#// he went through some psychological horror so what is he gonna do? REPRESS IT WITH A SMILE

[galaxofmuses]

Ya know the worst part of their EXE verse is that it takes place right after Sonic Forces and uhh...Eggman and his crew did some pretty messed up things to him and especially Infinite. To this day, Skyler really repressed those memories and he would just be upset every time he sees Infinite.

[catatonicengineers]

A Defense of Cait Sith

Plushie Princess Saga:

A Hundred Ways to Put the WRO Back Together

A Hundred Ways to Wreck Shinra HQ

Reeve’s Adventures in Babysitting and World Saving:

And Take a Stand at Shinra

While There’s Still Time

On Plushies and Oppenheimer:

A Defense of Cait Sith

~

“We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent.” - J. Robert Oppenheimer

I was eight-years-old when I played Final Fantasy VII for the first time, exactly one year after its release. Like many 90’s gamers, FFVII was a turning point into the world of RPG’s from which I’ve yet to recover. Kids today will never understand the coming of age that occurred somewhere between Yoshi’s Island and grappling with the ethos of Avalanche blowing Sector 1’s reactor sky high. It’s no surprise that my 3rdgrade brain found an essence of familiarity to cling to amid the existential dread and ecoterrorism that was the greatest game ever made.

Cait Sith was the cute, cuddly party member that validated my love of cats and ignited my adoration for moogles. I would relentlessly make room for him in my party, despite his terrible combat stats, and hurl endless Phoenix Downs every time he fell.

He was quirky, he fought with a megaphone, his limit breaks were oddly sparse compared to the rest of the cast, and his home base of Gold Saucer looked like a unicorn threw up all over a casino. What’s not to love?

According to recent Reddit threads, Youtube comments, and rage bloggers, apparently a lot.

The advent of the long awaited FFVII remake rightfully caused a massive revival of the excitement first felt by long time fans of the franchise. The release date has been confirmed for March 3, 2020 – two days before my 30thbirthday. Not gonna lie; feels like the universe aligned to bless the official passing of my youth with this nostalgia bomb.

It’s with this love of all things FFVII in mind that I’d like to formally pose a defense of the game’s most hated character.

Cait Sith/Reeve, this one’s for you.

The Laughter

We first meet the lively, dancing robo-moogle and cat combo in Gold Saucer and we’re not quite sure if this strange entity should count as one party member or two. Either way, he joins your crew as the quintessential comic relief with nary a backstory in sight. That’s right; you are now the proud owner of Cait Sith. A “fortune teller” by trade, Cait Sith’s motivations remain as murky as your party’s future.

At first glance, it’s easy to pass Cait Sith off as a filler character, the cute one added for giggles. The one the writers never bothered to flesh out because, let’s face it, that moogle is mostly fluff anyway. The “most useless character” title isn’t entirely unjustified.

If this was where Cait Sith’s story ended.

I still remember the day my older brother announced that he’d read ahead in the player’s guide (this used to be a thing, kids) and discovered Cait Sith was a Shinra spy. I’m pretty sure I went through all the stages of grief before settling on denial and assuming he was playing a joke on me. Surely, my favorite slot machine loving companion couldn’t be a traitor.

Enter Reeve Tuesti, the man behind the moogle. He’s the head of Urban Development at Shinra Electric Power Company. He wears a signature blue suit to work everyday. He hates board meetings. He’s not fond of his coworkers. Like Tifa, he’s an introvert. And he’s the guy who engineered the Mako reactors.

If Hojo is Dr. Frankenstein, Reeve is Oppenheimer. The tragedy of the monsters we create is always greater when it’s a monster we loved. Where the other Shinra execs are motivated by greed, power, and a desire to play God, Reeve is the only Shinra higher up we encounter with genuine empathy and a sense of advocacy for the people. It’s easy to assume that Mako reactors would improve lives, but as Marlene so eloquently asks, “isn’t that because we were taking away from the planet’s life?”

When faced with the guilt of a design gone horribly wrong, those in authority have two choices; own the guilt or double down. And Reeve doubles down.

I’ve never been a fan of the way modern RPG’s have everything clearly spelled out and spoon fed to the gamer. The reason we don’t need further backstory for Reeve is because his character arc is already apparent if we do a bit of digging. I was surprised to learn that the common conjecture behind the exact mechanics of Cait Sith involved him being a remote controlled, autonomous but non-sentient robot. Given that assumption, it’s fair to say that Cait Sith is a worthless character who lacks emotion or consequence.

One opinion I’ve seen trending is why not simply make Reeve join the party, sans the giant stuffed animal? After all, we’d get to see how he grapples with his role in Shinra and eventual betrayal of Avalanche.

Two words; cognitive dissonance. You have to question what kind of 35-year-old executive creates a plushie cat proxy to begin with. See I’ve never thought of Reeve and Cait Sith as separate. The gritty psychological mechanics that are Reeve have always been there, plush or human. Reeve has developed an alter that’s effectively a form of escape. The assertion that Cait Sith lacks consequence isn’t false – a robot carries out its duty, incapable of harboring guilt, blame, or moral repercussion. That’s a pretty darn good way to remain detached enough to stab your party members in the back!

Cait Sith is also an outlet for everything Reeve’s repressed executive life lacks. As Cait Sith, he’s silly and carefree, though not completely unfamiliar. Glimpses of Cait Sith’s witty quips are echoed in Reeve’s mock nicknames for his colleagues – “Kyahaha” and “Gyahaha” respectively. When life is tough to take, we laugh so we don’t scream.

Plus, the idea of Reeve controlling Cait Sith in real time, much like an MMORPG avatar, is just plain hilarious. I’ve always imagined him as the kind of guy who rolls up to his 9-5 office job, pops open a spreadsheet to look busy, and boots up Cait Sith in the other tab. He’s the OG Aggretsuko, the guy making Jim Halpert faces at the camera every Shinra board meeting.

And I get you, Reeve. Really, I do.

The Tears

Cait Sith’s sacrifice was a cop out for killing off a real character. Why didn’t Reeve just die instead of the plushie?

First of all, how dare you.

Second, not all deaths need be literal.

A pervading theme throughout FFVII is the concept of identity. Are we born into an existence we have no control over or can we choose who we are day by day? It’s easy to want to be someone else, the First Class Soldier who sweeps in, keeps his promise, and saves the girl. Our reality is often less of a fairy tale and riddled with our own failures.

By the time the party reaches The Temple of the Ancients, the line where Cait Sith ends and Reeve begins is blurring. Reeve speaks more often as “himself” through the plushie and the nuances in their speech and mannerism are blending. It’s no accident that this shift happens as Reeve becomes more at ease around Avalanche, ultimately switching sides.

I’ve heard a lot of criticism on the seeming lack of motivation to Reeve’s redemption. If we examine the cognitive dissonance theory that governs his character, the switch is far less sudden.

