Braindamaged!Jim

Sherlock considered the idea. If Jim had already contacted Moran like Sherlock had suggested, then it was reasonable to expect Moran to be on his way over here. If they went out now they could avoid him. The liklihood is he would arrive whilst they were out and wait for them to return. If they returned with Jim Moriarty in tow they could use him as a bargaining tool to save their own lives and bide them more time to deal with Moran. It started to seem like not a bad idea after all. But then they might possibly have to contend with two psychopaths in their house at the same time. If only they could find a way to prevent Jim regaining his memories....as Sherlock pondered all this and more he could feel John staring at him. He glanced up and met his eyes.

"Are you sure you're ready to see him again?" he asked gently.

John thought about it, he was not looking forward to seeing Jim Moriarty, but if he told himself the man was not himself, he knew things would be alright.

"I am a doctor, Sherlock. Helping people comes before my feelings of revenge," he said, even though he knew that he would not hesitate to kill him if Moriarty tried to hurt Sherlock.

"Besides, you'll be there. You'll ground me," he said off-handedly, even though it was an important truth about himself.

They return him to his room after their tests. He hears them talking outside in the hallway, snippets of what his future holds.
"...like a little kid."
"But otherwise..."
"...miracle..."
He sighs. His headache is back and it's piercing. He tries to re-interest himself with the shadows on the walls to take away the pain.
Oh, trust me, you will not be entertained with those.
He wishes the voice would stop talking to him. It scares him.
I've said it before, I'll say it again: you are such a pussy.
He curls up in the bed and ignores the voice. It won't leave him alone, it won't leave him alone.
You don't want to be alone. You want to have your boredom relieved.
He's not bored.
You're always bored. It's how you work

Sherlock turned the situation over in his mind a few more times, then silently put on his coat, before looking up at John and locking eye contact.

"Bring your gun. This could be dangerous."

John couldn't help the grin. "The magic words, you know I love it when you say them, Sherlock," he commented, before he walked to his bedroom to retrieve his gun.

"Ready," he said, putting on his own jacket.

((I'll let you two see me before I see you, mmkay? <3))
((Feel free to insert a line of mine if you need to.))

A short taxi ride later and they were arriving at the hospital. Sherlock led the way through the corridors and up to Jim's room. Before they walked through the door he paused and turned to John.

"There's a good chance he's not really going to like me very much. I did say some....things. You might need to do some of the talking. Explain that you're a doctor and you can take care of him blah blah blah, whatever you think's best. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

John had been rather thoughtful during their ride, trying to get to terms with what he felt about the whole thing. He stared at Sherlock for a long moment when he realized that he was still scared the detective would disappear again, another three years of pain, he surely would not be able to take it.
He wished there was a way he could protect him from harm, truly protect him.

He could always kill Jim, regardless of what Sherlock said. He would go to prison, but at least the detective would be safe.

He was still considering that when they got to the right door at the hospital.
He snapped out of it, and quickly decided he'll think about that later on, it'd be easier to kill Jim when they are at home, anyway.

"Maybe you should stay out here for a moment, while I explain him the situation..." he said, and nodded. "I am fine, I am a doctor after all, it's not like I am lying..."

Sherlock was unhappy with the idea of John going in on his own, but resolved himself with the fact that he did after all, have his gun on him, and that Sherlock would be waiting right outside in case anything happened.

"OK," he said finally after some thought. "But just shout if you need me."

John laughed a bit at the words, looking at Sherlock: "I can take care of myself," he pointed out with a smirk, and then made his way inside.

He closed the door and looked at the bed, the man he knew and hated was curled there helplessly, and John felt it was a completely different person from the start.

"Jim?" he asked, and stepped closer, the feelings of hate were slowly fading to the back of his head, because in that face he could not recognize the mad malice he used to see in Moriarty.

"Oh. I um, didn't think you'd be coming back." He averted his eyes quickly from Sherlock, terrified that he'd be subjected again to that blistering, rapid-fire string of words. His eyes instead turned to the shorter man who had just said the name he supposed was his. As his eyes swept over the blonde, he had an odd, flashing image of a jacket with a furry hood and a vest with wires.
The man looked grim, too, but somewhat more concerned than either of the other two men he'd met with today. He had the look of someone used to being tried, or perhaps he'd been through something awful.
He firmly hoped that he hadn't been the cause of that.
Somehow he had a feeling that hoping was in vain in this case.
"Um, yes." He replied, in answer to the blonde. "And...um, what...who're you again? I'm sorry." He apologized quickly.

