The Irresistibility of Orbits: the Forgetting of Things Past. No. 6 of Indestructible Series. Ch. 1

[ghislainem70]

Title: The Irresistibility of Orbits, Part Two; or, the Forgetting of Things Past.  Chapter One. Lost Souls.
No. 6 of the Indestructible: The Sherlock Case!fic Adventures 
Author: ghislainem70
Word count: 3200
Rating:  NC-17 (entire work)
Summary:  John returns from Afghanistan.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  All honours to Messrs Gatiss, Moffat, BBC et al.
Warnings:  Massive dose of angst and hurt/comfort. Deals with mental illness, reference to non-con, reference to child abuse, explicit sex, BDSM scenarios, graphic violence.

Note:  This story is the sequel to The Irresistibility of Orbits, Part One; or, Korengal Calling. Here
　

Chapter One. Lost Souls.

Sherlock had always despised psychiatrists.

Lesser specimens in the mental health field (psychologists, therapists, social workers) did not even merit being despised; they were unworthy of any notice whatsoever.

It had been decreed by John’s treating neurologist - as well as by four separate world-renowned consulting neurologists Sherlock had acquired for second, third, fourth and fifth opinions - that John absolutely required an indefinite course of psychotherapy. The purpose of which was to attempt treat John’s retrograde amnesia.

John had lost all memory of his life from the moments after he was shot in the shoulder in Afghanistan, more than one year previously.
John’s post-traumatic stress disorder and the return of his psychosomatic symptoms - a limp and hand tremor - also required psychotherapy. Hence, for the first time since he was at uni, Sherlock was sitting in a chair, in a psychiatrist’s office, in London.

His erect posture gave the impression that he was poised to flee.

Dr. Nazimi was a tiny, elegant, silver-haired woman of Indian descent, dressed in Paris couture and discreetly dazzling pearls. She was reputed to be absolutely the top psychiatrist in London; her appointment calendar was closed to all but the highest echelons of London society. But this meant nothing to Sherlock: the reason he was here, in this office in St. John’s Wood, was Dr. Nazimi’s specialty. Which was memory loss, and specifically, retrograde amnesia.  She did not generally treat soldiers; Sherlock's presence here, and her accepting John Watson as a patient, had been faciliated by Lady Eugenia Holmes, Sherlock's mother.

Dr. Nazimi’s voice was high and musical, like a glass chime. Easy to misjudge, Sherlock thought. "Mr. Holmes, the fact that you are here means you are willing to assist Doctor Watson in his recovery. That is very good. A patient such as Doctor Watson needs intensive support. But I cannot stress strongly enough that it needs to be the right kind of support. Or he will regress; worse yet, he could lose whatever chance he may have at recovery."

Sherlock was clutching a thick folder of papers in his hands. He nodded. Dr. Nazimi smiled at him encouragingly. He did not smile back. Dr. Nazimi was undaunted. She saw that Sherlock was filtering, weighing everything she said, that the only words that really mattered were "chance," and "recovery."

"I appreciate that you find the Personal Inventory to be intrusive; many persons do," she continued cheerfully. "But it is vital for me to have it, both from you, and from Doctor Watson’s family. I have already seen Harriet Watson, you know. In terms of close family, she is all that he has."

Sherlock shook his head vehemently in the negative, and she misunderstood him. " Well, there are the cousins in Manchester, but that’s not really of any practical help."

Sherlock could not help it. With a heavy sigh, he folded his arms and tried very hard not to roll his eyes in scorn. "He doesn’t need Harry’s help. If you really knew anything about Harry, you’d know that she is the last person to help John. I’m all he needs."

Dr. Nazimi regarded him narrowly. Actually, Holmes was partially right. Harriet was a narcissistic alcoholic, whose only apparent interest in John’s amnesia was whether Dr. Nazimi would be willing to sell the rights to the story. Harriet was already in talks with an agent for a television movie.

As for Holmes’ determination to be the sole custodian of Doctor John Watson, she reserved judgment.

* * *

"Of course you are aware, Mr. Holmes, that other than Harriet, Doctor Watson reports his closest associates to be fellow soldiers in the British Army." She consulted her notes. "Here it is: One Lieutenant Monroe, one Captain Jack Barton, one Captain George Forsyte, and one
Corporal Stuart Cartwright."

"Caldwell," Sherlock said miserably.