Cait Sith’s death is necessitated by Reeve’s accountability. The innocent plushie alter isn’t working anymore. It’s not enough to keep him from recognizing the horrors he’s been complicit to. Sacrificing this part of himself is the ultimate acknowledgment of culpability. It’s arguably a more important death than if Reeve actually martyred himself. Like Cloud, he no longer needs to be “someone else” and has started down the path of doing what only he, and not Cait Sith, can; stopping Shinra.

There will be more wonderful, fluffy moogle-cat plushies, but the need to disassociate completely is gone. He’ll confront whatever comes without a crutch – or in this case a teddy bear. Reeve reminisces that the original doll was “special” and we end with Cait Sith reminding him(self) not to forget this.

The Silence

In 1953, J. Robert Oppenheimer was denied all security clearance and effectively blacklisted by the McCarthy administration for his strong opposition to nuclear warfare.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a place we never hoped or expected to be in, surrounded by people we despise, and convinced the world is going straight to heck. We can either get out of dodge or stay.

If Reeve had indeed sacrificed himself rather than Cait Sith, this would simply have been yet another escape. He stays. He works. He gets Marlene and Elmyra out of Midgar. He spies on Shinra. He finally tells Gyahaha to stick it. He goes on to head the WRO and never stops advocating for the people.

Reeve’s not a fighter. He can barely get by with a handgun in Dirge of Cerberus and Cait Sith’s megaphone is no Masamune. Despite this, he takes a big risk by being the only insider on the team. We’re pretty sure Shinra doesn’t share Reeve’s opposition to capital punishment either.

Maybe this is why I’ve always loved Cait Sith/Reeve. I’m intrigued to see if Square Enix will add any further insight into our favorite plush moogle-cat-spy, but if they don’t, that’s alright too. Cait Sith is still a pretty solid character. After my brother spoiled one of the game’s major plot twists for me, I ended up reading the player’s guide for myself. And he was right. But he was also wrong. I recall marching proudly into the living room to declare that while yes, Cait Sith was a traitor, he was also a hero.

So fight your fight. Fail and fall. Hurl some Phoenix Downs and get right back up again.

[whodunnitmafianostalgia]

Endings (part one)

.

.

“It’s getting late,” said Dylan nervously, “Why hasn’t something happened?”

Two hours ago, their rooms had unlocked, and they’d walked back into the common area, and everyone had been there but Alec. Well, everyone still alive, thought Kim. The door to ‘Niobe’s Room’, where they had seen him last, was still locked. They had knocked on it and called for him, and gotten no answer. Nick had even tried to break it down, but nothing had happened at all. Not even a reprimand from their captor, watching on the camera system.

But he can’t be dead, thought Kim, trying to avoid the most likely reality, He won the last challenge. He had immunity. He wasn’t Scared.

But. But she and Dylan had been. After everything people had gone through the past couple of weeks, they were close, and Alec was nice. Nice and rash, and what if he’d…what if he’d made some kind of bargain? What if this close to the end, he’d traded immunity for one of them. No, you don’t know that. He’s probably okay. Maybe he’s not in there. Maybe winning the case got him a reward, and he’s somewhere else being given information. You don’t know he’s dead.

She was so scared thinking about it.

Nick looked like he felt about the same. He kept pacing the hall, pausing by the door to Niobe’s Room to listen, and then walking again. Agitated. Muttering to himself.

Rentaro and Dylan were together against the wall across from the door, Rentaro sitting with his knees tucked up, Dylan standing. Both exhausted.

“Why hasn’t something happened?” echoed Kim in her head. Dylan or she should have been dead by now. They had talked, and Nick had promised to try to protect her if she got attacked, back in Grigor’s Room, and she knew if something came for Dylan right now, they’d have all done the same, but she’d known how low the odds of surviving were. I’m so used to being afraid I don’t think I even feel it normally anymore.

There was a thunk from inside Niobe’s Room.

Nick’s head shot up and he spun on his heel and ran to the door. “Alec!” He banged against the metal with his fist, “Say something! Are you in there?”

Desperation. She knew exactly how he felt. So many times, they’d almost been able to do something. Rentaro had grabbed the killer, had been so close to saving Jane. But while the sound might mean Alec was back, or waking up, or any number of things, it almost might mean he’d been in there the whole time, and something had finally just killed him. She tried not to imagine that. Not to think about it, squeezing her eyes shut. What had been left of Grigor, Niobe, and Lori still way too fresh in her head. Thinking about the pendulum, the pyre, the stoning. Stop. Don’t. Come on. Rachel’s out there, and she’s doing so well. We’re gonna make it out before anyone else dies. It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.

She had liked Grigor so much…

“Alec!” Nick was more frantic this time, and the sound snapped her out of her head.

Dylan and Rentaro exchanged glances, and then came over to help, trying again to beat the door in. Kim watched them for a second, thinking with a thudding heart about the last case. About how the killer had said they bumped into Grigor in the hall to get his keycard. Apologized and went on. It’s one of us. Or they were lying. They might be lying. But.

The paranoia was killing her, but Kim ignored it and joined the others, trying not to think about being scared of them. “Alec?” she called hopefully, moving to a chunk of the wall because there were three men blocking the door. She pressed her ear against it. Wait, is that. “Shh!” she called, holding up a finger, “Stop making noise!”

They stopped. And she was sure. For just one second after the beating stopped, footsteps.

“Someone’s in there!” she called, “I can hear them walking.”

“I swear to God!” shouted Nick at the door, “If you-“

The door opened.

They all stepped back in surprise, and Kim slid into place beside Dylan in time to see Alec step out, looking unusually haggard. Even for Alec. Looking like first week Alec, stumbling in drunk all the time and barely coherent.

“Oh God,” said Nick, overcome with relief and smiling, going forward to hug him, “We thought you were dead.”

“Don’t,” said Alec, holding up a hand, and looking really different. Far off, and pained.

Nick stopped. Face immediately grave again. “Are you wired to something?” he asked, paling.

A bomb? thought Kim, looking frantically around what she could see of the room for an explanation for why he looked like this.

“Sort of,” said Alec, “I need to talk to you. All of you.”

“Are you in danger?” asked Nick, “What do we need to do.”

“No, just,” Alec hesitated for a second, and he looked at Nick and smiled, and Nick looked relieved, but Kim thought there was something off about the smile. That he looked…sad. “I have to explain something,” said Alec, “Please let me explain all of it.”

The relief on Nick’s face wavered.

Explain?

After what the killer had said last night, they all had to be thinking the same thing. No, Kim told herself, There’s no way it’s Alec. But. She didn’t think it was Nick or Rentaro or Dylan either. Honestly, as doable as it had been to fake Rachel’s death, Kim had kind of suspected it was someone who’d died. That somehow they hadn’t done it for real. And she’d thought the killer was lying about Grigor. If they could program the cards, why bother swapping with him? Just make a new one that can go anywhere. Whoever it is just wants us to not trust each other. Even if Alec says something, I bet it’s because he’s being forced to. Like Henry was. We all thought it was him for a few days, but he just had a gun to his head. I don’t believe it. I know all of these people, and none of them are bad. They’ve all risked their lives to keep me and each other alive. She knew it. She knew it so hard.