John relaxed slightly when he saw no recognition on the other's face. He knew he could convince himself this wasn't the man he hated more than anything else in the world.
"Hi Jim," he said and walked closer, smiling a bit tentatively.

"My name is John, John Watson," he said and sat in the chair by the bed. "Do you remember me at all? We've met before," he didn't really want to explain how though.
He knew what this man needed, some sympathy and friendliness.


((Oh mm, Sherlock is outside the room, he is waiting outside for John to talk to Jim first >> ))

"I don't, I....you look familiar, that's all, but I can't... I don't remember you." The smile on the other man's face was reassuring. He smiled back, hoping fervently that even though the man--John, that was his name, John, that was so familiar--had arrived with Sherlock, they had perhaps once been friends.
That said, given who everyone seemed to think he was, 'friends' was not something he suspected he'd had or could keep. The person Sherlock had thought he was most likely to get on with seemed to hate him and from the horrific natures of the majority of the texts on his phone, he rather thought he had been a man not of the inclination for people in general.
Ordinary people, they're boring. Of course you don't like them.
He blinked, losing his smile for an instant. He forced it back onto his face, although his head had begun to ache again.
You see the blonde you're smiling at? Yeah, you tried to blow him up. It was loads of fun, if you'd just stop being an idiot and remember it already.
He had...he had most certainly not tried to...
You really want to challenge me on this?
Jim shook his head to clear it of the nasty voice that sounded like his own.
"Um. Yes. I've...they said...well, you can ask them, I didn't, I didn't understand it. So, we've um, met, Johnny...I mean John. Why did I say..." He didn't know why he'd said it, only that his mouth had formed 'Johnny' when he'd meant to say 'John' and it sounded like something he'd said a thousand times before.
Told you you couldn't get rid of me.

John watched the expressions on the other's face and he was reminded of a paper he had read on schizophrenia a long time ago.
Could he be remembering anything at the moment?

"It's probably better if you don't remember," he said, and reached out his hand, resting it softly on Jim's arm, it was meant to be reassuring, even though he knew the other man might not accept it.

"You have a new life now, and we will help you," he muttered, he hoped it'd help.
"You're not alone."

Sherlock peered through the window wondering what the hell John was doing in there. He'd been ages. It was only a small window and the angle wasn't great but he could see John by the side of the bed and it looked like he was actually holding hands...holding hands...with Jim!

He had to resist the urge to rush in. His friend had clearly gone mad also. John and his bloody sentiment. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He wouldn't have him any other way.

Sebastian hadn't taken very long to get to Baker Street, only a few minutes. He was well aware of the strange looks some people were giving him. His anger was boiling inside him rapidly, ready to explode any minute. He had just lost all control of his actions and mind.
221b
The number was plain and simple on the door. Sebastian looked around and making sure that no one was looking, kicked the door, knocking it off its hinges. The last thing he wanted was for their landlady, Mrs Hudson, to come running into the hall wondering what all the noise was about. At least she was easy enough to deal with. It had been a simple struggle.
Sebastian paused at the bottom of the stairs and glared up them, keeping his ears open for any noise.
Nothing.
He had been here once before and it was all quite familiar to him. The last time Sebastian was here, he had had his rifle aimed at John Watson's head. And sure enough, he would have been happy to pull the trigger without the order.
Sebastian stormed his way up the stairs and into the flat, instantly looking around for any sign of the detective. Neither him nor John were here. He'd just have to wait. And his patience was something he was not good at controlling.

((Thought I would just interrupt so you all know what things I'm up to xD))
((Sebastian is not very happy. I suppose you've all guessed that already. Fear my uncontrollable Anger Issues!))

"You're not alone."
That was when he did cry.
He wasn't alone, he wasn't. John said he wasn't alone. Tears streamed down his face. He tried to wipe them off on the sleeve of the hospital gown, feeling ridiculous, but it failed miserably and he carefully avoided looking at John, not wanting to see the look of disgust that was probably on his face.
He couldn't, however, totally evade it, and he saw, rather than what he had expected, a rather gentle look of pity. The same face that the doctors had had.
"Are you a doctor?" He choked out, trying to draw attention away from his shameful crying. Sherlock's head poked into the room from the hall and he jumped and turned away, trying to hide his tears.
...dear bloody god, you fucking idiot.

