Elementary and Lucifer fanfiction

[lilladyeva]

Trigger Warning: suicide, drug use

It was just past three in the morning and I lay in bed under the covers quietly typing on my tablet. I was writing something very important. It was the last thing I planned to ever write. It was an e-mail to my father and it was a suicide note. I looked over at my sleeping roommate. A foreign student from India named Vivaan. He was nice enough, sometimes we talked, but we were never really friends. I did not have any friends, not anymore. I sighed softly to myself and looked over what I had written.

Dear father,

By the time you read this I will be dead. I know you have been disappointed in me and I am sorry. I am sorry I could not be the son you wanted. I want you to know that I tried, I tried so hard but I couldn’t do it. I will never be able to do it. I am sorry for what I am about to do. I know it is wrong but I can’t go on living anymore. I have nothing left to live for. It will be better for you without you having to worry about me. I am sorry, goodbye.

Graham.

I looked the letter over. It didn’t really explain the depth of my pain but it got the point across. I doubted my father would even care that much. He barely spoke to me anyway, I don’t think he hated me but I don’t think he particularly liked me either. I was an accident, a mistake, he would probably be relieved when I was gone. He won’t have to think about fome anymore. I thought about my mother, she would be upset. Probably relapse if she hadn’t already. But she didn’t love me, she loved heroine, she proved that more than once. No, no one would really miss me. I had no one that cared, not since Mycroft and he died three years ago. Three years to the day. That was why I chose this day to complete the act. It was my last thought to Mycroft.

I looked over at my nightstand and grabbed the bottle of oxycodone sitting there. I picked it up and opened it and looked inside. There were thirty pills in there, more than enough to do the job. I closed my eyes and swallowed them a few at a time. When I was done I discarded the bottle and hit send on the e-mail. It was 3:23 in the morning, he had to be asleep by now, he would get that e-mail tomorrow morning and by then I would already be dead.

I ducked back down under the covers and laid my head back on my pillow. I lay in the dark and waited for death. I wondered if it would hurt. I wondered if I would feel anything. I was still wondering when I fell asleep.
…..

“Hey faggot wake up!” was the first thing I heard, I woke up with a start. I was in bed, and I was alive. I felt nothing from the pills I had taken last night. I looked up and I saw Kevin, John and Edward standing over my bed, Kevin was shaking the empty bottle at me.

“What were you thinking of leaving us faggot?” Kevin asked throwing the bottle at me. It bounced off my chest.

“I…” I began but I didn’t get a chance to finish. Kevin yanked my out of bed by my arm and threw me onto the floor. I smacked hard onto my back.

“You’re never getting out of here.” Kevin menaced and he descended on me and started kicking me. The others followed suit. I did the only thing I could think to do. I curled into a ball to protect myself.

I cried as the blows rained down on me. I cried out for help.

“No one’s coming faggot.” Kevin growled, “You are alone with us.”

I ignored him and kept screaming, but no one came. I shouted for several minutes and no one came. I really was alone. Fear gripped me, these boys could kill me. But wasn’t that what I wanted? Just last night I was trying to die and now I didn’t want them to kill me? I suddenly realized that I did not want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted it all to stop. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve any of this. I might not be the best person, but I certainly wasn’t bad. I didn’t hurt people, at least not on purpose and when I did I said “I’m sorry” and I meant it. I didn’t deserve any of this.

Suddenly I wasn’t sad anymore, I was angry. I was so angry at everything. I was angry at the people who called themselves my friends once, I was angry at my father for abandoning me, at my mother for using. I was angry at everyone including myself for letting this happen. I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

I screamed, bellowed really, more out of rage than anguish. I grabbed Kevin’s foot as he went to give another blow and I pulled. He fell over backwards and hit his head on the floor, hard. The other boys stopped for a moment, confused. I used the opportunity to stand up. I was breathing hard. John approached and tried to grab my arm but I yanked it away, hard. He nearly stumbled. I turned and balled up my fist the way Mycroft had taught me with my thumb on the outside and I delivered a punch into John’s stomach that sent him doubling over.

He and Edward retreated to the other side of the room. They looked at me with fear in their eyes. I had expected more of a fight, I had not expected to win or for them to give up so easily. They had never given up this easily before, but I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Never…Never…touch me again…Do you understand?” I growled. The boys looked at me and then each other. They nodded bewildered.

“Good.” Was all I said. It was all I could think to say, I was still filled with rage. I turned and went to exit the room.

“Wait!” Edward cried, “You can’t just go!” He came running towards me.
I turned and glowered at him, both of my hands balled into fists in case he came after me again. He saw me and he backed away. I could see fear in his wide eyes. He probably thought I was going to tell on him. I wasn’t, I tried at first but that always seemed to make things worse. No one was on my side. But I was not going to explain that to him.

“Fuck off.” I spat at him and I swung open the door.
That was when I first realized something was wrong. Instead of being in the corridor of the dormitory I found myself in what looked like a cave. I looked around, passages wound left and right from the room.

I looked back into the room I came from and Kevin, John and Edward were crowded together.
“Don’t go out there.” Kevin said, “Come back in here, we will be nice I promise.” I was probably better than them. I took off right down a passage.

I heard footfalls come quickly after me and I heard Edward cry out. “Wait come back, you can’t go out there!” he shouted.

I began to run, I was determined not to let them catch me. I ran easily, despite the beating I felt fine, I did not feel any pain. I was sure they would have had to have broken something when it was going on, but I wasn’t even sore. I also seemed faster than before. I ran through the cave ducking under stalactites and running around stalagmites. I could hear the boys behind me still chasing. I was beginning to think that this was a dream, it had the feeling of a dream, I tried to wake myself up but it I could not get out, so I just kept running.

I saw a door it looked sealed into the wall. I looked behind me and I could see them gaining on me. I paused only briefly to get through the door and I was immediately met with a scene of horror.