“I’m not Alec Fell,” said Alec.

“What?” said Dylan, looking betrayed and worried. She could tell Rentaro was trying to think fast beside him, as lost as she felt.

“He’s a real person, like Moira confirmed, but I’m not him,” said Alec, “I killed him, and I took his place. He was the first body.”

“The-? No,” said Nick, taking a step back. Horror and betrayal flickered across his features, and for the first time Kim had ever seen, she thought he might cry. He stared at Alec, shaking his head. “No.” More conviction in his voice the second time. “I don’t believe it. Alec, I know you. Why are you saying this? What did he say he would do to you?”

“Nobody’s making me say this,” said Alec quietly, watching him and looking almost sad. “My name is Frank. And I’m the one who did all of this.”

“You monster!” shouted Dylan, hurt and enraged at the same time, stepping between her and Rentaro and the person she had thought was Alec, “You did this? You kidnapped us, and kept us scared, and picked us off one by one for weeks while pretending to be our friend?”

Alec watched him, pained, but made no move to do anything. He stayed still. “Yes,” he said quietly, “It was me.”

“Please,” said Nick, almost brokenly, “It can’t have been.”

Alec looked at him for a couple of seconds, and then at the ground. “I wish it wasn’t.” He looked back up at the little group, one by one, and when he met Kim’s gaze, she felt physically ill. She didn’t know who she was looking at. “About three years ago, I lost my brother,” said Alec. Very little emotion in his voice, but a tone to it and a look on his face like he was feeling many things, and simply doing a good job repressing them all. Like a storm building that just hadn’t broken yet.

No…Not Alec, realized Kim slowly, feeling…sad? Which wasn’t the emotion she had expected. She was feeling a lot of things, but somehow that was the one that was winning. She wanted to cry. Somehow, it being him made her want to just give up and sit in a corner and not even fight back, and she didn’t know why. Not Alec. What had he said his name was? Frank?

“I was a detective. We were working a case,” continued Frank, tone almost empty. She thought he was trying to sound that way, but he wasn’t quite doing it. Still a little exhausted, a little sad, despite his best efforts. “There was a low level criminal—a petty thief—who’d gotten caught up in the operation a crime syndicate ran. He wanted to flip, to help. The things they were doing were too awful, and he’d never wanted to hurt anybody. We believed him. We met up with him, and our second meeting, he caught us completely off guard. Killed my brother and shot me.”

“What does that have to do with any of us?” asked Rentaro in dismay, “With anyone you murdered? Why? Why would you do this to us?”

“I. I’m trying to explain,” said Frank, a little harried and unsure for the first time since appearing.

“Explain faster,” said Nick, expression hard. Frank looked at him in surprise, and then a very downcast kind of acceptance as he took in the look on his face. He nodded.

“I’ll try to make it as short as I can,” said Frank, not really looking any of them in the face. “Your last case was about what happened to us, so you know some of it anyway. I ended up captive for two years, more or less as a practice tool for their interrogators. After two years of physical and psychological torture, I got lucky. Someone made a mistake, and I broke out. Took the whole building down with me.”

“You’re not explaining anything!” said Dylan, almost more desperate than mad now, “What does any of that have to do with us?”

“You were threats,” said Frank, looking up at him, speaking in the tone of someone trying to describe something they knew it was hopeless to explain. “I—I was. Not thinking. And—no. I was. I was thinking wrong. I didn’t realize how-how messed up I was from the things that had happened. I was just. I didn’t know what to do anymore. But I was so sure. I was so sure, after that, that…anyone who was willing to be any kind of criminal would go as far as they had to. And you were all people someone I was close to knew. I was afraid that…if I didn’t do something, she would die too.”

“W-you,” said Nick, trying to comprehend, “Y-you kidnapped us and killed eight people b-because we knew someone you liked?”

“I know,” said Frank, almost pleading, “I know how it sounds. I know how insane that is. At least.” He looked away a second, eyes moving quickly, “At least I think right now I do. I don’t know.” He looked back at Nick. “It made sense. It made so much sense. I was sure. Of everything I was doing. I knew that I was right. I was… I-I don’t know. I don’t. I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know how I ended up here. I don’t know why I did this; I don’t know why I didn’t stop. There’s something wrong with me, and I didn’t realize it—I didn’t realize how wrong. How much I changed, in those two years. But it’s done!” He was almost desperate. “It’s over! I’m letting you all go.”

“And what about everybody else?” asked Kim, voice small and caught in her throat. Frank turned his head to look at her, and he looked so deeply sad. Almost wounded. “What about Grigor. He was your friend. He would have died for you. You know he would have. He would have died for any of us. What about the rest of them? Lori, Noiobe, Connie, Jane, Moira, Lou? What about the people in that morgue? Al—” She stopped. No. Not Alec. “Frank. What about the people you killed? Jane got scared and wanted you to hold her hand. She was younger than me. She was fourteen. What about them?”

He listened to her whole statement, and then lowered his head. “I can’t do anything about the people I killed.”

“Well we can!” snapped Dylan, taking a step forward, furious. “Jane was fourteen! She was a child! I don’t care what happened to you, you sick—”

“—Jane’s alive!” said Frank desperately, taking a step back into the room, “She’s alive! And so are Niobe, Grigor, and Lori—I haven’t killed anyone since Connie, or, since Lou—Connie wasn’t planned.”

“What?” said Kim at the same time Rentaro said, “They’re alive?”

“Where are they!” asked Nick, turning on him.

“They’re locked up, deeper in the building,” said Frank nervously, taking another step back, “Henry’s already getting them. They’ll be down here in not too long, or he’ll take them to the elevator alone and you’ll see them at the exit. I-I don’t know. I don’t think I told him what to do.”

“You’re lying,” said Rentaro, face falling a little, “They can’t be alive. ...We. We looked at their medical records. Niobe’s hair. Lori’s blood. We saw their—” He stopped and his eyes widened. He stared at Frank. “You changed the records.”

“You believe him?” asked Dylan.

“Think about it,” said Rentaro quickly, “T-the overkill in this case? The weird deaths? How all the bodies were completely unrecognizable? It was them—it was—it was the other corpses. That’s why Niobe was stabbed before being stoned—it wasn’t Niobe—it was Connie. He had to mask her broken ribs. That has to be why the corpse was scalped. We’d have recognized the hair. And that means Lori was Moira. You had to burn her, to make the corpse’s age unrecognizable. Grigor must have been Lou…Or—or maybe Soren—Alec. The-the first guy.”

“Can you prove it?” asked Dylan.

Frank gave a nod and fiddled with his watch for a moment. One of the screens they’d seen messages on before lowered and lit up with a security feed. Kim saw Henry trying to help Lori, who was sobbing and clinging to him, out of a cell. Behind them, in the hall, Grigor was carrying an unconscious Niobe with much shorter hair, a shaky and pale Jane at his side, clinging to the edge of his shirt.

They all just stared at it, trying to undo the mourning and loss over friends felt in the last 48 hours, and before, unable to really comprehend any of it. After a moment, the group on the screen made it to an elevator, and stepped inside, and Frank shut off the screen.

