The Watsons' Care

Chapter 19

The psychologist followed the doctor into Mycroft's room with a slight sigh. The boy looked younger than he'd thought. Dr. Williams closed his eyes for just a second, collecting himself, preparing himself for the difficult conversation he was about to have.

"Mycroft" the doctor said quietly. The boy opened his eyes. "Just here to check you're still okay?"

"I'm fine." Mycroft sighed loudly.

"Good. This is your psychologist, Dr Williams. He's going to decide if you're okay to be released at the end of the 72 hours. Talk to him." Without waiting for Mycroft to answer, the doctor left, leaving Williams and Mycroft alone. Mycroft tensed up slightly. He never felt comfortable being alone with men. Williams was tall and slim, with dark curly hair and eyes the colour of coconuts.

"Is it okay if I sit down?" Mycroft frowned. Why was he asking? It wasn't like Mycroft could say no. He nodded after a moment, and Williams sat down. "It's my job to make sure you don't pose a threat to yourself or others, so we can let you go home safely tomorrow, if you're all better physically."

"Okay." Mycroft fiddled with his sheets, not looking at the man.

"Did you want to die?"

"Yes." Mycroft said without emotion.

"Why is that?"

"Didn't you even read my records?" Mycroft snarled.

"I did. But I want to know why you wanted to die, not why you were taken into care."

"It's the same thing."

"No, it's not. If it was that, you would have done this before."

"How do you know? I'm only twelve, it might not have occurred to me before." Mycroft was slightly curious despite himself. He looked up at the doctor.

"You're telling me it hasn't occurred to you before?" Williams looked sceptical and Mycroft looked away again.

"I... I've thought about it."

"That's quite understandable. What changed?"

"I..." Mycroft debated it, decided to tell, and then couldn't find the words.

"Take your time." Williams encouraged.

"I just... The only reason I didn't... before... was Sherlock, my little brother. He needed me."

"And he doesn't need you anymore?"

"Of course not."

"You seem very certain of that."

"Of course he doesn't need me. He's not in danger anymore."

"Why should that mean he doesn't need you?"

"Because...." Mycroft tailed off, unable to come up with an answer.

"He needs you. Maybe it's not in the same way as he used to need you. But he needs someone to help him navigate foster care, someone to help with homework, someone to talk to. He needs someone stable and reliable. That can be you. It should be you."

"He'll never trust me again." Tears leaked from Mycroft's eyes. He had blown it.

"Mycroft, he's a child. He will accept whatever you tell him. Just say that you were very sad, and that you didn't know what to do. Tell him you made a mistake, and he'll forgive you and move on. It won't be a big deal in a couple of weeks."

"I guess."

"Are you going to try and kill yourself again?" Williams looked very serious. Mycroft gulped.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes. I won't do it again."

"Okay. I'm going to recommend that you can be discharged from psych. Once you're physically recovered, you can go back to your foster parents. I'm also going to refer you to a psychiatrist. I want you to talk to someone long term. It's very important that you don't shut your feelings away."

"I understand." Mycroft felt very tired, and his eyes were dropping.

"You get some rest, kid. Don't do anything like this ever again. It would be such a waste. Your brother would miss you terribly. Do you understand?"

"Yes" Mycroft breathed, closing his eyes. Williams slid the door closed and stood outside for a few moments. Poor kid. He checked his watch. Still four more to see before lunch.


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