There was a man, naked, covered in blood. He was tied to a rack his arms stretched out behind him, there was a woman with a knife. She was tracing it down his stomach and then would plunge it inside. When she did this he would scream.

“No Stop!” I screamed. The words leaving my mouth before I had the chance to stop them.

The woman spun around towards me and I could see that the right side of her face was sunken in, it looked almost melted. This was most definitely a dream I decided and if it was a dream I could control it.

“Stop it.” I said, “Go away.” I tried to will her out of existence like I did with any of the other times I realized I was dreaming. She stayed standing there, the knife still poised in her hand, a look of confusion on half of her face.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

I didn’t answer, it was my dream she should know. At this time the three boys who were chasing me burst through the door. I turned to face them but they were looking at the woman behind me.

“Mazikeen.” Kevin whispered in hushed tones.

“What is it?” The woman asked. She put the knife down, the man on the rack whimpered. “What’s going on?” She gestured to me and I backed up. Just because it was a dream did not mean that I was not afraid.

“I…I don’t know.” Kevin answered. “He just overpowered us and left.”

“What do you mean he left? No one ever leaves.” She said.

“Well he did.” John chimed in.

The woman named Mazikeen looked at me for a moment. She held her knife close to my face and I flinched and backed up. She stared into my eyes a moment and I quickly looked away, it was, uncomfortable to look at her for long.

She turned back to the man on a rack. “Take him to Lucifer.” She commanded.

“But…” John tried to protest but Kevin cut him off. “Yes of course. Please come with us.” He said to me, his tone was pleading and polite.

I stood there for a moment, stunned, the man on the back went back to screaming as Mazikeen went back to work. I suddenly needed to leave the room. I followed the boys out, eager to get away from the woman with the knife. My mind churning with thoughts.

“I am not dreaming am I?” I asked.

“No.” Edward shook his head.

“You aren’t really John, Kevin and Edward are you?”

They shook they’re heads.

“You are taking me to Lucifer. Is that the real Lucifer, like the devil Lucifer? Did I die? Is this Hell?” I asked.

“Yes.” They said in unison.

“But Hell really? I know I didn’t deserve to go to Heaven but I didn’t think I would end up in Hell, not really. I guess they do take the suicide thing seriously.” I said sadly.

“I wouldn’t know, it’s not my job, I just torture the souls here. I am not in charge of knowing what they’ve done or where they are supposed to go.” John said, or well the demon that looked like John at least.

“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked.

“I don’t know, we have to find out.”

I followed them in silence as they led me through twisting and turning hallways. Past more doors set into walls. I knew there were people in there now, other souls being tortured. I privately wondered what they had done. We finally stopped at a large set of double doors, twice my height in size. They were plain and wooden and I watched as John banged sharply on the outside of the door. They all stood back and there seemed to be no response for several moments, I was about to ask if they were going to knock again when the doors burst open and I was greeted by an awesome sight. Not awesome like something cool or neat, but awesome as the word was truly meant to be used, filled with awe.

In the room before me there stood a shiny, naked man with golden, white wings stretched wide behind his back filling all the space in the room. His face was red and skeletal and his eyes were black and deep.

“Why are you here?” He asked and he stared into me, not at me, into me. I could see myself in his dark eyes. I saw the bullies, I saw myself alone and I saw myself swallowing those pills. Then I saw a brilliant light, I screamed and shielded my eyes.

“Oh, you are a child.” Came a different voice. I hesitated, it sounded bewildered and almost kind. “Come on then what are you doing here?”

I opened my eyes and saw a normal man standing before me. He was a white man with dark hair and dark eyes but nowhere near as dark as before. He was smiling.

“He walked out of his room.” John explained, “We didn’t know what to do.”

“Really?” The man said, “Now that is interesting. Tell me, who are you, how did you do it?”

“I…I’m Graham sir, Graham Holmes.” I stammered falling back onto politeness.

“Well Graham Holmes, do you know what you have done?” He asked me grinning wider.

I shook my head. I wondered if he was angry at me, but he did not look angry.

“You are the first human to ever walk out of Hell, now isn’t that something? You should be proud.” He said.

“Oh.” I said and he looked a little disappointed.

“Really proud.” He repeated. “I don’t think you understand how special that is.”

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Well that depends, what do you want to happen now?” he asked me.

I thought about it for a moment. “I want to go with my brother Mycroft, is he in heaven?” I asked.

“I am afraid I don’t know that. I don’t know all the souls in Hell and I know none of the souls in Heaven.”

“I think he’s in Heaven.” I said, “If anyone is he would be. I would like to go there.”

“Do you think you deserve to go to Heaven?” He asked.

“What?” I asked.

“Do you deserve to go to Heaven?”

I thought about it again. Once again I ran up against a brick wall. I knew I didn’t belong in Hell, but I did not do anything to deserve heaven. I shook my head. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Then I am afraid that you will not be going there. But cheer up, there are a lot of options available for you. There’s reincarnation, you can try that. There’s also Vallhalla, or you could even be a ghost.

“Really?” I asked. “But I thought… I mean if you are the devil that means Christianity was right and people go to Heaven or Hell.”

“Please, call me Lucifer.” He said, “And you are only partially right. Only Christians get Heaven or Hell. People get to choose. You are just the first person to ever change their mind.”

“So that man.” I inquired, “The one who was being tortured with knives. He wants to be here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say he wants to be here the same way that I would say I want a shot of bourbon, he just believes he belongs here, so that is where he stays. Frankly it’s a bit barbaric, that that’s my father for you, always a fan of good old barbarism.” Lucifer explained.

“But you torture people!” I exclaimed.

“Not personally no, the demons do that, but only in ways that the person instructs them to. Each person’s torture is right out of their own head. Tell me, what was yours like?” he asked.

“So how do I get out of here?” I asked avoiding the question.

“All you have to do is wish.” He answered.

I tried wishing for somewhere else but it didn’t seem to work. I was stuck exactly where I was, in Hell. I looked up at Lucifer for guidance but he only smiled.
“Looks like you are stuck for awhile until you find somewhere else you believe you belong. Do not worry, you can roam freely until you figure it out. There are no bars keeping you here.