“That’s the down elevator. They’ll be here soon,” said Frank quietly, lowering his arm, “Rentaro’s right about what you all found. Jane was just paralyzed. There was no body double, but she was never dead. Tetrodotoxin creates a very death-like façade when used in smaller doses. You just have to be extremely precise.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kim, turning back to him, “If you felt bad about what you were doing as far back as Jane, why didn’t you stop? W-why kill Connie, why keep going?”

Frank looked at her for a second, and then let out a breath and shook his head. “I…I didn’t regret, I. Was conflicted. I was buying time. To think. I don’t know. I. I was…I thought I knew what I was doing. I.”

He seemed shaky almost. Not physically, but like mentally he wasn’t on very solid ground. Like first week Alec, but worse.

About thirty feet off, the far elevator opened, and Grigor, Jane, Lori, and Henry stepped off, Niobe still out cold in Grigor’s arms.

“You!” shouted Grigor, picking out Alec-Frank immediately. What had been relief and joy at seeing his friends immediately flipping to rage like a light switch.

“You little psychopath!” said Lori, almost as mad, but kind of scared and hanging by Henry and Grigor.

Grigor gave Niobe a worried look, and then set her on the ground by the elevator, and stormed over.

“Grigor—wait,” tried Henry from behind him, but Grigor wasn’t listening.

“You murdered them!” shouted Grigor, and Kim couldn’t tell if he was more angry or betrayed, advancing on Frank like a musclebound grim reaper, “You pretended to care about us, and you killed them! You said you looked Moira right in the eyes as she died, and you liked it! Lou begged for his life!”

He pushed past a stunned Dylan and Rentaro, and Frank started to back up.

“Wait!” said Frank kind of desperately, holding up his hands in front of him, “Please—just listen to me!”

“Wait?” echoed Grigor, furious but hurt more than anything else, looming over him, “Like you waited? You’re a murderer and a traitor!” He grabbed Frank by his collar and dragged him forward, and Kim had seen Alec fight so she knew he could, but he wasn’t, he was just trying to get free. “Look! Look at them!” Grigor pointed to Jane and Lori and Niobe hovering by the door, and at Henry, halfway to reaching Kim’s group. “Jane survived, and look what even that did to her!”

She didn’t look good. She was pale, and shaky, hiding behind Lori, who looked confused about anyone hiding behind her, but hadn’t tried to make her move. Grigor let go of Frank and punched him in the face with so much force it knocked him back onto the hard marble floor of the replica museum. At his feet, Frank dragged himself up on an arm, looking back up at Grigor and breathing hard.

“I know, I—” tried Frank unsteadily.

“That makes it worse!” said Dylan desperately, moving up himself, “How could you do this to us? We were friends. Nick and Grigor and Rentaro saved your life, and you put them through hell! You put us through so much that Rachel killed herself to try to keep someone else from being murdered!”

“I-I. I know,” said Frank, still on the ground, much shakier, and his eyes found Kim’s, “I. I’m so sorry—I never meant to do that. I…”

“You think that matters?” asked Lori, furious.

Grigor started to take a step towards Frank again, fist already drawn back. Overwhelming amounts of pain on his face.

“Wait! Don’t!” called Henry, struggling to push his way into the room.

Grigor and Dylan did not wait. Kim didn’t even think they really heard him. They were furious, and Kim was too. Rentaro was, Lori was, they all were, and they should be. Grigor was right. How had he done this to them? How could he have…She was seeing things in her head she wished she had never seen. I don’t understand, I don’t understand. I just…I don’t…I…

On the floor, Frank watched them coming and started to drag himself back up unsteadily, gripping a display for support, and then suddenly Nick was between him and them, back to Frank.

“Wait,” said Nick, holding his hands up.

They did, for Nick, but they didn’t want to. There was so much pain and anger and confusion and betrayal in the air that Kim was choking on it.

“We’re not gonna do this,” said Nick, glancing behind himself to see where Frank was, and then back at the other two.

“Nick,” started Dylan.

“Please!” said Henry, finally breaking through the little group, “Listen to him! You can’t kill him!”

Nick, Grigor, and Dylan glanced at him in surprise.

“We can and should!” snapped Lori, “He deserves it!”

“He’s—the whole place is rigged,” explained Henry, shaky and out of breath, “If his heart stops beating, this whole place will blow up and we’re all dead!”

“Fine,” said Grigor, not looking, eyes still fixed on Frank and breathing raggedly. Furious, so upset he seemed like he might cry, “Some broken bones won’t make his heart stop beating.”

“No,” said Nick, stepping into his way again, keeping between him and Frank.

“Nick—I know he was your friend,” said Dylan, “He was my friend too, but he was never Alec! He’s dangerous! This isn’t just about revenge—if we don’t stop him, who knows what he’ll do? You’ve seen the kinds of things that might be!”

“I know,” said Nick, taking a step back and staying between them and Frank.

Behind him, Frank looked so…surprised. He was staring at Nick like he couldn’t even understand the gesture. Like moving between him and the others had wounded him.

“He needs to face justice, for what he’s done,” said Nick steadily, eyes on the people in front of him, “He killed people. He has to pay for that. But we’re going to do things the right way. He’s done. He stopped, he surrendered. We’re going to leave together, and turn him in to the police. We’re doing this the right way. We’re not gonna be a mob.”

A little of the anger drained out of Grigor and Dylan, and Grigor lowered his fists. With the fury gone, he just looked sad and confused. Dylan just looked lost. It was hard to tell how everyone around her was feeling. Rentaro was watching and he looked kind of far away, and sad, like somehow for him the scene was already over and he had been able to move on to thinking about it. Lori was still furious, but she had pursed her lips and regulated her breathing, trying to calm down a little. Jane had just shut her eyes and buried her head against Lori’s side. Henry seemed relieved, more than anything. Still locked into fight or flight and not really ready for anything but ensuring survival. Definitely not ready to process.

And Nick?

Nick looked…different. Older. And resigned. Sad, in a deep, bitter, hopeless kind of way.  Kim had no idea how she felt.

“Here,” said Frank quietly, taking a keycard out of his pocket and holding it out to Nick when he turned. “This will unlock the lift so it goes all the way to the surface.” He didn’t look at Nick when he took the card, and Nick didn’t really look at him either.

“Do we have something to tie him up with?” asked Rentaro hollowly, “If we’re all going up, and he’s surrendered?”

“Yeah,” said Nick, not looking in Frank’s direction at all, “That’s a good idea. I’m sure there’s something in here we can use.” He turned his head toward Frank but didn’t look at him. “You stay there.”

“Okay,” said Frank, staring past Nick at nothing. There was a dark bruise starting to form along his cheekbone.

The guys split up to look for rope, except for Retaro, who went over to talk to Jane quietly for a moment. They had been kind of close, before. At least, Rachel had said they were. Frank stayed where he had been, not even shifting his weight. Just looking at nothing as people went around him, trying to find something to tie him up with.

