Normal Reaction (Sherlock) Completed 6/3

[matilda3948]

So, Aliena and I are doing a trade and I'm posting the first part of my story. I've been on a post-season 4 kick lately so spoilers obviously. More to come. 

**

“Earth to Sherlock Holmes,” John said, standing at the head of the sofa and looking down at his friend.

“John. How long have you been here?”

“About ten minutes. Tea’s ready. Just hold Rosie for me.” John passed the baby over as soon as Sherlock sat up. While he might not be a Holmes, John Watson was not without his own powers of deductions and he took in the state of the flat as he walked towards the kitchen. For only having been rebuilt for a month it was in startling disarray. He added it to his growing list of “Things a Bit Not Good with Sherlock.” Currently, the list included being difficult to rouse him from the mind palace, the dark circles under his eyes, stubble, pale skin, and lack of body parts in the refrigerator.

hh’ngshh!

“Bless you,” John called over his shoulder. Add sneezing to the list, he thought to himself.

When he came into the sitting room with two cups of tea, Sherlock had moved to his chair and had Rosie balanced on one knee. John’s daughter was usually the one thing that could put a smile on Sherlock’s face no matter how sour his mood, but today he was staring at her with a severe frown.

“Here you go.” John put his tea down on the table next to him and sat in his opposing chair. “Why’re you looking at my daughter like she’s some kind of alien species?” Rosie cooed and grabbed hold of one of Sherlock’s fingers. He brushed the back of her little hand with his thumb.

“Do you suppose Eurus was ever like this?” he asked quietly.

“A baby?”

“Of course she was a baby, John. I meant, do you think she was ever this…untouched?”

“You mean was she ever innocent?”

“I look at Rosie and she’s utterly helpless. Trusting. She hasn’t learned how to manipulate or lie or hurt people. When do we learn those traits? Did Eurus learn them or was she born with them lying dormant in her mind until she reached a certain age and they were unleashed?”

“Are you trying to solve questions of good and evil, nature and nurture, in this little flat by yourself?”

“If not here, where?” Sherlock asked. He finally took his eyes off Rosie and looked up at his friend. John frowned—Sherlock didn’t look well. He took a deep breath and tried to hide his concern.

“Sherlock, the questions you’re asking don’t have answers.”

“All questions have answers.”

“Well, people have been asking these particular questions for thousands of years without making much progress. Not sure even the great Sherlock Holmes can solve this one where all other humanity has failed.”

Sherlock sniffled and rubbed his nose, then placed Rosie on the floor with a basket of toys kept at Baker Street for just such visits. He reached for his tea but stopped and quickly pinched his nose shut instead.

hh’NGshh!

“Bless you.”

Sherlock nodded and picked up his tea. He retreated into moody silence for a few minutes, mulling over what John had said and obviously not liking the conclusion. John gave him some time before finally speaking up again.

“You having trouble sleeping again?” he asked. In the weeks after their escape from the prison island Sherlock had bunked at John’s and the doctor was a firsthand witness to the nightmares and insomnia that besieged his friend. John had thought that Sherlock had moved past that—by the time he had left to return to Bake Street he’d been sleeping through the night.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that you’re clearly not,” John said. “Nightmares back?” Sherlock nodded. “So trying to avoid sleeping then?” Another nod. “What’s changed?” John asked. “I mean, you’re waxing philosophical today but you were okay when you moved back home. What’s happened?” Sherlock took a sip of tea and seemed to consider his words carefully.

“Something is wrong in my mind palace,” he said.

Not good.

“Wrong how?”

“I’ll open a door I’ve gone through a hundred times and suddenly there’s nothing but a brick wall. Things move without my consehh…heh…consent…”

heh’NGTss!

“Bless.” John decided he’d circle back to Sherlock’s health later. “What else isn’t right in your mind palace?”

“Certain things are…fuzzy or grainy. I’m not sure how to describe it but it’s as though data has been corrupted.”

“Are new things showing up without your consent as well?” John asked. Sherlock nodded.

“I’ve been trying to sort it out, put things back the way they were, but they just keep moving as soon as I look away. It’s maddening.”

