[ Sherlock nods to both the comment about the secret that couldn't be forcibly dragged out into the light and to the plush that is Jon's likeness. He takes his own chopsticks (having forced himself to learn how to use the utensils) and idly swirls the noodles in the broth. It seems both detectives like to keep their hands occupied as they fidget. ]
Yes, though I didn't call him Jonathan most of the time. It was usually Jon and Sherry between us. Only my mother and Jonathan would call me Sherry. Mycroft never did, and I don't know if my father ever did. Jonathan would also call me Sherlock, but he always sounded fonder, happier while calling me Sherry.
[ Another, smaller mystery of Sherlock brought into the light. ]
I met Jonathan after my father unexpectedly died. I was six. My mother was devastated by my father's death. It broke her, and I saw and experienced it. Mycroft was sixteen at the time, attending school. He helped arrange matters concerning my father's funeral and household needs but then continued schooling so he could better support the family. Or maybe he had already started working for the government and used school as a cover.
So, I was alone with my mother most of the time. Jonathan kept me company, protected me in ways I wouldn't realize until I was an adult.
[ Sherlock looks down at his ramen and lets the silence drag on for a long moment. He doesn't know how to say this. He's never said this to anyone else before. ]
It wasn't until I was ten that I fully understood that no one would ever hear or see Jonathan. My best friend, my second brother, my constant companion only ever existed in my perception of the world, in my mind.
[Heizou listens intently, even as he slowly starts to eat his share of ramen. And as Sherlock continues in his explanation, many pieces of the puzzle Heizou's been carefully putting together over the course of their friendship make more sense. It seems he'd correctly assumed that "Sherry" was a meaningful nickname from somewhere in his childhood, since Sherlock had always had such a strong reaction whenever Heizou had called him that.
And though Sherlock is hesitant to admit the last part, Heizou has long since come to that conclusion. The way Sherlock's eyes always darted to the sides, searching for a face where no one is standing, told him as much. He's heard of people having some similar conditions before in Teyvat, seeing things or people that don't exist as a means of coping with childhood trauma. Admittedly he'd never met anyone like that before Sherlock, but the signs had seemed pretty obvious to him.]
And that's why he's so important to you. It must have been very difficult to have to part ways with him.
[Because clearly that's what's happened. There'd be no reason to keep the plush as a reminder otherwise, to refer to him in the past tense the way he does. Heizou's not sure if Sherlock is willing to talk about the circumstances leading up Jonathan's departure, and it leads him to fidget for a moment, taking an extra bit of time to slurp up some of his noodles while he considers it.]
[ Sherlock can't help but let a flicker of surprise cross his face. Heizou so readily accepts what Sherlock said. It's a bit terrifying to have that trust as he lays his story out before him. Disgust, anger, fear, those are all emotions others have thrown at him; Sherlock knows how to handle those. This is new and uncharted territory he's only experienced once before. And not to this level. ]
I last saw Jonathan two... three years ago.
[ His grey eyes squeeze shut, and when Sherlock opens them again, there's a slight shimmer. Three years now. Jon has been gone for three years. How has it been so long already? ]
I grew up beside him. He was my only friend, and given that I didn't get along with others, the only one I felt I needed. I didn't know how exactly Jonathan protected me until I reached my majority at twenty-one. There was some money set aside, and as soon as I got access to it, I sailed to Cordona with Jonathan. I wanted to visit my mother's grave... to remember her. I was ten when she died, and I thought it had been consumption as that was what Mycroft said and what was reported in the papers.
[ Obviously that had not been the case for they would not be having this conversation if it was. ]
I didn't know then that I would find inconsistencies with my memory and the evidence I found, spurred on by a man I thought was becoming a friend. In truth, he toyed with me and wanted to break me, to become his masterpiece.
Jonathan had altered my memories of my mother and my time in Cordona. The doctor meant to help her used her more as an experiment and possibly accelerated her madness. He thought I also had what she did because of Jonathan, but Mycroft prevented him from getting close to me. My mother had her moments of lucidity and clarity. Then, she was the mother I knew and loved, the woman who taught me that truth lies in the details. That even the most chaotic miracle becomes sequential when you take a closer look.
