least, try to.
Instead of passing judgment though, he chose to look at it as a charming stubbornness. It was better than starting an argument, that would only be more stimulation and the world around them was already providing an overabundance of that as it is.
They got through about half the day which is better than he expected for a day like this. Of course he doesn't say that, he doesn't say much of anything really, save for the odd comment here and there and offers of comfort when he could. He even volunteered to take the front, to be the one to handle the world for a while, so Sherlock could rest but he was denied.
Which was expected, he knew how this worked, he would just have to wait it out.
And eventually it did happen, the crash, just as he knew it would.
They were headed back from Bart's with a procured hand. He'd settled in a corner and tried his best to be as calm and still as he possibly could for the other but the stimulation of the street, the people and the noise and the lights became too much.
They stumbled, then moved so that they could use the wall of a building as support. He watches as Sherlock tries to fight it, the overwhelming sense of everything coming at him at once and he moves, shares the front just enough so that he can keep the body from crumpling in on itself.
"William," Sherlock starts but he shakes his head.
"Just go," he urges, his voice quiet. "I'll get us back. Just go."
And he didn't fight after that, only because he knew that they wouldn't get back to Baker Street otherwise, knew that the world was liable to make him lose consciousness and this was safer.
And he knew that William can be trusted.
And that's how he winds up walking back to Baker Street by himself, Sherlock curled up far from the front where no outside stimulation could get to him. It's strange to be doing it, to take this familiar route by himself but he knows that it's better for the both of them that he is.
Of course, he's going to have to decide what to do about the good Doctor Watson but that problem can be tackled after a cup of tea.
Oh my, well thank you kindly! There will definitely be more, I just need to wake up enough for words to cooperate (wakefulness and I are always a tricky pair).
The walk back isn't as easy as it could be. It's been a while since he took the front and it takes him a moment to adjust and orient himself to the world outside. Between that and the over stimulation that the body experienced when Sherlock had been fronting, it's no surprise that he needs a moment to find his feet.
Eventually though, he does manage to get back and is relieved to find the flat empty upon his arrival. It's not that he is going to be unwelcoming to Watson, he's been so good to Sherlock and William can't help but have respect for anyone who is willing to put up with him, but he's more than happy to have a little time to himself before this whole thing begins.
Placing the hand in the fridge, he promptly starts to make tea. There's a soothing familiarity to it that lets him relax the rest of the way and by the time he's settled on the sofa, the coat and shoes abandoned, he's able to look at the situation with a calm that he had only been putting on for show before.
He should call Mycroft, let him know that he's here. After all, he's not sure how long he'll be around this time and it's only fair. At that thought, he considers getting up and changing, slipping into the clothes that he prefers but decided against it for now. He can get comfortable after he's talked to Watson--he really ought to be thinking of the man as John--and everyone is on the same page.
Mycroft, he reminds himself, before his mind starts going off on tangents. He should dial Mycroft.
Grabbing the coat, he dugs around in the pockets until he locates the mobile, dialing the number with a quickness that only comes with familiarity and a lack of dependency on the contacts feature. Although it's been a while since something like this has happened, it's far from his first time.
The man answers on the third ring and he doesn't wait for him to speak. "Mycroft, how are you?"
"William?"
He grins. "Indeed it is."
There's rustling, probably the movement of some important treaty or some such thing, not that it made much different to him, before Mycroft speaks. "And what has happened to my brother this time?"
"Stimulus overload," he answers with a small shrug. "It'd been building up for most of the day but it struck him as we were headed back from Bart's."
"You've made it back but are you all right?" There's the slightest note of concern, so small that he doubts most people would have picked it up but he's known this man since he was a teenager.
"I'm fine," he assures. "A little worried about what I'm going to do when John Watson gets back but that should come as no surprise."
"Ah John, he's a good man. Though I do expect this will probably be a bit out of his depth.'
He snorts. "You think?"
"Does that mean you've not come up with any sort of plan then?"