I don’t understand, thought Kim, looking at him, and seeing Alec, and not wanting to hate him at the same time she desperately did. I don’t understand.

What had he even said? That—that he’d lost his brother, to a criminal he had trusted. And…been tortured. And kidnapped himself, and somehow, that had spiraled for him, into a belief that anyone who broke the law would potentially turn on you and kill you. What did I even do? thought Kim, feeling like crying, I-I tried to pay for one education instead of two? I snuck onto Waverly grounds and lived there without paying fees? I…I stole cookies from the snack shop to have something to eat? Her eyes welled up with tears, thinking about Moira, and Lou, and Connie, and the first man she had never even really known. You were going to kill me for that? For…for.

He was looking at her. He hadn’t really looked at anyone since Nick had defended him, but when she looked up, he met her gaze. And he looked sober, and sorry, which she hadn’t expected. Everything was a little too much, and Kim’s tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks as she held his gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” he said very quietly. Probably only she even heard it. “I know exactly what I put you through, and I can never be sorry enough.”

“…Rachel isn’t dead,” said Kim.

She saw shock register on his face. He looked past her, at nothing, thinking incredibly fast, and then back at her, confused.

Kim wasn’t even really sure why she’d told him. “We faked her death. Henry helped us. So that she could escape the morgue and look for a way out.”

“She’s alive?” he checked, astounded.

Kim nodded.

Relief. So much relief. He looked like someone had just given him the best news he could possibly have heard. He even smiled at her for a moment, and it felt so familiar. So much like the Alec she had known and cared about. And then the expression faded, and became almost blank again, and he swallowed hard.

That just made her so much more confused.

“Thank you,” said Frank. He glanced at her for just a second, and smiled a little. “I don’t know how you did it, but whatever you three did, it was smart.” The smiled faded again and he looked at the ground.

I’m so lost, thought Kim, watching him, What am I supposed to do?

She. She could get Rachel. And they could talk and understand stuff together, but she had to do that first. Quickly, she went over to Henry.

He gave her a welcoming if shaky smile when she reached him. “Hi.”

“Did you let Rachel know?” asked Kim.

“Yes,” said Henry quickly, looking guilty for not having thought to update her on his own, “She’s close to the surface already, and she can’t get back down easily. She’s okay though. There’s an office Frank must have been using, right by the surface ,and she’s there. It’s the second-to-last stop on the elevator. She’ll be waiting for us when we go up. Or—if you want, I could go ahead and get her and bring her down.”

Kim shook her head. “Just in case something bad happens. I don’t want her to ever have to come down here again. I’ll wait.”

Henry nodded.

“Thank you,” said Kim, kind of affectionately bumping him with her shoulder. She was afraid to show much physical affection, because he was so weak right now he looked like a hug might snap him like a toothpick. Henry glanced down at her again, surprised, and then smiled. “Really,” said Kim, “We could never have gotten so far without you. You were really brave. You risked dying a lot of times to help us.”

“I…wasn’t the one really under a threat,” said Henry, “You two are a lot more brave. Willing to drug yourself and crawl into a morgue storage unit and trust someone else would be there to let you out before you died of asphyxiation. Climbing around elevator shafts with no security rope. You’re a pretty incredible pair, you know that?”

She grinned. Feeling a lot better and more grounded just from that one positive interaction with a real friend. Yeah. Alec was lying to you, but Henry wasn’t. Nick wasn’t, Dylan wasn’t, Rentaro, Grigor. None of them. You can still trust people. It’ll all be okay. We’re gonna get to go home soon. And Rachel will be okay too.

“Are you holding up okay?” asked Henry, concerned.

“Yeah, you?” asked Kim. He still had a bandage over half his face and he looked about ready to collapse.

“Well, supposedly I still have both my eyes, and my organs haven’t catabolized yet, so I think I’ll be okay,” said Henry, trying to joke.

That’s too scary to joke about, thought Kim tearfully. “I would hug you but I think I’d break your bones,” said Kim.

Henry almost laughed, and then very gingerly put an arm around her shoulder. “Half-hug?”

“Sure,” said Kim, leaning against him and shutting her eyes for a second.

When she opened them again, she looked back into the room, and watched the action. There wasn’t much of use in the museum replica, except the velvet ropes roping off exhibits, and those weren’t very flexible, so in the end, they more or less gave up, and Nick came back over to Frank and used his belt to bind his wrists instead. It was hard to watch. He approached Frank, belt in hand, and looked him in the eyes, and Frank silently held his wrists out. Frank held still as Nick tied his wrists in place with the belt, but he watched him. Not saying anything, not resisting. Just looking kind of sad and far away. Nick was trying hard not to look at him while he worked, but he did on accident, while tightening the bonds, and he looked like that had hurt him. Kim thought he was going to say something, but then he just looked away again and shook his head, and finished tying his knots. Frank looked at the ground past him, and his shoulders slumped a little.

As soon as Frank was tied up, the group left. Grigor went and picked up Niobe again, and they filed into the elevator as one. It was packed like that, but they could fit with a little room to spare. Kim stayed by Henry as he operated the controls, and glanced over her shoulder at Dylan and Nick, guarding Frank, who was staring blankly past them all at nothing. No real fight in him at all. Jane was hiding behind Rentaro like she was afraid to be anywhere near Frank, and Kim thought absently that that was good for Rentaro. He looked a little more okay right now than he had before, now that he was protecting someone else. It seemed to have given him a little bit of an override on how he was feeling. Lori stayed by Henry and her protectively, casting Frank hateful looks he wasn’t noticing.

“Are there weapons in here?” asked Nick, watching the numbers on the elevator slowly creep up.

Kim didn’t know if he’d been asking Henry or Frank, but it was Frank who answered. “Yes. Room 604 on the keypad has supplies.”

“Stop there,” said Nick to Henry, “On the way up. I want some insurance.”

“Sure,” said Henry, glancing over at him and then keying in the room on the keypad. It would have been an infuriating elevator to operate without a blueprint, because it moved in at least six directions, and the rooms seemed to be named arbitrarily to make them hard to find—and there definitely weren’t 600 or more of them. Henry seemed to know what he was doing at least a little, though, and the door slid open to what looked to Kim like a room from a film set for a Mission Impossible movie, or something. It was just…full. Full of every kind of weapon imaginable. Guns, and little drones, knives, tazers. There was gear too. She blinked at the place in wonder. Why did you have all this? she thought, glancing over at Frank, How did you afford it? I thought…before that. You were a detective? Why…?

No…there had. She almost had something. There had been…in the files they’d gotten for the last case. The one that Frank said was about what had happened to him. …….Oh. Her eyes widened.

“I’m getting a gun,” said Nick, stone faced, walking into the room, “Dylan, can you watch him?”

“Sure,” said Dylan quietly, looking like he didn’t feel much better than Nick did. He placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder, and Frank didn’t move. Just watched Nick go through things in the room in silence.

“Are you all okay?” she heard Grigor asking Rentaro quietly.

“Yeah,” said Rentaro, “You? Did you get hurt getting…kidnapped?”