I stood there for a moment in shock. I was an observer in Hell, not tortured but not able to leave either and it was all my own fault. I felt like I was going to cry. It was then that I was hit by a sharp pain in my chest that caused me to cry out and fall to my knees.

“Oh? This is interesting.” Lucifer said as he knelt over me.

“What’s happening?” I asked. “It hurts.”

“It seems like they are bringing you back to life. You are getting a second chance. Try not to blow it this time by coming down here early.”

And with that parting shot I opened my eyes and took a deep involuntary breath and coughed. There was a man leaning over me, his gloved hands on my chest. There were people standing around, everyone looked worried.

“He’s conscious.” The man on me said. I realized my shirt was ripped open. I couldn’t process everything.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We almost lost you, come on, you need to get to hospital.” He said.

I was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled through the corridor. I could see concerned faces looking out at me. Teachers and students, it made me feel scared and angry. They never gave a fuck before now.

I spent the night in the hospital hooked up to IVs, nurses checking in. I was a suicide case so they were concerned that I might try something, so they tied me to the bed and set someone to watch me. I tried to tell them that this one try took weeks of planning and that after screwing it up so badly I was not exactly eager to try again, but they didn’t listen. It was okay, the wrist straps were not that tight and I could get out of them if I wanted. But I didn’t just because if I did I knew if I did someone would be by to make them tighter and I didn’t want that.

After that all I could do was lay in bed and wait. I wondered how they had found me. How had they known I was dying? I waited until after three in the morning, I chose a quiet death, there should have been no way anyone would have found me until morning. What would happen now? No one was telling me. People would talk to me sure, dozens of people talked to me but no one would tell me what would happen. All of them just said, “I don’t know.” And told me not to worry.

They had me talk to a psychiatrist. He seemed nice but I couldn’t tell him everything. I told him that I wanted to die but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him why. I didn’t talk much, mostly one word answers and head nods. I did promise not to try it again and did undo the restraints, so that was something. It took too much energy to talk. I chalked up that weird vision of Hell as a weird dream I had inspired by a dying brain. I never spoke of it aloud. I suppose it meant something meaningful about my beliefs about myself and my desire to not commit suicide but I honestly didn’t care right then.

I didn’t eat, I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t try. People would bring me food and then hours later different people or the same ones would take it away. Sometimes they would try to talk to me and convince me to eat. I would always respond “I’m not hungry.” And repeat as necessary until they went away.

On the third day I had my first visitor, my father. When I saw him my blood ran cold and my heart skipped a million beats. He was here, he was never here. I hadn’t seen him in three years, I must have really fucked up. I really fucked up. He stood there in his suit and his stern face and I looked up at him and I started to cry. For the first time in three days since this all started, I cried.

“I’m sorry.” I said and I meant it. He must be really disappointed now. I couldn’t even commit suicide right.

Then he did something that surprised me. He said “No.” He said, “No, I’m sorry.” And he held my hand and I didn’t know what to do.

“I should have listened to you.” He said. “You were trying to tell me how you were feeling and I was so busy trying to teach you about responsibility that I didn’t listen to you and I’m sorry.” Then he squeezed my hand and it was the first bit of real human affection I had gotten since Mycroft died and I missed it so much I almost cried harder. But I didn’t because that was when my mom came in the room and screwed everything up.

She was high, of course. I could tell by the way her eyes were glassy, and the little bit of drool on her lips. She also looked like she dressed in a whirlwind and her hair was a mess. When sober she was meticulous. High and anything goes.
“My baby.” She screeched as she came in and she flung herself across me. I winced. It was embarrassing for me and for her. “My baby, what happened to you.” She sobbed.

“Mom stop.” I tried to command, but she was already in a whirlwind.

“You this is your fault!” she shouted, now standing and pointing an accusatory finger at my father.

“Chantrea, please.” He began holding his hands out in front of himself. “This is a very difficult time and…”

“Your fault!” She interrupted. “You told me you would take care of him. You told me you would protect him. You told me you would be better than his father!”

“Chantrea stop this.” He demanded. He was using his commanding voice, the scary one where you knew you were in trouble. It didn’t work. My mother whirled around to me.

“He’s not your father you know, not your real father. He’s a fake. A fake!” she shouted and then she lunged at him. He held his arms up in defense as her hands came down and clawed at his face. I screamed for help and security came running and dragged her off of him still kicking and screaming.

“This is all your fault!” I was still shaking. I didn’t know what to think. My mother was high, she said a lot of things while she was high, not all of them were true. Many of them were not true, but this is the first time she made an accusation like this.

I turned to my father to ask what she was talking about and he just started talking. “It’s true.” He said. “I am not really your father. Your mother had gotten involved with Sherlock and she had gotten pregnant and she came to me. She knew she couldn’t care for you and she knew Sherlock couldn’t either so I took it upon myself to raise you. I am sorry I didn’t tell you but we thought it best if you didn’t know and…”

“Get out.” Was all I said. He stopped, he looked stunned. In my nearly thirteen years of existence I had never talked back to him, not even once but now I was just too angry. He had been lying to me this whole time. He didn’t care about me, he never did and now I knew why, I wasn’t even his kid. Both of my parents had abandoned me and left me with this indifferent grandparent

I couldn’t take it anymore, If I wanted to die before it doubled now. I didn’t even want to look at him.

“Get. Out!” I repeated, shouting this time and he turned around and left. It was a small victory for me and I celebrated it by collapsing back onto the bed into sobs.

The next day I discovered what was to happen to me. I was transferred to a psychiatric facility. I didn’t question it, it was better than going back to school. The first day there I did not get out of bed. I curled up in the blankets in my small room and tried in vain to sleep and forget everything. It did not work. The next day I started eating again. Less because I was hungry and more because I was informed that if I did not start eating that they would put a tube down my throat and feed me that way. I wasn’t actually trying to starve myself to death so I compromised. I was hungrier than I thought. I suppose that made sense.