((Feeeeel free. John and I are having feels. :3))
((Bringing out childishJim. XD Did some research, apparently I wasn't too far off. The only thing I'm missing is that he'd be a good deal more stupid. XD Even the voice in his head is apparently something that happens sometimes. I feel special. XD))

The hatred he had piled up and nourished in the last three years became a dull ache in the back of his mind in that moment.
He looked at Jim as if he was one of the many brain damaged patients he had dealt with, innocent and needy.

"It's okay," he said, one hand on Jim's head, stroking his hair. Again trying to be reassuring.
"I am a doctor yes, but I will also be your friend from now on... if you want me to, that is," he suggested with another smile, and he realized vaguely he was not acting.


((John is pretty much adopting Jim now >> This looks like the bonding between pet and owner XDD))

Waiting.
He absolutely hated waiting. This was only making his anger worse. Sebastian would probably torture Mrs Hudson a bit until they got back. At least something would entertain him and he could take his anger out on her for the meantime.
Sebastian paced the flat impatiently, kicking things over as he did so. A few things caught his eye including the experiments scattered across the table in the kitchen and the skull above the mantelpiece. It was very strange compared to his flat. Especially the skull. That was just plain weird.

((Poor Mrs Hudson. I'm dreadful! xD))
((And I'd like to inform you John, that Jim is MINE! *Jealous, over possessive boyfriend mode: ON* I'm Jim's pet *sobs*))

Sherlock hated waiting. Everytime he peered into the room all he could see was John fawning over Jim like he was some kind of pet rather than an international criminal mastermind. It was ridiculous! This had gone too far. He had to intervene. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"John," he tried to appear casual. "Are we uhhh...ready to go?" He indicated towards the door.


((Sorry couldn't resist the pet thing, and the mirror imaging of Seb being impatient!))

((YOU ALL. ARE. AMAZING. I LOVE YOU SO. more comments at the bottom))

"Wait," He said weakly, "If you're a doctor, um, do you, could you..." He wasn't sure how to say this and he felt dimly that it was both rude and a bad idea. "Can I go with...with you?" His face was still streaked with tears, but at least the mortifying crying had ceased.
Don't do it, don't do it.
Why?
If you go home with them, something bad will happen. Trust me.
He didn't trust the voice.
The voice was rude and it was scary.
John, at least, seemed to not care that he had demons he didn't remember.

((Yes Jim is John's pet now. XD He's being extremely unJimlike. XD))
((*pets Seb* don't worry, dear. But you're sweet when you're possessive. <3))
((Sherlock: Yessss. It was beautiful.))

John was surprised how easy it was, to care for this poor man, to think what he used to be! Sherlock had no doubt scared the man senseless, when he clearly just needed someone to be nice to him.

He took a tissue from the box by the bed and brushed away the remaining tears from the other's scared eyes.
"That's what I am here to ask you, I wanted to ask whether you wanted to come home with us, you can stay with us, and I will take care of you..." He said softly, standing up straight again. "I will protect you."

He frowned when Sherlock came in. Not good timing. "Just a second Sherlock, Jim has to choose what to do," he said, motioning for him not to step any closer.


((Sherlock is jeaaaalous *teases*))
((Seb, Jim is all yours, John is just too nice for his own good XD))

"OK. Fine," Sherlock huffed, before folding his arms and turning his back on John & Jim. "He's a bloody murderer John, not a child," he added under his breath. He leaned against the wall, bored, and waited for Jim to 'choose what to do'.

"I want...I want to get out of here." He replied, softly, hoping he wasn't overstepping some bound he couldn't recall.
He wasn't really too sure about living with Sherlock, though. That didn't seem as though it would be a good idea. He had the vaguest feeling that the two of them lived together, almost a memory, a vision of a teacup and a violin...
And then it was gone and he was left with the voice, which was cursing now his stupidity and ignorance.
Teacups and violins and a key.

John forced himself not to snap at Sherlock's childish remark, he was just making things more difficult.

His eyes fixed on Jim. "I just don't want you to be alone, Jim," he said and bent his legs a bit to be lower than his eye level. "Sherlock might seem grumpy, but he's just jealous, you know, he's used to have all the attention to himself..."

He laughed a bit: "You might not remember it, but you used to play with him a lot, he was your favorite," how ironic, but it was the truth.