tushanshu_logs | Closed Log for Not-221B

Entry tags:

Closed Log for Not-221B

Characters: Conan Edogawa and the residents of Not 221B
Date: Feb 16
Location: Not 221B
Situation: A lot of bad memories have been getting stirred up recently. That has consequences.
Warnings/Rating:

It was late, well into the early hours of the morning. A time when everyone should be asleep.

Conan had been asleep. Up until the moment he woke suddenly from a nightmare, nearly jumping out of bed as he screamed for Ran. For several horror-filled moments he remains trapped in the nightmare of them finding him. Them knowing.

And then, slowly, he recognizes his room. The battered copy of Holmes on the table, the blankets acquired after the hurricane. He slumps as his panic finally begins to fade.

"So.. it was just a dream after all."

Somehow, he expected he wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon.

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It may be late but that does not mean that everyone in the house is asleep. Sherlock tends to keep weird hours and likes to work on experiments throughout the night and just so happened to be up looking through his microscope at the time of the disturbance. The moment the scream starts he quickly peels himself away from his research and moves downstairs towards the source of the noise.

He doesn't bother to knock and merely pushes Conan's door open, standing in the doorway for a moment and looking the room over. No one appears to have broken in which means that Conan must have had a nightmare-or night terror is probably a more apt description for it. What ever it was, it isn't anything that Sherlock Holmes is equipped to handle. Where was John? Sleeping? However, he can't really just leave the kid on his own-he clearly won't be going back to sleep for awhile and he happens to know the dangers of being left alone with only your own thoughts to comfort you.

"Get up." He instructs, his voice isn't stern but it's obvious he has no idea what to do in this situation.

Conan gropes for his glasses and slides them on in an automatic gesture. He didn't actually need them, after all. But he wasn't sure if Sherlock knew that.

"Why?"

This is so far out of his area he doesn't have the first idea how to handle this. Had John just slept through all of that? No matter. H can do this. He can take care of a child. How hard could it be?

"Because you're hardly going to go back to sleep after that, are you?" Is his response, he'll wait to move until he sees Conan make an effort to get out of bed. "I'm not going to let you sit in the dark and torment yourself with your own thoughts."

Conan sighs and slides out of bed. He didn't really have an argument against this at the moment. Mostly because Sherlock had pinpointed exactly what he had planned on doing.

Once Conan makes a move to leave the room as he'd been instructed, Sherlock turns his back on the kid and heads straight for the kitchen. He moves a few things around and fills the kettle with water. He isn't going to make Conan talk about it-he's not the right person to do that even if he wanted to. He will however, insist he drink a cup of tea and sit in a well lit room while he comes to terms with the nightmare.

With the kettle on he busies himself with getting three cups down from the cupboard and pulling out the box of tea.

"Green or black?"

A few minutes later Conan comes into the room and slides into one of the chairs. He's delayed long enough to find his slippers and pull on a heavy sweater over his pajamas.

"Green, thanks."

Sherlock just nods and pulls out the green tea. He knows Conan intentionally prolonged coming out to the kitchen but the important thing is that he's not sitting in the dark anymore. He glances over at the kettle and sees that it's still not yet boiling.

"How often do you get the nightmares?" He chances asking. The frequency is important.

"That nightmare? Not often."

He suspected that recent events had something to do with receiving that particular nightmare tonight. Conan rests his arms on the table as he waits.

"Mm, that's not quite what I asked." Sherlock states. He pulls his communicator out of his pocket and debates sending a text up to John or just letting him sleep.

"Try again-How often do you get nightmares?"

"Often enough. It isn't a big deal."

Normally he could deal with it.

"No. It is a big deal." Sherlock starts though he's interrupted by kettle announcing the water has boiled. He takes it off the burner and sets it aside so the whistling won't irritate him. "You want to handle this on your own without anyone's help but you exhibit classic signs of trauma-how far do you plan to get on your case if you can't handle the triggers?"

"Classic signs of minor trauma," Conan corrects. "I'm aware of it and I can handle it. It would be more worrying if I didn't have any kind of reaction to everything I've seen."