The next day I reluctantly participated. I met with a psychiatrist who prescribed me a plethora of medications. I met with a therapist who tried to talk to me. I say try because I was not in a talking mood. I didn’t feel like talking or answering questions. I didn’t even nod at things. So mostly we sat there in silence for what seemed like forever. I just sat there feeling abandoned.

The groups were good. I was not expected to talk at those. There were about a dozen or so other kids around my age discussing their problems. Some of them had some pretty screwed up families, none as close to mine though. Surrounded by all of these people I still felt alone. That was until I met Zoey.

She showed up the next day at group. She was black and had short hair held back with barrettes and bright pink lipstick. She wore short sleeves and you could see long scars up and down her arms, some old and a few fresh ones. She was very talkative. This was not her first time here. She started talking about being bullied, people were really mean to her. I guess I made a face when she said that because she immediately honed in on me.

“Hey, you, are you okay?” she asked.

I looked around briefly to see who she was talking to and saw that she was staring straight at me.

“Yeah, you, you look triggered.” She said. It didn’t sound mean when she said it. She said it like she was stating a fact.

“I’m fine.” I muttered quietly.

“Bullshit.” She said, “You don’t look fine, you look like shit.”

The group moderator who rarely talked in these sessions cleared her throat. “Zoey.” She said.

“Yeah, sorry.” Zoey announced. “I meant to say it looked like something was bothering you.”

“I just feel bad for you.” I muttered.

“You have to deal with assholes too?” she asked.

I nodded and she seemed satisfied. She moved on talking about other issues she was having. She didn’t call me out again.

When group was over she approached me.

“Hey.” She said, “Sorry to call you out in group I just thought you might need to talk about it.”

“It’s okay.” I said quietly.

She nodded, “So what are you in for?” she asked.

I paused for a moment unsure of how to answer that question. She held up her scarred arms. “I started cutting again. I was doing good too, six months not doing it, then those assholes really started to get to me. They just can’t handle the fact that I’m trans. The school is a joke, they say they are supportive but they do jack shit about it.”

I nodded unsure of what to say.

“Oh yeah you didn’t know I was trans did you? That’s not a problem with you is it?” She asked. It sounded vaguely threatening.

I shook my head ‘no’. Truth be told I didn’t really know what that meant. I had images in my head of men dressing in women’s clothes. I had heard other kids talk about it at school. For them it was as bad as being gay, worse even. But Zoey seemed nice and I felt bad for her for having to go through what she went through. So I didn’t actually have a problem with it, I was just more curious than anything, but I didn’t want to ask questions.

She seemed satisfied with my answer. “So what are you in for?” she repeated.

“I…I tried to kill myself.” I answered.

She nodded. “I’ve been there.” She said. “Two years ago I tried to kill myself. That was the first time I ended up here. It wasn’t all bad though, it convinced my parents I wasn’t joking about being a girl.”

I nodded unsure of what to say next. No one had ever been this open and honest with me about such serious topics.

“Alright, well, cool, I will see you later then.” She said and then she bounced off. Leaving me alone to my thoughts.

The next day I had a visitor. I was used to spending visiting hours alone. It was nothing new for me. I spent all the holidays alone the past few years, visiting hours were not as bad. I usually spent the time alone in my room. I didn’t think my father, or grandfather or whatever he was to me was coming back. So I was surprised when that day at visiting time I was told I was having a visitor. At first I thought it was my father, it was just easier to think of him that way, I was nervous and still angry, but I was also lonely. I think that I would have forgiven him if he had come to see me. But it wasn’t him.

“It’s Sherlock.” She said as if it was no big deal.

My heart nearly stopped. I had never even met Sherlock, he abandoned me as a baby and I had never even met him and here he was now. Trying to see me. I couldn’t see him, not here, not now.

“I don’t want to see him.” I said firmly.

The woman nodded and asked if I was sure. I said “yes.” And that was that. Or at least I thought it was. The next day at visiting hours I was asked again if I wanted to meet with Sherlock. It went everyday for a week before I finally brought it up in group.

Zoey had just finished talking again. She usually had something to say. This time it was about her family and how her father would not accept her. When she finished I blurted out what I wanted to say.

“I am having problems with my father too.” I said. It was the first time I had said anything other than support in group and everyone looked at me. I squirmed under their gaze.

“What’s going on with you then?” Zoey asked.

I sighed and began to tell my story. “I just found out that I was adopted when I was born. The person who I thought was my father was actually my grandfather and my father was a brother I had never met. My grandfather never liked me. He only talked to me to yell at me and I haven’t seen him in like three years. Now after all that my father, my real father keeps trying to see me here and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Do you know why he gave you up?” a boy asked. I shook my head.

“No one told me anything about it, I just found out last week.” I explained.

“Man that’s fucked up.” Zoey muttered. The group leader gave her a look but didn’t say anything.

“Why don’t you want to see him?” Someone else asked.

I didn’t answer right away. I thought about it for a bit. I just assumed everyone would be on my side. “I think it’s because I don’t know him. He was never around for me. He hasn’t acted like a father. Neither has my grandfather. The only one who actually acted like a real father for me is my brother Mycroft and he died three years ago.”

This led to a lot of nods. Everyone seemed to understand.

“Well what does he want?” The same person asked.

I could only shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you could ask him.” They said. “I mean you don’t have to like him or even be nice to him if you see him. You can make him answer all of your questions.”

I shrugged again and fell silent. The group moved on to another topic. But I was distracted. I thought about it. Would I really meet Sherlock. Could I really talk to him and ask him all those questions. Why was he really here anyway.

That day when visiting hours came and they asked me if I wanted to meet with Sherlock I said yes.

I stood to meet him as he came in. He was tall, unlike me, and awkward and gangly. He stood just a little too straight and he wore a shirt buttoned all the way to the top with a sweater. He was frowning, he tried to smile a bit when he shook my hand but it snapped back to a frown.

