Sequel to "We Are Different"

You may need to read it first before this, but I'll write a [little summary]

At the age of seven, Sherlock realises he had a brother who died before he could have been born. His name was going to be John. One day, his parents bring a blonde and short kid about his age, named John. After a time of ignoring him, little Sherlock and John become friends and brothers, being John Sherlock's closest friend and lab-partner.
Now in this sequel they will realise their childhood together was the best thing they could have ever experienced. But adulthood, decisions and a war will separate them for what they believe, will be forever.

[Not an english speaker, not brit-picked, unbetad. Any mistake is mine, and sorry for them.]

"Nothing happens to me."

The young woman looked down at her notebook, and then him. A long and unconfortable silence fell over the room. The only sound that could be heard were the sounds of the city below them. Central London as loudly as he used to remember. There was more and more cars and more and more noises. The smell was different too. With the fear of a possible war, and after the bombings attack in the underground, he felt how the city was blinded with police men and high security. Certainly the British Government was working very hard to keep order in his people. He must be working very hard.

Before she could say a word, he speaks. His voice stills firm and determinated. He's a man who came back from a war, after saving lives. But no one could save him from what happened to him. His shoulder is hurting him right now. The chair was certainly unconfortable, he imagined a therapy lying on a leather couch like the one you see on films, but it doesn't exist. You don't know what is therapy until you experienced it. Like war.

"They keep telling me I had a family waiting for me after-"

He can't end the sentence and that makes him feel a coward and a weak man. He knows his therapist won't say anything because what he says it's part of her professional secret. She won't tell anyone about his tears, about his silences, about his weakness and his nightmares. But the feel remains to his chest, and he couldn't help but let a heavy tear fall over his cheek.

She asks him to talk about his family. About those people he haven't seen in years and probably they all had forgot everything about him.
His face remains calm even when he wants to cry, and he swallow his tears. A few deep breaths and he closes his eyes to remeber them. He feels ready to talk. John is ready to remember.

"Every time I closed my eyes to remember them, the first thing that comes to my mind is the green grass. She always tried to keep it cut and neat, no matter the season. Her red roses were her biggest devotion... she taught me how to plant it, cut it and keep it clean and safe-

He stops for a moment, and contains a little laugh before continuing with his speech. His therapist starts writing something on her notebook and looks at him smiling. He's making a progress.

"-There was also an old greenhouse. It had long and wide glass walls, but it had strange stains. I could see a large counter and a table inside, with things on them I couldn't tell until I was there. It was a sunny afternoon and the petri dishes over the table were uncountable. There was so many, even more than in Med School."

His therapist keeps writing but she stops when he stops talking. "She's your mother, John?." His gaze falls on the window and he can see a yellow and little bird outside. Quite strange in London. He can't help but keep his gaze on the window and remember her. She used to keep an eye on him like a real mother, even when she wasn't his mother. But she was the only one he could remember. Elizabeth gave him a new life, not only a home and a plate with food everyday. Not only clothes, toys, books, and his first stethoscope, the one he keeps using in his job.

"She was. She died a little bit before I left to Afghanistan. Elizabeth."

Another awkward and long silence fall over the room. He's memorizing all the different patterns of the wall opposite him. It has a light blue wallpaper with yellow flowers. Blue. Her favourite colour. The same colour she used in his old room, the last room in the hallway.

Ella is waiting for him to continue, she doesn't want to push him. He's making great advances, and she doesn't want him to be back again at that time when he couldn't talk a word about his family. The war had left him not only physical scars, and a psychosomatic limp for a trauma. The war and his last moments with his family had left on him important wounds on him.

"Mum- Elizabeth was an angel. She always supported me on everything I wanted to do. When I told them I wanted to attend St. Barth's instead of Cambridge, Richard almost killed me but she... she supported me."

"Who's Richard?."

John hesitates for a moment, but there's no way back on his speech. He can't stop denying them. He needs to talk about them.

"My father."

Far away of letting his continue alone, Ella asks him about his brothers. She knows he has brothers. She knows John is hidding something behind them. It took him several appointments with her to talk about his family, and get to the point. Whatever happened to John before leave to Afghanistan, had happened with his brothers.

John's left hand is shaking, but he hid it placing it beside his left leg. His right hand is holding his stick. He hates his stick. It makes him feel an invalid and useless man. But it reminds him his father. In his last years, Richard had to use one since arthritis was affecting him more and more. He was there to help him, but there wasn't anything he could do to make him feel better. It was his time. And he died just after his departure.

"I don't have brothers."

THANKS FOR READING. I'D LOVE TO READ YOUR OPINIONS :) BYEEE.