John knew how much Sherlock relied on his mind palace. Losing control over its organization and structure would certainly cause him distress. He assumed it was due to the trauma of his sister’s revelations but why now? What could have shifted in the last week?

“Wait. Sherlock, are you remembering things—things from when you were young?” While John had expected Sherlock to recover a huge cache of memories once things settled down, the detective remember surprisingly little of the repressed memories. There had been a few glimpses here or there in the first couple of days, but that seemed to be it. Sherlock looked unsettled and John felt he needed to reassure him. “It’s okay if you are. It’s probably good actually.”

“I don’t know if they’re real memories or false. Given that I constructed an apparently false set of memories before, how can I be sure I’m not doing it again?” The cup rattled on the saucer as Sherlock put it back down. While he’d never been a fan of talking about anything vaguely emotional, topics related to Eurus could quickly and brutally upset him.

“One thing at a time,” John said. “If you are recovering memories and if they are in conflict with what’s stored in your mind palace, do you think that would explain the disruption?” Sherlock stood and began to pace.

“I don’t know, John. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I spend hours every day, every night trying to sort it out and I can’t make heads or tails of it.” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “It had occurred to me that incompatible memories could be causing the problems, but I have no way to test that hypothesis because I don’t know if what I’m remembering is accurate.” He was pacing faster now, his agitation growing by the second.

“Okay, calm down,” John said. “There is a way to find out the accuracy of your memories.”

“I’m not asking him,” Sherlock growled.

“If not Mycroft, then your parents are an option but I’m not sure they’re reliable witnesses, so to speak. They seemed to be glossing over a lot back then. “

Sherlock had stopped with his back to him and John thought he might be weighing his options. The detective’s shoulders rose with a sudden audible inhale and John suddenly realized why Sherlock wouldn’t face him.

EhhNGTshh!

Sherlock coughed into the bend of his arms and went to the desk to get a tissue. It was nonverbal defeat and he didn’t even bother trying to hold back the next sneeze.

hehGNSSHHeew!

“Bless you.” John resisted the urge to get up from his chair and take a look at his friend—Sherlock still had that tense energy like a snake ready to strike. Years of experience told him he had to wait him out. Sherlock’s deep, heavy sigh told John he might not have to wait long. After taking a couple more tissues from the box, Sherlock returned to his chair and flopped down with a huff. He took a small container of hand sanitizer from the pocket of his dressing gown and poured a bit into his hands. That was new. Sherlock must have noticed John’s confused look because he nodded towards Rosie.

“Ah. That’s thoughtful, Sherlock. Thanks.” John smiled and shifted in his chair. “How long’s the cold been working on you?”

“Couple days,” Sherlock said.

“Fever?”

“No.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes, yeah?” Sherlock nodded and John tried to think of the best way to proceed. “I know you don’t want to talk to Mycroft about it, but I really think he’s the only one who can shed light on it. You’re obviously in that cycle of working yourself to the point of exhaustion, avoiding sleep, and not eating. So now you’re sick and worn out in every sense of the word.”

hehhNTshheew!

“Bless you.” John sighed. “We talked about this, remember?” Sherlock looked up from the tissue he still had pressed to his nose. Probably would have rolled his eyes too had he not sneezed again.

hhNTshheew! EhhTSHHHeew!

“Bless you again.” Sherlock took as long as possible blowing his nose, coughing, sipping his tea, pushing wayward toys back towards Rosie with his foot, before he was out of avoidance strategies. When he looked up, John was smiling. “You promised, Sherlock. You stood in my kitchen, looked me in the eye, and promised you wouldn’t try and deal with the fallout on your own.”

“You’re here,” Sherlock mumbled.

“And we both know I’m not the person you need to be talking to.”

Sherlock threw his head back with a frustrated groan. It caught in his throat and triggered a coughing fit that left him winded by the end.