I thought back to all the things I had heard about him from Mycroft. I had been supposed to visit in America the summer that Mycroft died. He had said he could be mean and not to take that seriously. I also knew that he had a serious addiction. Supposedly he had been sober for a while. He was doing better than my mother ever did. She could only manage a few months, six at most.

We came in and sat in one of the offices. My therapist was there, she said she would do this with me since I had never actually met him before. She seemed surprised, like no one told her, but she was supportive. She helped me come up with a list of things I wanted to ask. There were only a few but they were big ones.

We sat in the small office on opposite couches and avoided eye contact for a bit. I don’t think either of us knew where to start. After a few moments of awkward silence my therapist cleared her throat and spoke up.

“I understand this is your first time meeting and I understand that this must be hard for both of you.” She said. “I figured to start Graham had some things that he wanted to ask you.” She nodded at Sherlock. “Graham would you like to go ahead.”

I squirmed a little in my seat and then quietly spoke up. “How come I never met you before?” I asked.

Sherlock hesitated. “To be honest, it was rather selfish reasons.” He said. “Father and I didn’t get along and I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. If I came around you I would have to go through him. Also, I had never gotten along with family, I thought I didn’t need it. I didn’t know you needed me, I just sort of figured you were getting on fine.”

“If you hated him so much why did you let him agree to adopt me?” I asked.

“I didn’t Graham. You were never adopted, Father put his name on your birth record. He let me and everyone else believe that he was in fact your real father.”

I made a face, that didn’t fit. I knew where babies come from I was not a child. How could he not know he was my father. “How could you not know?” I demanded.

It was Sherlock’s turn to squirm. “I am not proud of it. You are right I should have known better. I just didn’t think it was something he would do, I was wrong, I should have expected that. When he said that he had gotten your mother pregnant I believed him. I was angry but I believed him. I thought I had used protection, but at the time we were both using, so it is likely that we were not careful.”

“So you thought that you both just…did it…with my mom?” I asked. I was uncomfortable with talking about my mom in a sexual context but the question needed to be asked.

“It would not be the first time that we had sex with the same woman.” Sherlock stated bluntly.

At that point I stood up and left. I had had enough. I had had enough of this bullshit family. I had had enough of the lying and the manipulating and the pain. I didn’t know that Sherlock was telling the truth, but I did know that my Father had lied to me my whole life. That was hard to take. I went into my room and lay face first down on my pillow and tried to stop thinking about how shitty my life was. My therapist came into my room.

“Graham, are you alright?” she asked.

I grunted in response. It wasn’t really an answer more just a declaration that I was alive.

“Do you want to talk about it just the two of us or do you want me to leave you alone?” She asked.

“Can you leave me alone?” I asked as I curled up into a tight ball.

She nodded and retreated from the doorway. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. I had a really shitty family.

That afternoon at group the rest of the group was eager to know how my visit with Sherlock went. I was not eager to tell them.

“It was okay.” I lied with a shrug.

“Did he tell you anything?” someone asked.

I took a deep breath. “He told me that he didn’t know he was my father. He said that he thought that his Father really was my father.”

“That’s gross.” Zoey said.

I nodded. “Yeah, he said they slept with the same women all the time.”

The group made a lot of disgusted noises at that and I agreed. It was gross. All around it was agreed that my family was pretty terrible and I got a lot of sympathy. Then someone interjected.

“It sounds like it’s not his fault he wasn’t around for you.” He said.

I shrugged, “Yeah I guess.”

“Are you going to talk to him again? You should talk to him again. It sounds like your grandfather fucked you both over.”

“Yeah I guess.” I said. I had been so self-absorbed with how I felt I hadn’t thought about how Sherlock had felt. He had a son that he didn’t know about until now that must be hard. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

“That sounds like a good idea, he might be a good guy.” Zoey said.

I could only shrug. It was possibly true I had never thought about Sherlock like that before. He had always been the bad one. He hated Father and used drugs and got into trouble with the police. He was always talked about as trouble. He and Mycroft had been in a fight for a long time, I don’t know what about but they didn’t talk for years. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he really was a good guy.

“Yeah okay.” I said, “I’ll talk to him.”

The next day I did talk to him again. He came in as awkward as before.

“Hi,” I said this time. “Sorry about yesterday I…”

“You were upset.” He said simply. “I understand.”

I nodded and we sat on our respective couches in silence. This time my doctor did not cut in. She let me take the lead. It was difficult to think of anything to say all my questions had centered around why he had given me up and why he was here now. I knew the answer to those question now and I did not like them.
“How are you?” he asked and I shrugged.

“Okay.” I answered. That was close to the truth I was just okay. I wasn’t thinking of killing myself, not right then at least, but I wasn’t doing ‘good’, not exactly. I crossed my arms across my chest.

“Why did you come here?” I asked. It was a fair question.

He hesitated a bit before answering. He looked away and fidgeted with his fingers. “I am not sure, I wanted to see if you were alright. I wanted to see if you needed anything from me.”

“What happens now?” I asked.

“That is up to you.” He said. “When you are ready you can either stay with Father or come with me.”

My heart froze in my chest. It felt like being abandoned. I did not want to go with Sherlock but I was unsure of staying with my Father. I was unsure if he even wanted me. I thought of how he held my hand and talked to me. He surely cared about me, where was he now?

“Where is Father?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock said. “I don’t need to tell you what he is like.” There was a hard bitterness to his voice. It was not directed at me.

I looked down. I knew what he meant. He had the same father, he might have went through the same thing. I didn’t know what to say, I was scared, I felt like I was losing control of my whole life. I had felt that for a while but now the world felt like it was opening up beneath me. Tears started to well up in my eyes as I tried to process everything. I wiped them away but they just kept coming.

I sobbed quietly. Sherlock did not move, he froze, thinking back I think he was scared. He just went rigid. “I am so sorry.” He said.