"Minor. Yes, okay." Sherlock repeats, sounding like he doesn't believe that at all. "I forgot it was a sign of minor trauma to get completely caught up in a passed memory and completely lose touch with the world around you." He says casually before he goes back to preparing the tea, setting Conan's cup in front of him once it's been poured and then sets about preparing his own.

"I'd like for you to give me a brief description of Post traumatic stress disorder-in your own words."

He pushes his cup to the side as it steeps and frowns at Sherlock in annoyance.

"Fine. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD is a disorder that develops in some people who have experienced a shocking, frightening or dangerous event.

It is normal for humans to experience stress during a traumatic situation.
In dangerous situations, most people will undergo a number of reactions in the body as part of the "fight-or-flight" response. These are designed to help a person avoid danger. It often takes some time to recover from such a situation, but most people will recover from the initial symptoms naturally. Those who continue to experience problems may be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Symptoms usually begin early, within 3 months of the traumatic incident, but can also begin years afterward. Symptoms must last more than a month and be severe enough to interfere with relationships or work to be considered PTSD. Some people recover within 6 months, while others have symptoms that last much longer. In some people, the condition becomes chronic.

For diagnosis, a person must experience at least one re-experiencing symptom, at least one avoidance symptom, at least two reactivity symptoms and least two cognition and mood symptoms for a period of at least one month."

Sherlock starts to pace the length of the kitchen, hands tucked behind his back as he listened to the definition-the kid's done his homework, he'll give him that.

It's funny that Conan is so sure that he doesn't have it but Sherlock could probably prove that he, at the very least, has a mild case of it. Once he stops Sherlock waits to see if he has anything else to say-a denial perhaps.

"And exactly how long has it been since the incident? You admitted to me that the nightmares are fairly frequent and you've lived under my roof about three months now-what was that part about it lasting more than a month?

"And let's not forget that you avoid the subject as much as you possibly can-you don't like talking about it-you think it put you and others in more danger. But how can that be true here? Look around you, are you in your world? Would they have your resources? No. But you're still scared. Mmm, Sounds like Trauma to me."

"Or it could be because my situation has not resolved. In a case where one of them could potentially show up at any moment, I think keeping it secret is a perfect rational response. Not to mention that there are many people who would not believe me even if I attempted to speak about it."

Conan watches Sherlock as he paces.

He stops by his cup of tea and takes a sip as Conan defends himself against the observations. He sets the cup back down and takes a breath. Has there been some form of miscommunication between the two of them? Probably.

"I think you're misinterpreting my point. I'm not telling you to seek help or therapy regarding your condition-I fully understand the concern involved there. My point is simply this-If you think your orgnisation is just as dangerous here as it is in your world then you are not mentally capable of handling this on your own." In fact, Sherlock is starting to doubt whether the kid can handle it on his own at all.

"I already know your secret and John and I are more than willing to help keep you safe. However, we can't do that unless we know what to look out for, which you seem extremely unwilling to discuss. Is that because it's a reasonable precaution or is that simply because you're afraid? Don't answer automatically-I want you to really think about it."

He stops and considers the question seriously.

"The line may be blurred."

If nothing else, he would be honest with himself here.

He sighs again and just looks the kid over. It was progress, at the very least.

"So then will you please tell me what to look for? If not for your safety, but the safety of everyone on the back of this godforsaken turtle."

He is silent for a long moment as he weighs what to say.

"Names won't do you much good. They all go by code names based on alcohols, and often dress in black. But not all of them and not all the time. Worse, there are some who are masters of disguise. They could look like nearly anyone."

It's not much to go on, and is frightfully unhelpful. He's starting to realize just how in the dark Conan really is in his own case.

"Fugazi." He offers, sure the word would confuse the boy. "It's the code word John and I have assigned to your situation."

"Why did you assign a code word?"

And was that Italian? Why?

"Because John and I don't want to be blindsided by it if someone from your orgnisation does turn up. We both think it would be prudent to have some way to communicate the threat immediately." Sherlock explains, grabbing his cup of tea again to take a sip.

"And you have to admit, it's far better than announcing you recognise them and eliminates the chance of being discovered should your phone fall into the wrong hands, right?

"So, if you notice anything, just communicate that one word and we'll know and decide how to proceed from there.."