“Serves you right for being a drama queen,” John said, but he still got up and went to get him a glass of water. When he handed it to Sherlock, he took the opportunity to press a hand to his forehead just to check. When Sherlock seemed to visibly relax, John sat on the arm of the chair and performed a combination of physical exam and comforting gestures. He checked to see if Sherlock’s glands were swollen, then rubbed the back of his neck and shoulders. Next, he tapped on his sinuses before brushing the hair back from his face. He gave a quick glance at his bloodshot eyes, then cupped his face. “I know this is hard for you,” John said. “If I could make it better I would.”

“I know,” Sherlock sighed. John dropped his hand but was surprised when Sherlock leaned over and let his head rest against John’s upper arm. This was something new since Eurus—this need for contact. It was almost like Sherlock had to keep reassuring himself that the things and people in his life were actually there. John had noticed it weeks ago. They were usually quick, cursory brushes against things, but he definitely noticed his friend establishing the physical “realness” of what was around him.

“You know Rosie and I are supposed to go visit Harry this weekend but we could reschedule,” John said.

“No. Go and see your sister.”

“It’s really not a problem. I’m a little unsure leaving you on your own like this.” Sherlock straightened up and looked at his friend. It was often that John was higher than he was, but with him seated on the arm of the chair, Sherlock had to tilt his head up slightly. “I’ll be fine and we both know I’m not going to be on my own for very long.”

“Does that mean you’ll call Mycroft?” John asked. Sherlock rested his head against John again.

“No. That means you’re going to text him on your way to the train station because you’re a busybody and it’s what you do.”

Both men laughed and John ran a hand over Sherlock’s head.

“Why don’t you try and settle in for a nap before we leave?” John asked. After Sherlock stopped leaning on him, John went and straightened the cushions on the sofa and went down the hall to get a blanket off Sherlock’s bed.

A nap seemed like a good idea, Sherlock thought. His head was feeling heavy and thick—whether from the cold, the conversation, or both, he couldn’t be sure. All he was certain of was the fact that he was feeling decidedly worse than he was that morning. He took a few crumpled tissues from his dressing gown pocket and rubbed them against his nose. It was tingly and itchy all the way up at the bridge and he was hoping to either alleviate the sensation or coax out a sneeze rather than stay in the annoying in-between space he occupied now.

“Okay?” John asked, coming back into the room. Sherlock nodded but kept the tissues close to his nose.

“Heh…nose itches.”

He tilted his head back and felt his breath hitch twice. Raising the tissues to his nose with both hands, Sherlock’s eyebrows raised with each inhale, his nostrils twitched, lips parted, and finally he doubled over with the long-awaited sneeze.

heh ehh…hehhNTSHHeew!

“Bless y—”

ehhNTSHHHeew! heh HEHH…hh’NGTshhheew! NTSHHHeew!

He stayed frozen with his tissue-covered hands cupped around his nose, breath wavering.

HehTSHHHH! ehhTSHHHeew!

“Done?” John asked holding out the box of tissues. Sherlock started to nod, then shook his head suddenly, twisting away from John.

hehhTISHHHeew! ehhTSHHHeew! heh Ehh…hehhNTSHHHeew!

He sniffled wetly and took a handful of tissues from the box John was holding out to him. He blew his nose and wondered how sneezing that much could make his head feel more full instead of less.

“Bless you, Sherlock. Alright?”

“For now,” he said with a sniffle. Sherlock stood and went to the kitchen to throw away the tissues and wash his hands. When he came back in John had picked Rosie up off the floor. She was looking at Sherlock with a general look of unhappiness on her face. “Now, now, Watson,” he said, running a hand over her head. “Perfectly normal reaction for someone who’s contracted a rhinovirus. Nothing to worry about.” He winked at her and she resumed chewing on her hand and talking to herself. “I see she’s inherited your furrowed brow when she’s worried,” Sherlock said to John as he stretched out on the sofa.

“There’re worse things she could have gotten from me,” John said. Sherlock burrowed under the blanket suddenly feeling incredibly tired. “We’re going to stay for another twenty minutes or so before we have to leave to catch our train.”

“Mm.”

John put the tissues and his water within easy reach, then sat in his chair with Rosie. He picked up one of her many books and began to read in a low, clear voice. Sherlock drifted off to the sounds of John reading The Lorax.