It didn’t make it better. My doctor didn’t say anything, she let me cry in silence for a little bit. Eventually it stopped, I wiped my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I said, my voice still sounded gravelly.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Sherlock said. “I know this is hard on you and I wish this had happened some other way.”

“Me too.” I said. “Why did everybody lie to me?”

Sherlock sighed. “Apparently father and your mother thought that I wouldn’t make a good father. They may have been right. At the time I was using and was not intending to stop. I was also selfish in many other ways. I would not have let you be raised by him though.” He put emphasis on that him so I knew he was angry. I think he was trying not to show it but it came through anyway. He looked at the doctor. “I am sorry, but it is true, I would not have allowed it. He was a terrible father I wouldn’t put my child through the same thing I went through.”

“I miss Mycroft.” I said partially to change the subject and partially because the subject made me think of him. He was the one who really cared about me. People used to always think he was my father and I let them. Father was never there and he was so old, it was a little embarrassing.

“Yes, I had heard you two were close.” Sherlock said.

“Did he talk about me?” I asked.

“Yes, sometimes.” He said. He paused and looked at his hands. “I will admit that I don’t remember much of what he told me. I didn’t think that we would ever meet. I am not the best with children.”

“I’m not a child.” I protested.

Sherlock stumbled, “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to treat me like a child.” I repeated. This was more true than my first statement. I knew that I was technically still a child. But I was nearly thirteen, I no longer believed in Father Christmas for God’s sake. I hadn’t believed in years. I was old enough and mature enough for people to treat me like an adult.

“Sorry, I’ll remember that.” He said and I relaxed.

“You have to tell me what’s going on.” I demanded. “I can take it.”

“Fair enough.” Sherlock said. “I had not wanted to upset you but keeping the truth from you may upset you more. Your mother contacted me and told me the truth about your parentage as well as the fact that you were in hospital for attempting suicide. I came to England and confronted Father about it. He admitted that he had been neglecting you and he gave me the choice of taking over. After much…debate…it was decided that it was unfair to you and that you should decide.”

I sat in silence and absorbed this information. It was a lot and I didn’t know what to do with it all. I was angry. Angry at being lied to and to be given an impossible choice, scared, scared about what my choices would mean and what I would lose when I did decide. I was also sad. Father was ready to give me up, he didn’t really want me anymore. He was ready to ‘give’ me to Sherlock. He didn’t even care enough to come and tell me himself. It hurt, a lot. I was very hurt. No one seemed to really want me. I didn’t think Sherlock wanted me, I think he just didn’t want father to have me. I didn’t think it mattered where I went, either place I would be unwanted and miserable.

“Okay.” Is what I said out loud. “Okay.”

“Do you have any other questions?” Sherlock asked.

I had about a million. The first one being ‘how dare you make me decide?’ But I decided not to ask. Mostly because I was scared to, I was not good at showing anger, I never was. I was always the type of person that would cry if I got too angry. It made things awful at school. I was trying not to cry again, so I just looked at the ground and shrugged.

“Do you want to take a break?” My doctor asked and I nodded. She led me out of the room and then went back in to talk to Sherlock. I briefly wondered what they were talking about and then I decided that I didn’t care. I lay back down in my room and tried to think about nothing.

I had only been there about twenty minutes when I heard a knock on the doorframe. The doors were open during the daytime. I sat up and I saw Zoey standing there. She was not allowed to come into my room. We were not allowed in each others rooms. I am not sure why.

“Hey.” She said. “You look like your having a tough day.”

“Yeah.” I said.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“No.” I answered.

“Fair enough, do you want to talk about something else?” she asked.

“Yes.” I answered eagerly.

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about video games. She was also a fan of the lego games. I was the only one into Minecraft. She said she tried it once but found it boring. I tried to explain it to her, telling her about all the stuff you could make and told her about the house I made that took me two months to build and all the mining I had to do and stuff and she just laughed. It was nice to talk about normal stuff for a change and not feel like a freak for being in a mental ward.

“So how long are you here for?” She asked me. “They said long as my medications stay stable I could be going home next week.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I said. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
“That’s weird, usually they start talking about it right away. You’re not supposed to stay here forever.”

I grunted in response. I had not thought about it much. I didn’t know where I would be going after here. It was not that I particularly fond of being here but it was nicer than the alternative. I hoped they wouldn’t send me back to school. I would just end up trying to kill myself all over again. Then I would end up back here or worse.

“Don’t want to talk about that either?” she asked. I shook my head.

“That’s fine. I get it, it’s kind of nice in here. Can’t stay forever though.” She commented.

“Yeah I know.” I said. “Zoey can I ask you a question?” I asked both changing the subject and getting at a subject I had wanted to broach since I had met her.

“How did… how did you know you wanted to be a girl?” I asked. I knew it was a sensitive subject.

“I am a girl.” She replied fiercely.

“I…I’m sorry.” I made a mistake, she was mad at me. But instead of leaving she sighed.

“I’ve KNOWN I was a girl since I was four. That’s the earliest time I remember thinking about it anyway. In a way I think I always knew I just didn’t know the words for it at the time.”

“Yeah but how did you KNOW?” I asked again, hoping she would understand my question.

“I don’t know I just knew. That’s how it works you just know, how did you know you were a boy?” she asked testily.

My mouth opened and closed and my face turned red my eyes filled with tears.

Her eyes widened as she realized what I was actually asked. “Ohhh.” She said, “You’re wondering if you’re a girl.” She whispered quietly.

I nodded my head briefly. It was a new fear I had, just another reason for someone to hate me.

“Well, that’s easy. Do you ever wish you were a girl?” she asked.

I thought about it, no one had ever asked me that before. As I thought, I thought that I didn’t want to be a girl, I was afraid I was a girl. I didn’t fit in with the boys at school. I didn’t like playing sports, or punching, or girls. I liked quiet things, girly things like art and poetry and pop songs. I wished I was a better boy than what I was.
I shook my head.