“Not badly,” said Grigor, “I have a headache and a few bruises. Niobe’s still out, though. I’m kind of worried. She might be…”

“He said it was just sleeping pills,” said Rentaro encouragingly.

“Yeah?” asked Grigor, sounding a little better.

Kim was only half hearing that though. She was looking at Frank. We’re where you were, aren’t we? Or…No. Not the same place, but. One of them. It had been in the case. You went back and wiped out the people who killed your brother. This isn’t your stuff. It’s theirs. Or…I guess it’s yours now, but.

She looked away, thinking, trying to figure that all out. She wondered if maybe that was why he’d never used a gun himself, on them. Because he would never be completely sure, no matter how impossibly low the percentage of a chance, that it wouldn’t be the same gun that had killed his brother. She wondered, what exactly had happened to him. Why he had stopped. If he’d been…been whatever enough to do this. Why? Why…just give up like this? How had that worked, in his head? What would I do, if somebody killed Rachel… What would she have done? Kim didn’t like the idea of hurting anybody. Not at all. If she saw beetles in the house, she used to catch them in a cup and take them outside, because she didn’t even like squashing bugs. They didn’t mean to be a problem by just existing. But. But Rachel? Her best friend, her other half, her sister? What on earth would she have done, if Rachel had…If way back when, the Black Cat had gone too far, and killed her? Poisoned or something. What if…if here, Alec, No, not Alec, Frank, had killed her? Would she have run at him and tried to hit him in the head with whatever she could find, as soon as he’d told the truth? She…she didn’t think she would have. Could have. But then. She’d also loved him. If it had just been somebody. Some man she’d never seen before, and he’d shot her through the throat like he’d killed Lou, would she…?

Kim shut her eyes, feeling sick and sad. Really, she had no idea what she would have done. Except that she wouldn’t have been okay. And. And…

And she probably wouldn’t have been okay ever again.

She looked over at Frank again. He was still watching Nick. Looking sad in a way she wasn’t used to people looking. Resignation and remorse and regret, all together, but just barely. Like he didn’t have much energy to feel anything right now, or to show it, maybe. Maybe he was just the kind of person who felt things privately. Personally, instead of out where people could see them.

“Does anyone else want anything?” asked Nick, glancing back at the elevator.

Kim didn’t.

“I want a gun,” said Lori. Grigor shook his head and looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms.

“I-I would take a…bat, or something,” said Rentaro hesitantly.

“I’d take a knife,” said Dylan. He had been furious earlier, and he was definitely still mad, but he looked more somber now.

Jane just shook her head, and Henry, like herself, kept quiet.

Nick took a second sorting things, then came back into the lift with a pistol strapped over his shoulder and gave Dylan a tactical knife, Rentaro a police baton, and Lori a pistol, and then said, “Just one more thing,” and went back and perused a row of handcuffs and shackles on the wall before selecting what looked like a pretty impressive pair and coming back with it.

“Go ahead,” said Nick to Henry, stepping back inside, and then, as the elevator started to move again, he turned to Frank. “Hold out your hands.”

Frank looked at the shackles he was holding and looked almost desperate. He glanced back up into Nick’s face. “Please. Don’t make me put those on.”

“Do you think that there is any part of this that is enjoyable for me?”  asked Nick, breaking the stony presence he’d been keeping up and sounding pained for just a moment. “Do it.”

Frank stayed still for a second, breathing faster, and kind of twitched for a second, then looked up at Nick and shook his head. “I can’t.”

He really sounds like he means that, thought Kim in confusion, watching. Why?

“Please don’t make me force you to,” said Nick.

Frank looked at Nick for a few seconds. The set line of his mouth. And then he took a breath and shut his eyes and held up his hands. Nick opened the shackles and reached over to start undoing the belt.

“Lori, keep your gun on him in case something happens,” said Nick. Lori did. Grigor awkwardly maneuvered closer to Rentaro and Jane to be out of accidental-misfire range.

Frank didn’t do anything but stand there, though, eyes still shut. Nick got the belt off and took his left wrist and closed a shackle around it, and Frank flinched at the sound of the click, and his arms started to tremble. He was breathing almost raggedly, now, eyes still shut. Tense and braced. Nick hesitated and watched him for a second, and then for just a moment his expression softened, and he just looked sad. Almost sympathetic even, maybe. Looking at his friend. He let out a breath and unlocked the left shackle, and as it came free, Frank opened his eyes and looked at him in surprise.

The shackles hit the ground, and Nick kicked them towards a corner of the elevator. “Keep still,” he said, glancing at Frank for just a second, and then going to re-tie the belt. Frank did, just staring at him in what was almost wonder, but a little too sad and a little too shaky for that, like he was almost afraid to be looking at him at all.

“Why?” asked Dylan, watching the shackles come to rest by a wall.

“I don’t know how those things really work,” said Nick, tugging the belt tight around Frank’s wrists, “He does.”

Kim was pretty sure that wasn’t why, and she wondered if everyone else knew it too.

“We’re getting close to the top,” said Henry, trying to help with the stifling silence in the lift, “I’m sorry it’s so slow. It has to be, because it goes in so many directions. We’re sort of going up and back and left, instead of just up.”

“You didn’t make it,” said Lori.

They were all quiet. After a few seconds, Jane asked Grigor something Kim couldn’t quite make out, and he answered. Something about Connie, she thought. Probably wants to know what happened…

“You okay?” Lori asked Henry quietly with way more warmth than Kim had heard in…maybe ever.

“I am,” said Henry, giving her a shaky smile, “You?”

Behind her, Kim heard Frank’s voice, very quietly, in the middle of the other conversations. “Thank you.”

She glanced over, trying to be subtle, and saw he had said it to Nick. Nick had his back to him, though, and didn’t turn to look.

“For…” Frank glanced at his wrists, and then at what he could see of Nick. “Not. And. For downstairs.”

Nick said nothing. Just stared straight forward.

Frank looked at his feet for a moment, and then back at Nick. Unstable, and rough. “I-I just wanted you—”

“—What could you possibly say,” said Nick in a low tone, cutting him off. His eyes were a little bit glossier than normal, but he kept staring straight forward. A request for him to stop.

“…Nothing that would matter enough,” answered Frank quietly after a moment, looking away. Defeated. He kept his eyes on the floor, and Nick kept his back turned to him, and Kim thought that was the end of it, but just as the elevator began to slow, she heard Frank say so quietly she almost missed it, “But I am sorry.”

[imagines-so-what-if]

T is for Taken

Headcanons for Sherlock, Mycroft, and Moriarty

The prompt: You, his S/O, are kidnapped. 

Rating: T for violence, horror, kidnapping, and death. Please be aware of any possible triggers in regards to being kidnapped and their reaction. 

SHERLOCK MASTERLIST

Sherlock Headcanons

P A N I C

This guy is full on frantic. We’re talking shaky hands, wild eyes, meaner than usual, quick to snap, and pacing furiously in his mind palace.