"Not in the slightest," he informs cheerfully. "We'd meant to talk to him when something came up. It just...never came up until today. Sherlock was supposed to explain it to him, we thought he';d take it better if he'd heard it from him but I suppose that's changing now."
He can practually hear the arched brow when Mycroft replies. "So he's far enough that you can't contact him then?"
"It was a bad overload," he explains. "If he'd gone in at the beginning of the day, he might not have to be so far gone but he was being stubborn about it."
"As is to be expected."
"Yeah well, it does make this whole thing much less simple."
"You'll manage."
"Thanks for that vote of confidence. I'd be much happier if I didn't need it but I appreciate it all the same."
"Would you prefer if I come by before John comes back? I couldn't stay for long but I could be there when you tell him."
There's a moment where he seriously considers taking him up on the offer but in the end he declines. "No, I should be fine. If things get out of hand, I'll call you."
"All right."
"You know, you never did say how you were."
"I'm fine w8illiam. Go prepare for your talk with John."
He laughs. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."
There';s a hint of amusement in his tone. ":Goodbye, William."
The reason Sherlock is so good at acting is that he has some form of dissociative identity disorder-- but has, through sheer force of stubbornness and intellect, managed to control it. He can communicate quite fluently with his other personality, and they work in tandem, essentially acting as two people in one body. Neither of them find this strange because it's the way things have always been. No one else knows, though, except possibly Mycroft.
The other personality is friendly, cheerful, and generally very agreeable, but defers to the "main" personality because it just seems logical to do so; Sherlock knows so much about the world that any input the second personality might provide would be redundant. Sherlock enlists its help in situations where he needs to show emotion, and rewards it with time "in charge" when they're alone at home, where no one can see them. It doesn't really mind the seclusion, content to putter around the house and make tea and tidy up a bit.
Until a problem arises where Sherlock's main personality is hurt in some way, and he retreats into himself so thoroughly that the second personality can't reach him.
John comes home that day to find a thoroughly distressed "Sherlock" sitting on the couch, who walks up to him and says "Dr. Watson, you don't know me, but I need your help..."
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SECONDED WITH A THOUSAND WHOOOAAAAAAAs.
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I WANT THIS.
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http://skeletree.livejournal.com/10618.html#cutid1 First chapter
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Sorry if I gave the impression I was the OP, I'm not, I was just trying to correct my incredibly stupid error in the above comment. By non-integrated, I meant a person with fully aware and co-operative personalities functioning well in society, with no need or intent to integrate. It would be nice to see DID being portrayed as a functional way of coping rather than as something that makes a person broken or damaged.
I'm not the OP though, so whatever they prefer is law.
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YES.
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Now for the non-important notes: This is my first p0rompt fill and I'm playing a little bit fast and loose with it in that Sherlock isn't completely cut off but more that he's choosing to hang out inside the headspace instead of coming out and William and John are just going to have to deal with it while he recharges a little.
And uhm...Yeah. That's it. There'll be more tomorrow. Tired anon is just dead tired right now.
~~
He knew it was coming, could tell as soon as he woke up. It was the kind of day where everything was harsh, where the lights burned too brightly, where every minute detail stood out and it all bombarded him at every turn.
But he also knew Sherlock, knew that he would push through it or, at the very least, try to.
Instead of passing judgment though, he chose to look at it as a charming stubbornness. It was better than starting an argument, that would only be more stimulation and the world around them was already providing an overabundance of that as it is.
They got through about half the day which is better than he expected for a day like this. Of course he doesn't say that, he doesn't say much of anything really, save for the odd comment here and there and offers of comfort when he could. He even volunteered to take the front, to be the one to handle the world for a while, so Sherlock could rest but he was denied.
Which was expected, he knew how this worked, he would just have to wait it out.
And eventually it did happen, the crash, just as he knew it would.
They were headed back from Bart's with a procured hand. He'd settled in a corner and tried his best to be as calm and still as he possibly could for the other but the stimulation of the street, the people and the noise and the lights became too much.