Edited June 4, 2017 by matilda3948

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Oh, do I adore this! It's just so...comforting, and sweet, while still being mysterious and full of sick!Sherlock (one of my favorite things). ❤️

[SneezyHolmes]

What a lovely story! Thanks for sharing!

[Spoo]

I don't usually comment on Sherlock fics anymore, but this one's pulled me from the woodwork. I love everything about John and Sherlock's dialogue and general interaction (I've always thought that you keep them perfectly in character). Another thing I really liked were the little details: 

 

19 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

Rosie cooed and grabbed hold of one of Sherlock’s fingers. He brushed the back of her little hand with his thumb.

19 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

The cup rattled on the saucer as Sherlock put it back down.

19 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

pushing wayward toys back towards Rosie with his foot

 

And this little heartwarming segment?

19 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

When Sherlock seemed to visibly relax, John sat on the arm of the chair and performed a combination of physical exam and comforting gestures. He checked to see if Sherlock’s glands were swollen, then rubbed the back of his neck and shoulders. Next, he tapped on his sinuses before brushing the hair back from his face. He gave a quick glance at his bloodshot eyes, then cupped his face.

So beautifully tender and sweet.  But then you do something like this:

19 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

It was almost like Sherlock had to keep reassuring himself that the things and people in his life were actually there.

Aaaaand my heart just breaks.  

 

But yes, well done! This could easily be a fourth episode of season 4.   

[Shamaël]

@matilda3948 you are wonderful.  Now that I have half an hour, I can answer you correctly and let me repeat : YOU. ARE. WONDERFUL. I'm so glad you started this story and I like EVERYTHING in this part. Especially...

1) The mind palace. Oh my God, how did you lnow it's one of my Sherlock obsessions??? I had not told you about it... The fact that his mind palace has changed in spite of him is a great idea and I can't wait to see how you're going to play with it.

2) An eventual Sherlock-Mycroft discussion about Eurus. I love the John-Sherlock interaction but what's between the brothers is something which I love to analyse.

3) Well, the interaction between John and Sherlock. So in character and so cute and... (And after the whole season 4, they deserve this, really.)

4) Interrogations about Eurus and her "innocence" and the reasons why she became a psychopath. I don't like the fact that everybody is special in this show, but I must confess I like Eurus.

5) Last but not least, the final sneezing fit, which was... well... you know. 

I'll just quote what I enjoyed particularly:

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

He added it to his growing list of “Things a Bit Not Good with Sherlock.” Currently, the list included being difficult to rouse him from the mind palace, the dark circles under his eyes, stubble, pale skin, and lack of body parts in the refrigerator.

"A bit not good" is, I believe, my favorite quote from the whole show...

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

“Sherlock, the questions you’re asking don’t have answers.”

“All questions have answers.”

“Well, people have been asking these particular questions for thousands of years without making much progress. Not sure even the great Sherlock Holmes can solve this one where all other humanity has failed.”

These were perfectly spot-on John-Sherlock lines.

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

Sherlock coughed into the bend of his arms and went to the desk to get a tissue. It was nonverbal defeat and he didn’t even bother trying to hold back the next sneeze.

The expression "nonverbal defeat" was great.

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

“You promised, Sherlock. You stood in my kitchen, looked me in the eye, and promised you wouldn’t try and deal with the fallout on your own.”

“You’re here,” Sherlock mumbled.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my heart!!!!!

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

John dropped his hand but was surprised when Sherlock leaned over and let his head rest against John’s upper arm. This was something new since Eurus—this need for contact. It was almost like Sherlock had to keep reassuring himself that the things and people in his life were actually there. John had noticed it weeks ago. They were usually quick, cursory brushes against things, but he definitely noticed his friend establishing the physical “realness” of what was around him.

This is exactly my headcanon for the post-season 4, so... thank you for writing it so beautifully.

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

“Done?” John asked holding out the box of tissues. Sherlock started to nod, then shook his head suddenly, twisting away from John.

It was very, very hard not to yell when I read this (but I wasn't alone in the flat, so I didn't) because it's just mu favorite sneezing scenario... 

