Sherlock preferences

They find out you have a mental disorder...

This could be triggering, just a pre warning. By writing this I by no means attempt to make fun of mental illness in any way I just find it interesting to write about xxx ❤️

Also, this chapter is unrelated to any previous or future chapters. It's kind of a oneshot thing... Yeah... Ok I'll just start writing now....... Enjoy?
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Sherlock-
It started with just straightening a few things up around the flat. Moving the odd book here and there, placing Sherlock's skull at a more aesthetically pleasing angle, clearing away every teacup and glass as soon as they were finished with... But soon, it became more serious. To the point when Sherlock began to notice dramatic changes within you. John and Mary had come over for dinner one night and were amazed by how neatly the table was laid. Sherlock noticed too. And Mrs Hudson. Your fingers were bound neatly with plasters which you had told everyone you had acquired while chopping vegetables whilst trying to humour one of Sherlock's experiments. The truth however was far darker... You had bled your fingers raw by scrubbing the oven and fridge with an iron wool scourer. It was extremely painful but everything had to be clean. Sherlock decided to pull you aside one night to confront you about his suspicions.
"(Y/n) are you ok?" He asked with full seriousness as he looked deeply into your slightly twitching eyes.
"I'm fine babe..." You answered with mock confidence. Sherlock sighed,
"I'm going to ask you again sweet heart... Are you ok?"
A few seconds of quivering lead to your final climax, you fell, sobbing into Sherlock's arms and he held you close to his chest and caressed you gently like a priceless heirloom.
"I don't choose to do it! I can't help it. Everything has to be clean, and tidy, or I'll get ill from the germs. The germs Sherlock!" By this point, you were rocking backwards and forwards in hysterics, still bundled up in his arms. Over his boring, empty school years, Sherlock had read up on a number of mental cases including OCD so he promised to help you through as much as possible.
"I love you (y/n)" Sherlock whispered gently into your ear as he stroked the back of your neck and hair.
"I love you too... Thank you for putting up with me..." You said, genuinely apologetically.
"You are no trouble at all love..."

John-
You love John with all your heart. Even more so after the accident... It had been two years just past, but it still feels like yesterday. The day had started off pretty normally, you shouting statements of love at him as you left the flat for work and being met by a brisk October wind as you stepped out into the bustling London streets. That day, however, would turn out to be anything but ordinary...
As it always was, the underground was crammed with people, hot, stuffy, uneasy, relieved only by the warmth and constancy of the knowledge that you would be at work soon. Then it happened. An explosion ricochet and tore through the tunnel at an alarming speed and ripped the train off its seemingly reliable tracks. You were thrown to the ground with a burst of heat and pain, kept conscious only by the cacophony of ringing in your ears. A bomb had detonated...
People screamed and all selfless acts were lost to the sea of panic and fear. By the time you were rescued, you bordered on insanity, your eyes drooped wide and your shallow breathing had a raspy unnaturally rough tone which set heavy like a metal weight on your chest. Journeying to the hospital was no picnic either, you shouted, screamed almost, demanding John to be by your side. Of course he came as soon as possible.
"Oh my baby! (Y/n)! Are you ok?!" John cried as he burst into your hospital room where you laid fluttering gracefully in and out of alertness like a tired butterfly. Too tired to speak, you just tapped your fingers on his warm hands in response. You were going to be ok.....
Two weeks later, you went to a doctor specialising in mental health, and was diagnosed with PTSD. You were afraid to tell John but figured that he'd find out sooner or later...
"John"
"Yes love?" He shouted back so you could hear from the bedroom. You shuddered slightly as images flashed hazily across your memory... The shouts.... The screams....
"Could you come here? Please? I have to tell you something..."
He meandered his way to the bedroom where you were stood, breathing shallowly and starring at nothing out of the widow.
"John." You said sighing and turning to face him. "I have PTSD.... Please don't think any less of me. I'm not insane, just a little scarred. I can't forget. No matter how hard I try to... The memories just keep spilling back"
John starred at you, slightly teary eyed and hugged you with light comfort and planted a kiss on your rounded pink lips. "Baby... That doesn't matter at all to me. I'll always be here to help you through the storm"