“See, then you’re not a girl.” She said satisfied.

I smiled. “Thanks.” I said, “I was worried.”

“What, worried you be like me?” she asked. I tried to protest, thinking I had offended her again but when I looked at her she was smiling. She gently punched me on the arm and then pulled me into a hug.

“You’re alright.” She said. I laughed. It felt good in her arms, I could have stayed there forever but I was afraid she would think I was weird so I pulled away.

We talked about normal stuff after that. Movies and books and stuff like that. She was really smart. Both of us were reading way above our grade level. So we had that in common. I liked more fantasy stuff and she was more into history though. It was really cool. I had not had a friend in a long time.

The next day I went to face Sherlock again. I was more mentally prepared this time. I still had things I needed to know. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry this time. I hoped I would keep that promise.

He was as stiff and awkward as ever. I was starting to think that was just the way he was. I wondered if I looked awkward too. We did not look alike, I looked like my mom. She was Cambodian, her parents were refugees from the genocide. So I looked Cambodian. Nobody knew I was half white.

I sat down and looked at him. He looked at me and smiled. I did not smile, I was not in a smiling mood.

“How long have you been sober?” I asked.

“A little over a year.” He answered quickly.

“I thought it was longer than that” I said. I had remembered Mycroft talking about it three years ago.

“I relapsed a little over a year. Once, I have been doing well since.”

I snorted. I had heard that before from my mother. Many, many times. Although she had never managed to be sober for a year though. I still didn’t feel comfortable trusting him. I sat lower in the chair and thought.

“How did you know my mom?” I asked.

“I went to one of her performances and I saw her after the show. We started spending time together after that. Any time her shows came to London we would get together. We were never friends but we were acquaintances.”

I sighed, I don’t know what I expected but I had hoped my parents were more than just acquaintances. I had hoped that they were in love at least for a little while. It was disappointing to say the least but I had grown up knowing my parents did not love each other, it was nothing new for me.

I squirmed in my seat. “Sherlock?” I asked, “Does father not want me anymore?”

Sherlock looked at me and he hesitated, by his sharp intake of breath I knew the answer to my question. I sunk lower in my seat, making myself almost completely vertical. I stared at the ceiling and willed my tears not to come.

“I am sorry.” Sherlock said. “I want you to know that it is not you, it’s him. He is a terrible father, he can’t give you what you need.”

I rubbed my eyes, it was easier to stop the tears this time, I was prepared for this, mostly. I had known almost my whole life that I was an accident and that he didn’t actually want me. This came as no surprise. Hearing it still hurt though.

“I do not know if I can do better. I have never thought of myself as being able to be a good father, but I will try.” Sherlock said.

I nodded. It seemed like my future was set, I wasn’t going to go with someone who didn’t want me. Sherlock was my only other choice. I was going to be going with the black sheep of the family, I felt like a black sheep myself, an outcast. I had been feeling that more and more lately, it is a sinking feeling but there is some relief. Some relief that you have hit rock bottom and can’t sink any more, you are so exhausted from trying that it feels amazing to not have to try any harder. I was being sent away, that was the worst that could happen and it had happened. I couldn’t fear it any longer.

I sat up. “Okay.” I said, feeling a little stronger.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “That’s alright with you?”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, “I get it.”

We talked more that day. I had Sherlock tell me about himself. Some stuff I already knew. He worked as a freelance detective for the NYPD, he lived with his best friend Joan. I perked up at that. I had heard of her, Mycroft dated her for a little while, she was Asian too. It was sometimes nice not to be the only non-white person. I don’t think many people took that into account but since I didn’t have contact with my mom’s side of the family all of my family has always been white. They never said anything about it but I never knew if it affected how they felt about me. I never felt like I fit in anyway, I often wondered if I would if I was white.

I asked questions about her, I was actually eager to meet her. If for no other reason than she was one of the last people to see Mycroft alive and to care for him. Sherlock said that she was brilliant and nice, I expected no different from one of Mycroft’s girlfriends, at least the ones I approved of.

I didn’t tell Sherlock much about myself. I did tell him that I liked to draw though although I hadn’t done so in a while. I stopped doing a lot of things in the past few months, I stopped reading, drawing, playing minecraft. My heart just wasn’t in it and they stopped being fun. I mostly told him surface stuff, my likes, dislikes that sort of thing. It was a much easier conversation than before. We ended the session well, he promised to come back and I believed him.

I shared about it in group later and the other people were encouraging. “Sounds like your grandfather was a real jackass.” Zoey commented.

Other people murmured in agreement and I was forced to not my head in agreement. It was weird to hear people talk about him like that. Most people were afraid of him or made excuses for him or something like that. I had heard that from my teachers a lot of the time. “Oh, you’re father says he loves you but he cannot make it today.” When I knew damn well that he had his secretary send them a terse email stating he would be out of the country or something. If he even bothered to say he wasn’t coming at all. I got used to expecting him not to be there. I said as much in group. I also mentioned how surprised I was that Sherlock was coming everyday even when I didn’t see him.

“Sounds like he actually gives a shit.” Zoey said. “I know it’s not my place but you should give him a chance, it sounds like he’s really trying and it sounds like the other guy sucks.”

“I know, but it’s hard, I’ve spent my whole life wanting his approval, wanting him to love me and now I know it will never happen. It just sucks.” I said.

“Some people just aren’t capable of love.” Zoey said. She reached over and grabbed my hand. I squeezed it tight and then let go.

“Yeah.” I said, “Maybe.” I wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t something wrong with me but it did make me feel better.

It made me feel a lot better. Zoey gave me a hug after group. “You’ve been having a hard time, I think you needed that.”

“I did.” I said. Zoey was more touchy than I was used to, I didn’t know if it meant something. I wasn’t sure if she had a crush on me or not. I hadn’t told her I was gay, barely anybody knew. Well the other kids at school knew but I hadn’t wanted them too. After the last time I told someone, he spread it around to everyone and stopped being my friend. I didn’t want that to happen again. I doubted that she would do that, but I still was unsure. Still I liked hugs, I hadn’t been hugged since Mycroft died and I missed them. At school it was embarrassing to like things like that, but here I felt like I could. Everyone was here for their own reasons and we couldn’t really judge each other.