On 24/04/2017 at 5:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

He blew his nose and wondered how sneezing that much could make his head feel more full instead of less.

That is so true. Poor Sherlock.

I promise you'll recieve a story from me, but as I told you, it's going to take me some time... But I have a plan and I know where I'm going. Once again, thank you for your trade story offfer and for this amazing 1st part!!!

[Vetinari]

Nice character details. Quite delicious all round really. Poor Sherlock.  

[AngelEyes]

This is wonderful! It's such perfect John and Sherlock which I feel is really needed in the aftermath.

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

He added it to his growing list of “Things a Bit Not Good with Sherlock.”

One of my favorite phrasings from the show.

 

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

“I look at Rosie and she’s utterly helpless. Trusting. She hasn’t learned how to manipulate or lie or hurt people. When do we learn those traits? Did Eurus learn them or was she born with them lying dormant in her mind until she reached a certain age and they were unleashed?”

 

 

“Are you trying to solve questions of good and evil, nature and nurture, in this little flat by yourself?”

 

 

“If not here, where?” Sherlock asked.

This is so sad and so perfectly Sherlock.

 

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

“I’ve been trying to sort it out, put things back the way they were, but they just keep moving as soon as I look away. It’s maddening.”

 

 

John knew how much Sherlock relied on his mind palace. Losing control over its organization and structure would certainly cause him distress.

I can't imagine anything much worse for him.

 

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You promised, Sherlock. You stood in my kitchen, looked me in the eye, and promised you wouldn’t try and deal with the fallout on your own.”

Heartbreak!

 

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

It was almost like Sherlock had to keep reassuring himself that the things and people in his life were actually there. John had noticed it weeks ago. They were usually quick, cursory brushes against things, but he definitely noticed his friend establishing the physical “realness” of what was around him.

Oh. Sad.

 

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Does that mean you’ll call Mycroft?” John asked. Sherlock rested his head against John again.

 

 

“No. That means you’re going to text him on your way to the train station because you’re a busybody and it’s what you do.”

Truth!

 

On 4/23/2017 at 10:14 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Done?” John asked holding out the box of tissues. Sherlock started to nod, then shook his head suddenly, twisting away from John.

Totally my favorite thing!!!

[matilda3948]

On 4/24/2017 at 0:43 AM, MyOwnPrivateSFC said:

Oh, do I adore this! It's just so...comforting, and sweet, while still being mysterious and full of sick!Sherlock (one of my favorite things). ❤️

Thank you!! sick!Sherlock is kind of the best  

On 4/24/2017 at 1:10 AM, SneezyHolmes said:

What a lovely story! Thanks for sharing!

I'm glad you like it! I'm having fun writing it  

On 4/24/2017 at 8:10 AM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Oh this going to be good. I am very interested in what you think this conversation between Mycroft and Sherlock is going to be like. I have thoughts myself... 

It's been (the fun kind of) difficult to sketch out.

On 4/24/2017 at 6:29 PM, Spoo said:

I don't usually comment on Sherlock fics anymore, but this one's pulled me from the woodwork. I love everything about John and Sherlock's dialogue and general interaction (I've always thought that you keep them perfectly in character).

Aww...thanks! Glad I pulled you back into the world of Sherlock fics. Season 4 got me back into it again.

On 4/25/2017 at 4:47 PM, Aliena H. said:

@matilda3948 you are wonderful.  Now that I have half an hour, I can answer you correctly and let me repeat : YOU. ARE. WONDERFUL. I'm so glad you started this story and I like EVERYTHING in this part.

I'm soooo glad you like it!! This trade was everything I needed to distract me from my real life. I am so very over my real life  

On 4/27/2017 at 4:00 PM, Vetinari said:

Nice character details. Quite delicious all round really. Poor Sherlock.  

Thanks! Yes, poor Sherlock indeed.

On 4/28/2017 at 0:19 AM, AngelEyes said:

This is wonderful! It's such perfect John and Sherlock which I feel is really needed in the aftermath.

Yeah, season 4 is rich with unresolved feelings.