I did not remember her episodes of lashing out verbally and violently, of someone in the shape of my mother but lacking all else. She believed my father to still be alive. If I told the truth, pain followed. If I lied, I couldn't be her Sherry, who never lied. There was no right answer. She scared me, and in her final moments, she...
[ His voice trembles. His body trembles. ]
Mother... Mother tried to drown me in our backyard pond. She thought I was a liar like the rest and that I had done something with her Sherry.
[ Sherlock had blacked out. Mycroft covered up the whole ordeal with a false narrative to protect Sherlock, like Jonathan had. The doctor took the fall, regardless of if he tried to help or harm her in the end. ]
When I remembered all that and the moments before she died, Jonathan said that I didn't need him anymore.
He left, and I was alone.
[ And yet he met someone who echoed Jon and who even had a similar name one year later... ]
[He falls quiet again as he listens, watching Sherlock carefully as the story is shared. It's a tragedy not unlike others he has witnessed before, and there are as many different ways to handle one's trauma as there are people in the world. Yet it's always quite a different sort of beast when it involves someone that Heizou knows personally, that he has a closer relationship to. It breaks his heart to think of how deep the mental and emotional wounds had to be for a protector to fully manifest in Sherlock's mind. To find reality so harsh and unkind that creating some fantasy was the best way to live on.
Heizou knows what it's like to lose trust in people. It's one of the major things that he and Sherlock have in common. Where Sherlock had his Jonathan, Heizou also tended to refer to his sense of intuition as his greatest partner, the one thing he could trust would never intentionally harm or betray him. He can only imagine what it must feel like to lose that part of himself, to lose something that felt like safety. It must have left Sherlock shaken and cold, suddenly facing the uncertain future on his own for the first time in over a decade.]
I'm so sorry, Sherlock. [He drops his gaze to his bowl of ramen, a sad, thoughtful frown upon his lips as he fidgets with his chopsticks for a moment.] I could never have guessed at just... how much you were keeping to yourself.
[It's a lot. But that's not to say that Heizou doesn't understand; he perhaps understands better than most might. He keeps his own past clutched close to his chest, after all. Not for any fear of judgment, but simply because he wouldn't consider much of his childhood happy... And surely nobody ever wants to hear about that. Not even the kindhearted Traveler back home. Right?]
...I hope you realize that you're not at fault for anything that happened. Jonathan existed to protect you until you were ready to face it all, and that even him leaving wasn't an act of abandonment. But... it must've been scary, to be so entirely on your own all of a sudden.
[Those words hardly feel comforting even to Heizou's ears, but he hopes Sherlock appreciates hearing them all the same...]
[ Taking a sip of water, Sherlock tried to compose himself, but having let the truth finally out, it is not so easily caged again. As soon as his glass touches the table again, the words quickly pour out and tumble over each other like rocks rather than liquid. A methodical attempt to tell his story veers into emotion. ]
I-I didn't want him to go. He said I did and left. I-I had to hide it all within. I was broken, alone, with no one on my side. Jon--Jonathan was gone. I grew up on a story full of lies. I couldn't trust Mycroft; I had to pull a gun on him to force him to tell the truth for once. I had a hand in my mother's death, and she tried to kill me. I knew madness was in my family, and I was touched by it in the least. I remained, to spite and despite the man who set me to breaking. All the same, I didn't know what to do with myself. If others knew my story, I would have no future at all. That much I was certain of. I wouldn't have a use to anyone, and no one would bother with me. Who would want to know or tolerate my presence if they did?
[ The answer then was no one. At least it had been for a long while. Heizou understand. Heizou knows. Their friendship was built with the realization the other knew the same troubles and trials.