"Ah." She corrected her notes.

"And what is your opinion, Doctor Nazimi, as to how John will be - affected - by learning that two of the four supposed ‘closest associates’ are dead? He doesn’t remember. How does this ‘assist his recovery’?"

Dr. Nazimi was silent a moment, considering. "The answer is not as straightforward as you might think. Doctor Watson has suffered a brain injury to the frontal lobe. The damage itself is fortunately very slight. And the amnesia is, fortunately, not terribly extensive as such cases go. His memories of everything before approximately one year ago, from before he suffered the wound to his shoulder in Afghanistan, are intact."

She regarded Sherlock surreptitiously as she pretended to review John’s chart. His face was very pale, gaunt; and he had huge purplish circles in the hollows of his eyes. He looked horribly ill, and under an unbearable strain. She pitied him.

So far, he had refused any help for himself.

"As you seem to be - please forgive me if I am mistaken - an unsentimental man - I will tell you that the stories you see in the movies, of an amnesiac regaining lost memories after heroic efforts on the part of his spouse- do not happen with real patients. In my experience."

"Doctor Nazimi, I can assure you I have made no effort whatsoever to "educate" Doctor Watson about any of his - lost memories."

Dr. Nazimi was surprised. Usually the families of amnesics began a relentless campaign of "reminding" the patient of his past experiences immediately. This Sherlock Holmes must have a great deal of self-control, she thought.

"And I happen to think that a good thing. For now," she said. "I firmly believe that attempts tell amnesiacs the stories of what happened during their "lost time," are stressful in the extreme for the patient. The patient suffers a great deal of anxiety, even shame, as they simply cannot "recall" things they have no more actual memory of - anniversaries, Christmases, engagements; even the existence of important relationships such as a loving spouse, a close friend."

Sherlock studiously examined the volumes on her bookshelf.

"They know they are failing," she continued. "That they are hurting people who say that they love them - although the amnesiacs themselves have lost those feelings of love or friendship. Some practitioners, it is true, encourage "reminder therapy," where close family and friends "remind" the amnesiac of past events, past relationships. My own belief is that the patient simply adopts what they are told: mimicking actual memory, so to speak. It is a coping mechanism."

"So," Sherlock said, "it is the same as in the case of eyewitness testimony. An eyewitness to a robbery, for example, can easily be persuaded that the robber had blond hair, for example, when in fact he had black hair. Or was bald. The power of suggestion."

Dr. Nazimi agreed. "Precisely."

"So I understand that it is your recommendation that no one should try to tell Doctor Watson anything about his . . ..experiences . . . .of the past year?"

"Well, I would not go so far as that. He has already been told that he was sent back to London after being wounded in Afghanistan. He has been told that he took rooms with you in Baker Street. Certainly, he knows that you claim to have been his flatmate. He has no recollection of these things, however, as you know. He has been told that he returned to Afghanistan, and that you were there, too, and that he suffered a brain injury.  He knows he has amnesia.  He has no recollection of returning again to Afghanistan, or indeed of his . . .relationship with you, Mr. Holmes.  John Watson is not just suffering from amnesia; his post-traumatic stress disorder - which appears to have improved before you and he went to Afghanistan together - is back, full-blown."

"I was aware of it," Sherlock said impatiently. The woman was insufferable. No one knew more about John’s condition than Sherlock himself. John was barely able to walk, but when he did, it was with a marked limp. His left hand had an intermittent tremor. He suffered excruciating headaches. His multiple abdominal surgeries had left him debilitated and frail. Nightmares haunted his nights; waking nightmares haunted his days.

Sherlock simply willed away the fact that he himself was not much better off, really.

* * *

"To have lost just a year, well, that is not by any stretch of the imagination the worst case scenario. I am far more concerned, Mr. Holmes, about John’s overall mental state than I am about whether he ever recovers his memory of the last year."

"Under what circumstances do you believe he could ever recover it?" Sherlock asked. He tried very hard to keep any note of hope, or worse, need, from his voice.

"Let’s talk about that in a bit. Please let me see your Personal Inventory now, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock passed the folder across her desk and commenced scrutinizing her quite stunning collection of Renaissance etchings.

After a few long minutes, she put the folder away. "I see you have been under treatment before."

"Yes."

"Why did you not continue?"

"If you read the diagnosis, you know why."

