Phobia

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True to Mycroft's promise, Slade was allowed leave two days later, Sherlock said he was always right about these kinds of things. He still had to wear the cast on his left arm for a few days more, but his wrist, head, and ribs were much better- the doctor told them that Slade was healing much faster than average.

Mycroft had just arrived to the room to lead his new nephew to the private car, but when the younger Holmes held out his hand to help Slade get out of the bed, the boy flinched away.

Sherlock immediately looked concerned and retracted his hand. Mycroft observed.

"I'm not going to harm you. You know that, don't you?" The worry was leaking into the young adult's voice, uncharactaristic of him.

Slade hesitated, "Y-yeah. I-I know that. I jus'- I don't-" He looked uncertain on what to say. He looked down at his hands.

Mycroft's eyes widened minutely. "Haphephobia..." He murmured.

Sherlock's head snapped to his brother, "But- he... he can't." For once words failed Sherlock. He gathered himself together and tried again.

"Haraldr." Slade looked up. "What's wrong?"Sherlock prefered to gather his own evidence, rather than rely on what others told him what to believe.

Slade thought about what to tell the only people who were ever nice to him. "I really don't like thought anybody touchin' me... It's scary and hurts."

Sherlock's face became one of sorrow, ignoring the grammar mistake like he always did. He did indeed have haphephobia (Fear of being touched) then. He could see why he did, too. He faced it like the Holmes he was though. "Alright then. No-one will touch you if you don't like it. If we ever need to though, if you're in trouble, you have to let us help, okay?"

Slade put on a brave face. "Okay."

Sherlock put put a small smile on his face, "Great! Can you get up on your own then?"

Slade nodded and Sherlock took a few steps back. He gripped the small railing on the side of his bed and pulled himself to the egde, feet off the side. He put his weight forward and hopped off the cot, wobbling a little. Slade steadied himself on the bedside table. Sherlock and Mycroft were watching from a a pace or two away, ready to help if need be. "See? I can do it myself!"

This brought a smile to all their faces and Mycroft spoke for th second time. "Alright. I'll inform my house staff not to touch him when we arrive and make sure none of my employies ever do either. Now then, I believe that you, Brother Mine, have a flat to clean and manage. Notify me if you are in need of anything, and tell me when you are finished and I'll bring him to your flat."

Sherlock accompanied them to the car, neither brother going within two feet of Slade, so as not to make him uncomfortable or upset. Thanks to Mycroft (not that Sherlock would ever say it) they got the now father and son successfully out of the hospital without incident.

They stopped momentarily by the black car's door so Slade and Sherlock could say their goodbyes for now.

Sherlock kneeled in front of Slade so they could speak eye-to-eye. "Don't worry about anything. You'll only need to stay with your uncle for a few days until I could get my flat cleaned properly. Okay? And if anything happens to you, I'll make sure Mycroft'll never forget it."

Slade giggled at the small empty threat. "I'm gonna be good Father. Nothing 'ill happen."

They grinned at each other and Sherlock stood up, and lowly whispered, "I meant every word."

Mycroft nodded his head once, slowly, "I know."

Sherlock turned yet again to his son. "You'll see me again in no-time!"

Slade smiled and nodded. "Yup!"

Mycroft got in the back seat of the car to the left and Sherlock held the door for Slade on the right. The doors closed with a thud and drove away, Slade and Sherlock waving at each other though the window until the car turned a little ways down the road. Sherlock had a sudden feeling that this must be similar to how Mummy must have felt when they said goodbye at Kings Cross that first time. He shook away the memory and hailed a cab, which stopped for him immediately. He had a flat to clean.

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