With the tale of Jonathan finished, there was still one more tale to bring the mystery of the two Johns into the light. Sherlock once more tries to compose himself, giving himself a long moment to breathe, and this time he succeeds. His grey eyes still shine with unshed tears, yet the tremble has settled. Perhaps now thinking about Watson gives Sherlock a bit of strength and certainty. ]
John--Watson met me while I was testing how far bruising occurs after death. I thought I saw a ghost or had finally gone completely mad. Tears escaped me, but Watson had the grace not to mention them. He looked and sounded so much like Jonathan, simply older instead of my age. We had agreed to go halves for the flat before we had even exchanged names. Imagine my surprise when I learned he was called John in addition to his appearance and voice.
I had never met him before, but... the similarities could not be denied. Watson and I grew close during our case. And... thus--
[ He motions to the two doppleplushes. ]
--two Johns, both important to me in differing ways.
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book2thehead
no subject
Date: 2 Oct 2025 19:37 (UTC)Yes, though I didn't call him Jonathan most of the time. It was usually Jon and Sherry between us. Only my mother and Jonathan would call me Sherry. Mycroft never did, and I don't know if my father ever did. Jonathan would also call me Sherlock, but he always sounded fonder, happier while calling me Sherry.
[ Another, smaller mystery of Sherlock brought into the light. ]
I met Jonathan after my father unexpectedly died. I was six. My mother was devastated by my father's death. It broke her, and I saw and experienced it. Mycroft was sixteen at the time, attending school. He helped arrange matters concerning my father's funeral and household needs but then continued schooling so he could better support the family. Or maybe he had already started working for the government and used school as a cover.
So, I was alone with my mother most of the time. Jonathan kept me company, protected me in ways I wouldn't realize until I was an adult.
[ Sherlock looks down at his ramen and lets the silence drag on for a long moment. He doesn't know how to say this. He's never said this to anyone else before. ]
It wasn't until I was ten that I fully understood that no one would ever hear or see Jonathan. My best friend, my second brother, my constant companion only ever existed in my perception of the world, in my mind.
no subject
Date: 3 Oct 2025 23:44 (UTC)And though Sherlock is hesitant to admit the last part, Heizou has long since come to that conclusion. The way Sherlock's eyes always darted to the sides, searching for a face where no one is standing, told him as much. He's heard of people having some similar conditions before in Teyvat, seeing things or people that don't exist as a means of coping with childhood trauma. Admittedly he'd never met anyone like that before Sherlock, but the signs had seemed pretty obvious to him.]
And that's why he's so important to you. It must have been very difficult to have to part ways with him.
[Because clearly that's what's happened. There'd be no reason to keep the plush as a reminder otherwise, to refer to him in the past tense the way he does. Heizou's not sure if Sherlock is willing to talk about the circumstances leading up Jonathan's departure, and it leads him to fidget for a moment, taking an extra bit of time to slurp up some of his noodles while he considers it.]
...How long has it been since you last saw him?
cw: child abuse and references to medical malpractice
Date: 4 Oct 2025 08:50 (UTC)I last saw Jonathan two... three years ago.
[ His grey eyes squeeze shut, and when Sherlock opens them again, there's a slight shimmer. Three years now. Jon has been gone for three years. How has it been so long already? ]
I grew up beside him. He was my only friend, and given that I didn't get along with others, the only one I felt I needed. I didn't know how exactly Jonathan protected me until I reached my majority at twenty-one. There was some money set aside, and as soon as I got access to it, I sailed to Cordona with Jonathan. I wanted to visit my mother's grave... to remember her. I was ten when she died, and I thought it had been consumption as that was what Mycroft said and what was reported in the papers.
[ Obviously that had not been the case for they would not be having this conversation if it was. ]
I didn't know then that I would find inconsistencies with my memory and the evidence I found, spurred on by a man I thought was becoming a friend. In truth, he toyed with me and wanted to break me, to become his masterpiece.
Jonathan had altered my memories of my mother and my time in Cordona. The doctor meant to help her used her more as an experiment and possibly accelerated her madness. He thought I also had what she did because of Jonathan, but Mycroft prevented him from getting close to me. My mother had her moments of lucidity and clarity. Then, she was the mother I knew and loved, the woman who taught me that truth lies in the details. That even the most chaotic miracle becomes sequential when you take a closer look.
