[And at that, everything - terrifyingly - slides into place.
An imaginary friend.
That was - all his existence had come up to. A fake being, a fantasy Sherlock made when he was a child, all because -
God. They hadn't wanted to talk about a son of their dying at all, had they? Or, at least, if they had been young when it happened...not wanting to get into death with their surviving son and go through the grieving process.
He had been swept under the rug - and his eyes go wide as he realizes it, hands shaking where they're still on his face.]
...I...see.
That's - Ah.
[He doesn't have words for any of this. How could he?]
no subject
An imaginary friend.
That was - all his existence had come up to. A fake being, a fantasy Sherlock made when he was a child, all because -
God. They hadn't wanted to talk about a son of their dying at all, had they? Or, at least, if they had been young when it happened...not wanting to get into death with their surviving son and go through the grieving process.
He had been swept under the rug - and his eyes go wide as he realizes it, hands shaking where they're still on his face.]
...I...see.
That's - Ah.
[He doesn't have words for any of this. How could he?]
....