And if, goodness forbids, he knows you’re being harmed—

Oh it’s simply unthinkable to him why anyone would ever want to hurt you. He is furious. His eyes will be burning with absolute rage and hatred.

He is going to find you. He’s not going to be showy about it because he is beside himself with worry.

All he wants is for you to be safe in his arms again.

So he will find you. If he needs to ask for help he will do so. He’s not going to let his pride get in the way of your safe return.

When he finds you if you’ve been injured his first priority will be getting you to a hospital. You will be his number one concern and focus. You, above all else, need to be safe and okay.

You’re gonna get a full police escort. You’ll be heavily guarded by Mycroft’s men. You’ll be protected 24/7 until the monster who took you is apprehended, or dead.

Once he knows you’re safe—and you better believe he’s kissing you all over and squeezing you so tightly it hurts a little bit—then his next goal is to hunt.

He will not rest until the bastard who harmed you is dead, or thrown into the darkest pit and forgotten.

N o t h i n g will stop him.

Tbh he’ll probably be a little dramatic about his hunt for vengeance and y’know he’s gonna psychologically harass / torture that sonuva for a good bit. He wants that monster to suffer for what s/he did.

Sherlock’s smart enough to know how to hurt someone without leaving a trace.

When the deed is done (and how messed up the villain is will be directly proportionate to how much s/he harmed you) he’ll return to your side and hold your hand tightly.

He won’t be letting you out of his sight any time soon.

100% has your back through the recovery. If you have to deal with PTSD, or other long-term effects from the traumatic experience he will do his absolute best to accommodate you.

He’s not the best at comforting, but he will be doing extensive research in how to handle night-terrors and flashbacks. He has some experience with John, but John’s relatively well-adjusted and knows how to self-comfort.

If you need anything he will do everything in his power to provide it.

Will never rush your recovery time. He might push you to try things if he honestly thinks it will help, but he will immediately back out if he sees it’s too much.

So many hugs and kisses after nightmares.

All the love and support this bby boy can provide will be yours.

“I’ll protect you. I swear.”

Mycroft Headcanons

Hurrrk.

This hurts.

Right in the chest.

He’s left breathless when he discovers you’ve been taken. His vision will literally tilt as his whole world loses balance. The pure fear he feels for you in that one moment is staggering.

Then he’s repressed it and he’s all cold fury and meticulous planning.

He’s going to find you.

He’s going to kill anyone who hurt you. It will not be an easy death, either.

He’ll use every bit of resource, power, and money he has in order to guarantee your safe return (and eventual demise of whoever took you).

If, goodness forbid, that monster hurt you—

Mycroft will have never felt so furious in his entire life. It would not be out of the question for Mycroft to personally see to that bastard’s torture.

When he finds you he will take you to a safe house with the best security he could provide, along with a therapist on standby and several doctors.

He will stay by your side and leave it to his subordinates (and Sherlock) to hunt down the monster who took you.

Mycroft’s priority is you, and your well-being.

When that villain is found s/he will be put to death. Mycroft will not chance a repeat. How long s/he suffers before death will be dependent on how much s/he harmed you.

Mycroft will hold you tightly in his arms and gently kiss your forehead.

Beyond supportive of any after-effects you have to go through after your experience. He’s well-versed in psychological traumas so will be super helpful in coaxing you down from flashbacks or night terrors.

Whatever you need he will provide.

Absolutely no judgement for however long it takes for you to recover.

Everyone heals and processes things differently and what you went through was awful.

He only wants you to be happy, healthy, and safe.

”I will keep you safe, my dear.”

Moriarty Headcanons

Oh. My. God.

Heads are rolling. Buildings will crumble. The whole world is gonna be thrown into terror if someone dared to take you.

Not only will you be found the very day you’re taken—because hello, Criminal Mastermind who controls the underground—but you can bet your sweet ass that he’s gonna be in a right furious mood for a good while.

He will make that monster plead for death by the time he’s done with ‘em. Moriarity won’t stop there, though. Oh, no. He has to make a statement. He will not let this be a repeat.

He’ll be meticulous. Every person that was friends, family, or colleagues with this monster will be taken out in a brutal fashion.

The place you were taken from? Burned to the ground.

The place you were held captive? Blown to smithereens.

Those that failed to protect you? Buried alive.

He is gonna make the world feel just as terrified and vulnerable as he felt when you were taken. He wants the world to suffer as much as he had.

If, goodness forbids, you were harmed—

For every scratch, or bruise on your body is another city that’s gonna suffer.

(Of course there’s a good chance you’ll be able to curb the worst of his anger with reassurances that you’re fine, and that you love him, and no of course you don’t blame him for getting kidnapped. Maybe he won’t ruin entire cities. Maybe he’ll just create a few dozen serial killers and set them loose.)

He’s gonna be overly protective of you for years to come.

You are his whole world and the thought of ever losing you horrifies him.

He’ll be reluctant to leave your side any time soon.

You definitely won’t be able to leave his safe house with heavily armed guards for a good long while.

Lots of cuddles and kisses.

He’ll keep therapists and doctors on standby. He’ll be extremely supportive of any PTSD, or after-effects you have to go through from your kidnapping.

(It may trigger a few of his own night terrors, though, so please be aware)

Please stay safe, okay?

“I will never let you go.”

[consultingdick]

PTSD, or the destruction of Sherlock’s psyche

SO I got an ask a few days ago asking if Sherlock has PTSD from Moriarty and my answer was:

Short answer: no. Long answer: he doesn't have PTSD (well. i need to think about that but I’m gonna say no for now). Moriarty was always like...a fucked up game, but Sherlock wasn't really that affected until TRF. The things Sherlock did post-fall are a source of pain, and the threat of Moriarty PLUS Eurus is very Not Good. But yeah not PTSD from moriarty's actions. [...] I forgot to mention he DOES have borderline personality disorder for other reasons, and anxiety + paranoia as like a result of that and from Moriarty

But then I was thinking about it and I read this fic and I’ve decided the answer is yes, Sherlock does have PTSD. Moriarty has a part in it, but unfortunately nothing is that straightforward.

FIRSTLY: I am not a psychiatrist, a psychologist, or a doctor. I also do not have PTSD. I am basing this on the MIND and NHS websites, and the DSM-V criterion (or like. the online summaries of it I’ve found). I also have discussed this with several people with personal experiences of trauma and PTSD. I really want to be respectful and true about my portrayal so if I say / do something that’s wrong please let me know!! 

TL;DR: Sherlock has experienced a lot of tramatic events in his life, and is currently in probably the worst point in terms of his mental health. 

Warning: discussion of abuse. Triggering content is referenced to in a lot of the links I’ve put in as well!

Criterion A: Traumatic event

I’m going to try and walk you guys through my thinking, based on three traumatic events in Sherlock’s life. I won’t be going in chronological order, nor in order of severity. The order is mostly the order he experiences the aftermath (?).