"If that does happen, what will you do?"

Trust was not something that came easily to him.

"I don't know. That depends on the situation, doesn't it?"

"Try to hypothesize."

"Mm... big mistake to theorize without data. Something I'm severely lacking."

Conan never realized until now how annoying it was to run into this attitude in someone else.

"Not going to elaborate?" Sherlock prompts at the look on Conan's face.

"Okay, let's do it this way-If you only knew what I do, how would you expect to handle something like this?"

"I would stay out of it until I had gathered more data."

At least that was what he would have liked to say. In truth, he probably would have jumped right into the middle of things.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Sherlock fixes him with a look. This is the kid that had gotten himself kidnapped by some counterfeit ring and Sherlock highly doubts he was even aware of the ring before the he'd been kidnapped.

"It was worth a try."

He'd been fully aware of the ring. He'd been eavesdropping on them at the time, after all.

"You've lived under my roof for months now, I know you little better than to think you're going to give any kind of forethought to your actions if you perceive the necessary response to be immediate."

He clears his throat a bit and takes another sip of tea.

"Not that I'm not.. much the same. It's a just I've realised how distressing it is on someone else."

"Of course not. If immediate response is needed, the situation becomes entirely different."

Conan sighs and stares into his cup.

"I already agreed to let you track me. I'm not sure what else it is you want from me."

Penny's thoughts shift to something foreign, something he's never dreamed of. He snaps awake a moment later, pausing and realizing after a beat that it wasn't his dream at all, but the troubled thoughts of another one of his damn roommates interfering with his sleep. He knows who this one belongs to, if only because he already knows what John's nightmares look like and he's pretty sure Sherlock's still awake. He moves towards Conan's room but hears Sherlock's voice and is more than happy to leave it to the detective to deal with. He returns to his room and goes back to sleep to talk to the kid later.

Come morning, Penny meanders to the kitchen, not surprised to find Conan there. He's pretty sure the kid hasn't slept since waking up screaming. He speaks as he's fetching some bread to work on making toast, not really looking at Conan to keep things more casual.

"I told you to get that shit taken care of."

Conan was more than a little grumpy at the moment.

"I don't see why you're concerned."

"Because none of us can sleep if you're screaming all damn night," he replies lightly. Penny's less angry or accusative than normal, mostly because he's actually worried about the kid. He takes his toast out, grabs some weird local fruit jam, fetches a knife, and plops down at the table across from Conan.

"You okay?" A rare sincere question.

"It was hardly all night." It was one scream. One nightmare. He really didn't see why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.

"...I'm fine." He says it, but he doesn't really believe that Penny will accept it. Sherlock hadn't.

"You're right. Bad question." It was dumb to ask if Conan was okay when it was obvious that he wasn't. The default answer was hardly unexpected when it came and Penny shifted his focus. "Is this going to continue to be a problem or you good now?"

There is a slight pause before Conan answers. This wasn't his first nightmare and it wouldn't be at last, but usually he could keep his reaction from waking anyone else up. He'd just have to be more careful.

"I'll be fine. Sorry for waking you up."

"Not what I asked."

Penny finished spreading jam all over his toast and took a bite, leaning back in the chair and acting as nonchalant as usual. He finally looked at Conan directly, though intentionally not too serious with the toast half hanging from his mouth.

Conan slumps back in his chair and scowls.

"I can't tell the future, you know. But I shouldn't have another nightmare like that for a while."

"If you need help, we can find someone. I'm sure they have shrinks around here, or hypnotists or a dominatrix. I don't know what you're into." He has to temper his kindness with mocking or run the risk of appearing too soft and caring. Penny stands from the table, picking up his breakfast to take with him when he goes.

"I have a spell if you need help sleeping. Assuming I can find the ingredients."

"I don't need any help like that. I'll be fine."

He shifts in his chair rather grumpily.

"I hope you're right." Penny replies as he walks out of the room, finally leaving Conan to some peace. He'll trust the kid to be over it for now. If it becomes an issue again later, maybe he can force something then. But it's not his place, nor his job, to make sure the kid's taken care of.

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Closed Log for Not-221B

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