I did not remember her episodes of lashing out verbally and violently, of someone in the shape of my mother but lacking all else. She believed my father to still be alive. If I told the truth, pain followed. If I lied, I couldn't be her Sherry, who never lied. There was no right answer. She scared me, and in her final moments, she...
[ His voice trembles. His body trembles. ]
Mother... Mother tried to drown me in our backyard pond. She thought I was a liar like the rest and that I had done something with her Sherry.
[ Sherlock had blacked out. Mycroft covered up the whole ordeal with a false narrative to protect Sherlock, like Jonathan had. The doctor took the fall, regardless of if he tried to help or harm her in the end. ]
When I remembered all that and the moments before she died, Jonathan said that I didn't need him anymore.
He left, and I was alone.
[ And yet he met someone who echoed Jon and who even had a similar name one year later... ]
this poor victorian child....
Date: 11 Oct 2025 00:09 (UTC)Heizou knows what it's like to lose trust in people. It's one of the major things that he and Sherlock have in common. Where Sherlock had his Jonathan, Heizou also tended to refer to his sense of intuition as his greatest partner, the one thing he could trust would never intentionally harm or betray him. He can only imagine what it must feel like to lose that part of himself, to lose something that felt like safety. It must have left Sherlock shaken and cold, suddenly facing the uncertain future on his own for the first time in over a decade.]
I'm so sorry, Sherlock. [He drops his gaze to his bowl of ramen, a sad, thoughtful frown upon his lips as he fidgets with his chopsticks for a moment.] I could never have guessed at just... how much you were keeping to yourself.
[It's a lot. But that's not to say that Heizou doesn't understand; he perhaps understands better than most might. He keeps his own past clutched close to his chest, after all. Not for any fear of judgment, but simply because he wouldn't consider much of his childhood happy... And surely nobody ever wants to hear about that. Not even the kindhearted Traveler back home. Right?]
...I hope you realize that you're not at fault for anything that happened. Jonathan existed to protect you until you were ready to face it all, and that even him leaving wasn't an act of abandonment. But... it must've been scary, to be so entirely on your own all of a sudden.
[Those words hardly feel comforting even to Heizou's ears, but he hopes Sherlock appreciates hearing them all the same...]
He just wants to be loved
Date: 14 Oct 2025 08:13 (UTC)I-I didn't want him to go. He said I did and left. I-I had to hide it all within. I was broken, alone, with no one on my side. Jon--Jonathan was gone. I grew up on a story full of lies. I couldn't trust Mycroft; I had to pull a gun on him to force him to tell the truth for once. I had a hand in my mother's death, and she tried to kill me. I knew madness was in my family, and I was touched by it in the least. I remained, to spite and despite the man who set me to breaking. All the same, I didn't know what to do with myself. If others knew my story, I would have no future at all. That much I was certain of. I wouldn't have a use to anyone, and no one would bother with me. Who would want to know or tolerate my presence if they did?
[ The answer then was no one. At least it had been for a long while. Heizou understand. Heizou knows. Their friendship was built with the realization the other knew the same troubles and trials.
With the tale of Jonathan finished, there was still one more tale to bring the mystery of the two Johns into the light. Sherlock once more tries to compose himself, giving himself a long moment to breathe, and this time he succeeds. His grey eyes still shine with unshed tears, yet the tremble has settled. Perhaps now thinking about Watson gives Sherlock a bit of strength and certainty. ]
John--Watson met me while I was testing how far bruising occurs after death. I thought I saw a ghost or had finally gone completely mad. Tears escaped me, but Watson had the grace not to mention them. He looked and sounded so much like Jonathan, simply older instead of my age. We had agreed to go halves for the flat before we had even exchanged names. Imagine my surprise when I learned he was called John in addition to his appearance and voice.
I had never met him before, but... the similarities could not be denied. Watson and I grew close during our case. And... thus--
[ He motions to the two doppleplushes. ]
--two Johns, both important to me in differing ways.