“ Trauma survivors must have been exposed to actual or threatened:

death

serious injury

sexual violence

The exposure can be:

direct

witnessed

indirect, by hearing of a relative or close friend who has experienced the event—indirectly experienced death must be accidental or violent

There is no longer a requirement that someone had to have an intense emotional response at the time of the event. ” [Source]

A point I want to make is that not everyone develops PTSD after a traumatic event, and there’s a difference between ‘normal’ stress reactions after trauma and the ongoing experiences of people with PTSD. There are other traumatic events which have happened in Sherlock’s life that haven’t contributed to his PTSD. 

1. After the fall

✔ Actual (prolonged) serious injury [direct]  ✔ Threatened death & sexual violence [direct] 

So it’s canon that Sherlock went on a mission to destroy Moriarty, and it’s canon that he was tortured (the extent to which is left up to us). We see him being beaten and with lacerations all over his back in Serbia, where Mycroft has gone in himself to extract him. Only drastic circumstances would cause Mycroft Holmes to ‘wade in’ as he put it. Something went wrong.

Now Sherlock would have had some idea what he was getting into, taking down a huge criminal network. But he wasn’t in control when he was kidnapped and tortured (multiple times, in multiple ways). He may have escaped, he may have purposefully got caught in some cases, but torture is still torture. He probably didn’t know that Mycroft was coming to get him. It’s one thing to be suicidal (something I’ll touch on later and in other posts), another to be threatened with death. 

Sherlock is not the same when he returns to London. His manic energy has an edge of paranoia. Moriarty haunts him in his mind palace (illustrated in multiple episodes). He’s not really coping (hence the relapse after a stint of stability and sobreity during s1&2), and the trauma is renewed during S4, which I will now get into. 

2. Eurus & the murder maze

✔ Actual death [witnessed / indirect] ✔  Threatened death & serious injury [direct & witnessed]

This part I’m more hazy on as I’m still working on a timeline and story of what happened exactly. The fact that Sherlock has repressed all memory of Eurus also affects this -- what does he actually know? Did he know that she killed Victor* or did he just know that she hurt him in some way? Either way, he lost someone very close to him in a very traumatic way. On top of this, Eurus spent a lot of time making threats on Sherlock’s life. 

The effects of the trauma from this part of his life is seriously delayed. It has a part to play in his self harming behaviour and drug use. It has a part to play in his BPD. But because he has only started to even remember the trauma properly after visiting Sherrinford, the trauma is affecting him the most. The events that took place during the murder maze definitely made things worse, as flashbacks kept on being triggered while he was also under a lot of stress (watching people he cared about and strangers be killed and threatened). 

This compounds upon the trauma from the fall, but also brings back his childhood trauma from Eurus (as above) and from his father (below)

3. Abuse

Childhood abuse is slightly different when it comes to PTSD, as it can sometimes lead to Complex PTSD. Complex PTSD is caused by repeated exposure to traumatic events like abuse, and symptoms can develop a long time after the event itself. 

Sherlock’s father was emotionally and occasionally physically abusive. This included constant criticism, threats, emotional neglect, ignoring him, and unreasonably punishing him. He never said anything kind or positive, no matter what Sherlock achieved. The physical abuse was mostly as a form of cruel punishment, but as he got older it became a way for his father to vent frustrations. Siger only wanted one son, and only saw Sherlock as a nuisance, a burden. Unwanted. 

This culminated when Sherlock pointed out his father’s affair at the dinnertable. His mother kicked his father out after that, along with the discovery of his treatment of Sherlock. His abuse had begun to affect their relationship too, with manipulation and controlling behaviour replacing any love and affection. Sherlock blames himself for his parent’s divorce.

It’s a major contributor to his BPD and lack of self worth. This part of his life has shaped who he is, how he behaves, and how he sees the world. It drives him to try and stop bad things from happening to others, but also drives his destructive behaviour towards himself and his relationships. 

Complex PTSD is made worse by:

the traumatic events happened early in life

the trauma was caused by a parent or carer

the person experienced the trauma for a long time

the person was alone during the trauma

there is still contact with the person responsible for the trauma.

These all apply, but Sherlock has had some therapy to try and help with this trauma specifically. As a result, he only experiences symptoms like flashbacks and panic attacks when he sees his father (not every time, however) or possibly when discussing him. 

Symptoms

Below is a list of symptoms / criteria for PTSD. I’ve put in brackets which events he most experiences those symptoms for, and I’ve put ‘BPD’ next to symptoms that overlap with borderline personality disorder.

Criterion B: Intrusion or Re-experiencing

These symptoms envelope ways that someone re-experiences the event. This could look like:

Intrusive thoughts or memories  ✔ (All)

Nightmares related to the traumatic event  ✔ (1 & 2)

Flashbacks, feeling like the event is happening again  ✔ (2 & 3)

Psychological and physical reactivity to reminders of the traumatic event, such as an anniversary (e.g. being triggered by specific events)   ✔ (2 & 3)

Criterion C: Avoidant symptoms

Avoidant symptoms describe ways that someone may try to avoid any memory of the event, and must include one of the following:

Avoiding thoughts or feelings connected to the traumatic event  ✔ (1 & 2)

Avoiding people or situations connected to the traumatic event  ✔ (2 & 3)

Criterion D: Negative alterations in mood or cognitions

This criterion is new, but captures many symptoms that have long been observed by PTSD sufferers and clinicians. Basically, there is a decline in someone’s mood or though patterns, which can include:

Memory problems that are exclusive to the event  ✔ (2)

Negative thoughts or beliefs about one’s self or the world  ✔ (All / BPD)

Distorted sense of blame for one’s self or others, related to the event  ✔ (2)

Being stuck in severe emotions related to the trauma (e.g. horror, shame, sadness)  ✔ (2)

Severely reduced interest in pre-trauma activities 

Feeling detached, isolated or disconnected from other people  ✔ (BPD)

Criterion E: Increased arousal symptoms

Increased arousal symptoms are used to describe the ways that the brain remains “on edge,” wary and watchful of further threats. Symptoms include the following:

Difficulty concentrating  ✔ 

Irritability, increased temper or anger  ✔ (BPD)

Difficulty falling or staying asleep  ✔

Hypervigilance  ✔ (1)

Being easily startled

Subtype: Dissociation

Dissociation has now been set apart from the symptom clusters, and now its presence can be specified. While there are several types of dissociation, only two are included in the DSM:

Depersonalization, or feeling disconnected from oneself  ✔ (BPD / 2)

Derealization, a sense that one’s surroundings aren’t real ✔ (1 & 2)

Other problems

Many people with PTSD also have a number of other problems, including:

other mental health problems – such as depression, anxiety or phobias ✔ (BPD)

self-harming or destructive behaviour – such as drug misuse or alcohol misuse  ✔ (BPD)

BPD & PTSD together

There is controversy in the medical / psychological field about the difference between BPD and PTSD and the diagnosis of both. They are very closely linked, and have a lot of overlap (as seen above). Studies have shown that the two often co-occur. I make the personal distiction that BPD also has a strong fear of abandonment which isn’t part of PTSD, and has more severe personality and identity issues. Obviously mental health isn’t clear cut so symptoms aren’t experienced as ‘oh, this is BPD, and this is PTSD’.