Zoey showed me her favorite webcomics that day. Most of them were ‘slice of life’ comics, there were a few fantasy ones and one sci-fi, but there were a few trans centered ones. She said she found them encouraging, that she was not alone. I found them very informative, they answered a lot of questions I wasn’t comfortable asking her and showed me where I made mistakes. I really liked Zoey and I didn’t want to make her feel bad. I read them and thought about her. We even shared our snapchat and instagram accounts. I was nervous at first because I had stopped using those for a while. The boys at school had taken to sending me threatening messages on there and I was scared to look at them.

I did have a few things since I had left school. Threatening messages, messages saying that “they hoped I died”, Zoey saw them and she went through and deleted them for me. She said she was sorry and that she knew what I was going through. She said there was nothing new in the past week so I could only hope that they had forgotten about me and that I would never have to see them again. She promised to send me positive messages everyday, and she did.

I kept meeting with Sherlock, he was now coming several times a day. He would come for an official family session and for the two visitation times they had throughout the day. It was getting easier to talk to him. We kept it to light conversation mostly, just getting to know you stuff. I let him do most of the talking, I still wasn’t feeling up to talking much. I introduced him to Zoey one day, I was nervous, I thought that he might disapprove of her being trans but he didn’t say anything about it. I don’t know if he even noticed but I was not going to tell him, I knew not to do that now. Someone had outed me without my permission and I knew how much that sucked, I wasn’t going to do that to her.

No one mentioned going home for the next few weeks. Zoey did end up going home the next week like she said she would but she kept her promise and messaged me everyday. We would sometimes spend hours chatting online. I was glad, I was nervous that I would never hear from her again, but I did. It was good to have a friend again.

Finally, after I had been there about a month, during a family session my Doctor had started off by saying. “Alright, Graham has been doing well here, I think it’s time to talk about discharge. Graham, do you have anything you want to say about that?” she asked.

My heart pounded, I had known this day would come but I had been putting it off, this was when changes would happen, I feared the changes. I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I just wanted to say I don’t want to go back to school. Well, not Padworth’s anyway, I can’t go back there.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Absolutely not, you will never have to go back there again.”
I relaxed back into my chair. That had honestly been my biggest concern. “I was just wondering if you had made a decision.” Sherlock said, “About who you had wanted to be with?”

“Yes.” I said, my feelings of loyalty to my Father had diminished over the past month especially as Sherlock had been there everyday and he had not. I had asked to get in contact with him a few times, I had some days where I had felt guilty or overwhelmed and I had wanted to talk to him, but he was always unavailable. I realized that nothing would ever change with him. “I want to go with you.” I said.

Sherlock nodded stiffly. “Alright, I can set up a place in London for us, it will take some time but…”

I cut him off, “No, I want to go to America with you.” I said. I had been thinking about it and America sounded great. It would be as far away as I could get from my bullies. It was also the last place that Mycroft was and as morbid as it was, I wanted to see where he died. He had promised to take me to America and I wanted to go.

“Oh!” Sherlock said in obvious surprise. “I thought that you would want to stay here, but yes of course, I can arrange something for you to come to America.”

I nodded. Zoey was the only thing I had keeping me in London, but I didn’t know if I would even see her again. Besides I had talked to her and she agreed that America sounded cool. Besides my birthday was on July fourth and there would be fireworks. I had liked fireworks. It just sounded great to get as far away from here as possible.

“When would this be happening?” Sherlock asked. I could tell he was nervous because of the way he was twisting his fingers, I was beginning to learn a lot of his habits. He seemed often nervous, but he could have just been nervous around me.

“Well that will be up to you two.” My doctor said, “But I was thinking as early as next week.”

Sherlock nodded and looked at me. I nodded as well. So things were set. In one week’s time I was going to be going to America.

I was nervous, but also excited. I had never been to America before. I had traveled out of the country with Mycroft before, but that was on vacation for a few weeks. I had never really lived outside of England. I asked about school but Sherlock said we would figure that out when we got there. He did mention that since the school year was almost over I would just be getting private tutoring over the summer to catch up on what I missed and I could start fresh in September. This was relieving, I did not want to go back to school right away. The past month here had been a nice break. Plus it meant that I wouldn’t be going to camp this summer, which was nice. It wasn’t that I hated camp, it was just that they mostly focused on sports and outdoors activities and I was more of an indoor type of person. I didn’t really like hiking and swimming and football and that was basically all they did.

I asked about Sherlock’s work and he said he wasn’t going to be taking on any new cases for now. He said that Joan could handle it, plus he was mostly a volunteer anyway so he could just stop for a while. It was not like he needed the money. Father had made sure that we were all obscenely wealthy.

The only thing I was nervous about was that I would now be living with Sherlock. We had only spent time together in the hospital and now I would be living with him 24/7 in a house in New York City. It was scary, what if he decided he did not like me? What if he had all these weird rules I had to follow? What if he turned out to be mean and was only being nice to me because I was in the hospital? These thoughts turned in my head and kept me up at night, which was nothing new really, I had not been sleeping anyway and none of the medication didn’t seem to help that.

I talked with Zoey and she said she would support me. I talked with the group and they seemed to think that things would be okay. Everyone was very supportive about it and not once did they call my fears ‘stupid’.

When the day finally came, I was jittery, excited and scared. I couldn’t eat or sleep that day, although I did try. No one bothered me about it though, they seemed to understand. This was a big deal for me. I said goodbye to the other people there. No one was as close to me as Zoey was, and no one had been there as long as I had been. I said goodbye to my doctors and Sherlock met me at the doors.

“Are you ready?” He asked and I nodded. With that we walked together out of the hospital and off into my new life.