"But that’s ridiculous. Your - feelings - for Doctor Watson, your desire to protect him, these all point to some qualities of empathy in you. People can learn, change. Some more than others. I won’t condescend to you, Mr. Holmes. Sociopaths, even high-functioning ones, almost never submit to treatment. Willingly. I can help you, and you need help. Very badly."

"I’m not here about me. I’m here for John. Can we return to that topic, if you please." Sherlock gave her a bleak, somewhat wolfen smile that left no room for doubt that the topic of his own mental health was off limits. A virtual steel curtain passed over his face.

"Very well. Your concern for Doctor Watson is admirable. But he needs breathing room to recover at his own pace, in his own way. There is no timetable here whatsoever. There is no question of him returning to the military, or to medical practice. Right now, his only job is to heal."

"Very well. I can do that." Sherlock stood up as if to go. This doctor appeared to be of no more use than the others. He felt his slender hopes slipping away. Foolish, really, he chastised himself. Time to let go of foolish dreams.

Dr. Nazimi held up her hands to stay him. "Mr. Holmes, I’m not certain that you can, you see. When John Watson returned to London a year ago, he was suffering post-traumatic stress disorder. He met you, and began living with you, a total stranger, within a few weeks of his return."

"Your point?"

"My point being that you then immediately commenced to involve Doctor Watson in a series of very dangerous cases that involved very real threats to both his life and to your own; matters that appear to have been more properly left to the police, I might add. Not the best means of recovering from post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I don’t expect you could understand," Sherlock spat arrogantly. "My sort of work was the best medicine he could have had. His limp disappeared after just one day. Ask my brother Mycroft if you don’t believe me. Wait, don’t do that. At any rate, yes: it is - was - dangerous; of course it was. I’m refuse to justify my - practice - to you. Lots of jobs are dangerous. And anyway, he told me that if he hadn’t met me, he would have just gone back to Afghanistan. I never tried to change who John was."

"Then there is your personal relationship with John. I will be blunt. While I am impressed with your - apparently - genuine love for Doctor Watson, there is a frankly unhealthy element of possessiveness that you have expressed here. You said earlier that you are ‘all he needs.’ I hope you don’t mean that. John needs a full life. You can’t keep him locked in your flat, with only you his contact with society. That would be the worst thing possible."

Sherlock looked blank. He really was all John needed. He had no idea why this woman thought there was question about this unalterable fact. Possibly her reputation was overblown. He attempted to stare her down but she was after all a more formidable adversary than he had supposed. She stared right back. He sighed dramatically.

"I won’t keep him locked up. If that’s what you mean."

Dr. Nazimi frowned. "I can still recommend to Doctor Watson that he enter care at a rehabilitation facility. If it comes to it, I can cause it to happen whether Doctor Watson agrees, or not. He is really on the borderline. I have to have trust in you."

Sherlock was transforming before her eyes: no longer pale and diminished, his face was positively glowing with pure fury. She was not afraid. Here was the face of the sociopath when his core possession was threatened. She calmly shuffled Sherlock’s file, pointedly ignoring the silent outburst. After a moment she perceived he had mastered his temper, and she continued.

* * *

"You admit in the Sexual Practices section that you and Doctor Watson engage in certain activities that we would term dominance and submission. I don’t particularly care about that, in itself; what I care about is whether this was entered into of Doctor Watson’s own free will."

"I cannot imagine what you mean, Doctor Nazimi. Surely if you read what I have said here, which I cannot imagine has any relevance here, I am not the dominant partner."

"So you say. Did Doctor Watson initiate this practice in your relationship? Was it always this way? Can you enlighten me how it came about?"

"I would prefer not to."

"And I would prefer to be assured that Doctor Watson is in no way going to be. . . victimized. I may as well ask at this point whether you are aware of Doctor Watson having been a rape victim. In Afghanistan."

"Of course I was aware of it. God, what do you take me for? John and I have never engaged in anything that was not safe and consensual. On both sides. I have never physically harmed him, nor he me."

"And you haven’t answered my question."

"All right." Sherlock took a few strides until he was looming over her desk. He wants to intimidate me into not delving into this area, she thought. She did not shrink back. "I admit," he said slowly, "John did not want to do it. At first. It was actually not long before we went to Afghanistan together, that this - aspect of our relationship started."

"Are you saying that you manipulated him into doing it anyway, against his own inclinations? That would not surprise me. Be honest."

