【Howard】Stockholm Experiment

22

"How's John?" Mycroft asked, walking with the doctor to the ward.

"His left leg was shot. Fortunately, he dodged in time and was not fatal. The operation went well, but his brain was hit. After waking up, the patient's mental state is not very good, which may have some impact." The doctor said.

"Such as...temporary amnesia?"

"Not necessarily." The doctor pushed the door open.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, John looked over at them, his eyes blank and expressionless.

"...What about him?" John asked hesitantly when they stood in front of the bed.

"Who?" The doctor froze for a moment.

"Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes."

"Sorry," said the doctor, "I don't know any Sherlock Holmes…"

"How come you don't know him?!" John rolled out of bed and shouted excitedly.He wanted to grab the doctor's collar, but the severe pain made his legs go weak and he fell to the ground.

"Don't move, don't move..." The doctor rushed to help him, but John roughly pushed him away.He dragged his injured leg and staggered towards the door. Several nurses pulled his body and pressed him to the ground.

"Let me go!" John struggled, pumping his fists around, causing the nurses and doctors to scramble.

"Sedative." The doctor said, and a nurse took out a sedative and administered it, and he gradually calmed down.

Mycroft sighed, and the doctor shook his head at him: "He may be frightened, mentally stimulated and emotionally unstable, and needs to be observed."

"No, it can't be because of the shock..." Mycroft said to himself.

He understood that for this man returning from the war, a shooting incident was not enough to constitute a shock.

"Sorry, sir, what did you say?" the doctor asked.

"It's nothing, take care of him, I'll be back in two days." Mycroft turned and went out.

"Doctor." John spoke after Mycroft disappeared.

"What's wrong?" The doctor walked to the bed.

"How come you don't know him..." His face was as pale as paper, and his voice was extremely soft, more like muttering to himself: "He is the smartest person in the world."

……

Later, John lay on the bed for three days, alone in the ward, doctors, nurses and people who visited him came and went, but there was never a single figure wandering in his mind.

He thought about a lot of things.

From their first acquaintance, to the last two gunshots.

He found that from the very beginning, the moment their eyes met, the name Sherlock Holmes was destined to be etched into his soul.

They naturally became a part of each other's lives.

It's just that one doesn't understand love, and neither does the other.

——John, I know I lied to you once, and you don't want to believe me anymore, but what I'm about to say next is true, if you can, please listen.

——I love you,

——Ivalueyou,

——than anything,

——than the world,

——thanmylife.

Sherlock's voice echoed alone, and John smirked into the air: "...metoo."

He unscrewed the bottle, poured out a tablet and swallowed it.

This is the medicine Sherlock left behind, and John only needs to hand it over to the doctor, and the ingredients can be tested.

But he didn't, he chose to continue his addiction.

Still later, he saw a report about Sherlock's death in a newspaper stolen from another ward.

His leg injury was gradually improving, but his mental state was deteriorating. He became lethargic, drowsy all day long, and began to have hallucinations, and he couldn't even find a clear time.

It was obvious that John's prescription contained no psychotropic drugs - the doctor was at a loss, and Mycroft looked sad.

"Listen, John, he's not dead, he's not dead!" Mycroft called in his ear.

"Who... didn't die?"

"..."

"Tell me, who is not dead?"

"he……"

"He's not coming back, he left me the medicine..." John said vaguely.

"Medicine? What kind of medicine?" Mycroft was startled.

John turned away and ignored him, Mycroft made a quick decision, got some nurses to do a thorough search of the ward, and finally found an unlabeled bottle with a few pills left.

The pills are rushed to the lab.

After a while, the result was sent to Mycroft, with two words clearly printed on it:

starch.

Only starch.

This thing is so strange. It is impossible for John to become dependent on starch. The only explanation is that there is something wrong with his spirit.

He is mentally attached to the pill.

—He was, so to speak, dependent on the man who gave him the pills.

"He's a typical Stockholm syndrome." The psychiatrist who saw John said, "needs treatment."

John heard the word "Stockholm" in a daze, and his chaotic brain couldn't respond to any information.

Mycroft gave him a complicated look, and was silent for a moment.

"No, don't do therapy if you can."

He paused.

"What I need you to do is to get him out of this state."

"It's too hard, sir."

"Please do your best."