Mycroft-
You groaned slight as the warm glow of morning oozed out from under the blinds and set like treacle over your drowsy face. The warmth made you grin slightly and soon, Mycroft was awake too. He turned to you and slipped his arm securely around your waist and hugged you caressingly. Flinching slightly from the unannounced contact, you pushed yourself away and slid out of bed onto the harsh wooden contrast of the floor. Still drowsy, you meandered drunkenly over to the bathroom, purposefully avoiding all mirrors on your way. Unfortunately, there was no escape from the reflective hell that looked before you... The body length mirror that stood opposite the shower was an intimidating reminder that you aren't perfect, far from it in fact...
After your shower, you stood for a while, dimly gazing into your slightly hazy reflection in the steamy glass. Body dimorphic disorder is not an easy thing to handle. No matter how long you looked, the only thing you could see was a girl twice your size and you hated yourself for it.
"(Y/n) I'm coming to take a shower" Mycroft stated as he pushed the bathroom door open mid sentence. Dammit... He caught you. All you could do was stay perfectly still and breath shallowly as Mycroft dropped his towel in horror.
"W..what were y..you doing?..." Mycroft whispered, a little crushed inside.
"What do you mean?" You muttered quietly in response.
"Just then... You were, poking, pulling at yourself almost... Why?"
You inhaled deeply, letting the lightly lemon fragranced steam clear your head slightly before you began to explain.
"Mycroft... I have body dysmorphia. I've never loved the way I look but recently it's gotten worse. I look in the mirror and all I see is fat. No amount of persuading can change my mind... It's just what I see..."
He's knees began to tremble ever so slightly as tears welled up in the corners of his dull eyes. Slowly, he raised his arms and walked toward you, holding you in a loving embrace.
"(Y/n)... I had no idea." He sniffed slightly "I really should pay more attention to you... And for what it's worth, I don't know what you see but it is totally and utterly wrong! You are not fat. No where near in fact. You are amazing just the way you are..."
You looked up at him as a tear fell gently to your forehead and rolled down your face.
"Thank you Mycroft... I love you"

Greg-
The first time Greg realised you had crippling social issues was when he took you out on a day trip into London. The sun was high in the sky and a brisk winter breeze swept through the busy streets. London was packed. For the majority of the journey, you held Greg's hand tightly and pressed closely up against his shoulder (it was the only place you felt safe) getting his warm scarf drape around your fragile neck. Suddenly, you were shoved, carelessly, by a man who was running in the opposite direction. He caught your free shoulder and parted your hand from Greg's. You were alone, surrounded by swarms of loud, busy, fast paced, judging people and you lost it. You faintly heard Greg calling your name but it was too late... You had run across the pavement and started to bang your head repeatedly against the antique stonework. "Stop it. Stop it! STOP IT!!" You cried out every time you thrust yourself against the wall. Finally, you collapsed onto the floor, at peace from the commotion. You awoke several minutes later in Greg's arms. By this point, he had carried you back to the flat and laid you on the soft bed.
"Babe! Oh my god are you ok!?" Greg blurted out as you began to stir back into consciousness.
"I'm so sorry you had to see that Greg..." You muttered sighing. "I have some kind of mental problem... I don't even know what it is but if I'm in a stressful situation or I get frightened, my body wants to stop the suffering. The fastest way to do that most of the time is to knock myself out..."
Greg held you warmly and stroked your heavily bruised head.
"Then I'll just have to make sure I protect you every day then won't I?" He cooed as a tear rolled down your cheek.
"I love you so much Greg"
"I love you too sweet pea..."

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A/n - I PROMISE THAT THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE HAPPY 😂😂