Sherlock was silently outraged but did not want to provoke Nazimi into thinking any more about committing John to a psychiatric hospital.

Anything but that.

"No, I am not saying that," he fumed. "If John could remember, he would not say it either. Now, obviously, such - scenarios - will not be coming up at all. John has no idea that I have ever been anything to him but a flatmate. He does not remember any of . . . our past. I assure you I won’t be reminding him."

"So you are willing to be just - flatmates - to help him in his recovery, be guided by my recommendations?"

"It appears I have no choice. The alternative is. . . unacceptable."

"You always have a choice. I hope you are hearing me when I tell you that Doctor Watson needs quiet and rest more than anything. No pressure to resume a relationship that he simply has no memory of. Yet, anyway. That will mean a great change on your part as well."

"Doctor Nazimi. I don’t care if John Watson ever . . . .thinks of me in that way again. From what you say, if we ever are to be. . . what we were to each other, it has to come from him."

"You are remarkably intelligent, Mr. Holmes. Your record at uni does not bear that out. You are easily bored, I see. Don’t let that lead you into activities, into scenarios, that are best avoided for now. I think you understand me."

"I do. Now would you kindly answer my question."

"What was that?"

"Under what circumstances could John ever recover his memory? Do you believe in the ‘Petities Madeleines Phenomenon’?"

Doctor Nazimi pulled a journal down from her bookshelf. It was the neurological journal, Brain. "I see you have done your homework. Here it is, ‘The Petites Madeleines Phenomenon in Two Amnesiac Patients.’ Italian researchers. So you understand the reference?"

Sherlock snorted arrogantly. "I may have dropped out of Cambridge but I think everyone remembers their Proust."

"Then you remember that Proust’s memories were triggered by the little cakes, the petite madeleines. Some believe - I am among them - that restrograde amnesiacs only truly recover the neurologic hard-wired memories stored in the brain - upon a trigger from their former life."

Sherlock’s demeanor was keen now. "One man was playing tennis. Suddenly he remembered being in exactly the same situation, several years before: playing tennis. Memories came flooding back. One man, being prepared for surgery, suddenly remembered being in the same position - preparing for a hernia operation - twenty years before," he said excitedly.

"Yes, in a flash, the memories flooded back," Dr. Nazimi agreed. "He didn’t stop talking for two days. But one can never predict what random occurrence may have this effect."

Sherlock stood to go. He had learned nothing, really, that he didn’t already know from his voracious researches into retrograde amnesia. All that had happened was that Dr. Nazimi had possibly learned something about him.

Only what he was willing that she should learn, of course.

As he turned the door handle to go, Dr. Nazimi called after him, "Mr. Holmes. There is one more thing you should know."

"Yes?" he asked, not looking at her. Now he was filled with dread. He knew what she was going to say. He had hoped she would not. But she was more observant than he had expected, after all.

"I don’t think you will be surprised if I tell you that there is a psychological aspect to retrograde amnesia. As I said, his brain injury was mild, considering. In other words, Doctor Watson may very well simply not want to remember the past year."

"You mean, he doesn’t want to remember anything . . . about me. About us. That’s what you’re saying."

Dr. Nazimi regretted being so forthright with this Sherlock Holmes. But John Watson was her patient. She needed to keep that in mind.

"It may very well be that there is something . . .associated. . . with the memory of you. Something that is too deep, too painful, for him to bear to remember. And so, he has erased that memory altogether. Or if it is there, he has buried it very deeply."

"Why should he do that?"

"I think the only person who can answer that is you. I’m certain that you can, if you put your mind to it. But really, it does not change any of my advice today."

"So you advise what, exactly?"

"Let it stay buried. For now. Only time will tell."

He did not say goodbye. The door shut. Dr. Nazimi felt a strong surge of sorrow for the tragedy of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Amnesiacs were lost souls.

Sherlock Holmes was a lost soul, too.

She intended to try and give them a fighting chance. But realistically, the odds were against them.

She closed the file and put it away. She shook away a tiny tear and smoothed her hair. Time for the next patient.

To be continued . . .

next: Two

Author's note:  Although in no way necessary to following the present story, curious readers wishing to know the story of John having been a prior rape victim may read my fic Process of Elimination.  (It's not brutal).  John and Sherlock's D/s relationship is related in my fic Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know.