They stumbled, then moved so that they could use the wall of a building as support. He watches as Sherlock tries to fight it, the overwhelming sense of everything coming at him at once and he moves, shares the front just enough so that he can keep the body from crumpling in on itself.
"William," Sherlock starts but he shakes his head.
"Just go," he urges, his voice quiet. "I'll get us back. Just go."
And he didn't fight after that, only because he knew that they wouldn't get back to Baker Street otherwise, knew that the world was liable to make him lose consciousness and this was safer.
And he knew that William can be trusted.
And that's how he winds up walking back to Baker Street by himself, Sherlock curled up far from the front where no outside stimulation could get to him. It's strange to be doing it, to take this familiar route by himself but he knows that it's better for the both of them that he is.
Of course, he's going to have to decide what to do about the good Doctor Watson but that problem can be tackled after a cup of tea.
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Eventually though, he does manage to get back and is relieved to find the flat empty upon his arrival. It's not that he is going to be unwelcoming to Watson, he's been so good to Sherlock and William can't help but have respect for anyone who is willing to put up with him, but he's more than happy to have a little time to himself before this whole thing begins.
Placing the hand in the fridge, he promptly starts to make tea. There's a soothing familiarity to it that lets him relax the rest of the way and by the time he's settled on the sofa, the coat and shoes abandoned, he's able to look at the situation with a calm that he had only been putting on for show before.
He should call Mycroft, let him know that he's here. After all, he's not sure how long he'll be around this time and it's only fair. At that thought, he considers getting up and changing, slipping into the clothes that he prefers but decided against it for now. He can get comfortable after he's talked to Watson--he really ought to be thinking of the man as John--and everyone is on the same page.
Mycroft, he reminds himself, before his mind starts going off on tangents. He should dial Mycroft.
Grabbing the coat, he dugs around in the pockets until he locates the mobile, dialing the number with a quickness that only comes with familiarity and a lack of dependency on the contacts feature. Although it's been a while since something like this has happened, it's far from his first time.
The man answers on the third ring and he doesn't wait for him to speak. "Mycroft, how are you?"
"William?"
He grins. "Indeed it is."
There's rustling, probably the movement of some important treaty or some such thing, not that it made much different to him, before Mycroft speaks. "And what has happened to my brother this time?"
"Stimulus overload," he answers with a small shrug. "It'd been building up for most of the day but it struck him as we were headed back from Bart's."
"You've made it back but are you all right?" There's the slightest note of concern, so small that he doubts most people would have picked it up but he's known this man since he was a teenager.
"I'm fine," he assures. "A little worried about what I'm going to do when John Watson gets back but that should come as no surprise."
"Ah John, he's a good man. Though I do expect this will probably be a bit out of his depth.'
He snorts. "You think?"
"Does that mean you've not come up with any sort of plan then?"
"Not in the slightest," he informs cheerfully. "We'd meant to talk to him when something came up. It just...never came up until today. Sherlock was supposed to explain it to him, we thought he';d take it better if he'd heard it from him but I suppose that's changing now."
He can practually hear the arched brow when Mycroft replies. "So he's far enough that you can't contact him then?"
"It was a bad overload," he explains. "If he'd gone in at the beginning of the day, he might not have to be so far gone but he was being stubborn about it."
"As is to be expected."
"Yeah well, it does make this whole thing much less simple."
"You'll manage."
"Thanks for that vote of confidence. I'd be much happier if I didn't need it but I appreciate it all the same."
"Would you prefer if I come by before John comes back? I couldn't stay for long but I could be there when you tell him."
There's a moment where he seriously considers taking him up on the offer but in the end he declines. "No, I should be fine. If things get out of hand, I'll call you."
"All right."
"You know, you never did say how you were."
"I'm fine w8illiam. Go prepare for your talk with John."
He laughs. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."
There';s a hint of amusement in his tone. ":Goodbye, William."
"See you later then."
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