[matilda3948]

Wow! All of your feedback was so kind. Thank you very, very much!  

This is a second part. I hadn't originally planned on posting another piece so soon, but it was grade my student's finals or write this...so we clearly know how that went  Hope you like!

 

Mycroft paused outside the door of 221B and straightened the brass knocker before rapping on the door. A moment later the door swung open and Martha Hudson stood in the doorway.

“What do you want?” she asked, blocking the entrance.

“Mrs. Hudson, always nice to see you. I’m here to visit my brother.”

“And what if I say no?” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“Might we continue this inside? It is rather cold out here,” Mycroft said, doing his best not to appear impatient.

“Last time you were in my house it blew up,” she said, but did stand aside and let him into the hall. Mycroft closed the door behind him and put down the bag he was carrying so he could take off his gloves.

“To be fair, I apologized for that incident and had the flat rebuilt.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” Mrs. Hudson snapped.

“I suppose not. Well, as much as I always enjoy our little chats, I do need to speak with Sherlock.” He started up the stairs and rolled his eyes as she followed behind like his shadow.

“You mind your manner, do you hear? He’s a bit under the weather and doesn’t need to be pestered,” she said. He opened the door and found Sherlock lying on the sofa, covered up with a blanket and beginning to stir—no doubt awakened by the noise downstairs.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft greeted his brother as he paused to hang up his coat.

“Say the word and I’ll drag him back downstairs by his ear,” Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock did his best not to smile but couldn’t hide it completely. When she saw the incredulous look on Mycroft’s face she pointed a finger at him. “I don’t like you and what’s more, you don’t frighten me in the least. I know your type—”

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock interrupted her. He sounded and looked dreadful, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m sure Mycroft will be on his very best behavior. Won’t you brother mine?”

“Of course. As always, nice to see you, Mrs. Hudson.”

“I wish I could say the same. I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” she said to Sherlock, waiting for his nod before she went back downstairs.

“Oh, I do enjoy my run-ins with your octogenarian bulldog of landlady,” Mycroft said, smoothing out his shirt. Sherlock fought back an actual laugh. While she’d never exactly been a fan of Mycroft Holmes, Mrs. Hudson seemed to have adopted an openly hostile attitude of late. Mycroft looked around the flat, taking note of the state of things. “You know, brother dear, just because we rebuilt Baker Street as an exact replica of the original, that doesn’t mean you need to replicate your previous subpar housekeeping skills.” Sherlock didn’t say anything yet. He knew Mycroft wasn’t done with his assessment and he’d rather deal with it all at once; he simply didn’t have the energy for a prolonged defense. After circling the living room Mycroft stood in front of Sherlock. “You look terrible,” he said, his tone gentler than his actual words. Sherlock made a grab for the tissue on the table.

heh HEHH…ehhNTSHHHeew! hh’NGTshhheew! NTSHHHH!

“God bless you.” Sherlock blew his nose and coughed causing Mycroft to wince. “You sound even worse than you look,” he said.

“You have marvelous bedside manner,” Sherlock said.

“Dr. Watson said you were ill.”

“Just a cold.”

“Is it?”

A tense silence followed until Sherlock raised his head and met his brother’s eyes. It was easier this way—letting Mycroft deduce it. They maintained eye contact for eighteen seconds before Mycroft decided he had the information he needed. He nodded and turned towards the kitchen.

“You need to eat,” he said. He opened the refrigerator and found it almost completely empty. “As I expected. Luckily, I came prepared.” Mycroft picked up the bag he’d set by the door and took it into the kitchen so he could unpack the takeaway he’d ordered. Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen and sat down at the table watching his brother move through the kitchen. Mycroft took a box of cold medicine out of the bag and put two pills next to Sherlock’s plate, then got him a glass of water. After fixing his own plate with some sort of chicken and vegetable stir fry, he put a grilled cheese sandwich and macaroni and cheese on Sherlock’s.

“Do you know what it’s like to have to order off the children’s menu from a restaurant where the head chef knows you don’t have children?” Mycroft asked.

“Humiliating, I hope.”

“Quite.”

Sherlock swallowed the pills without argument. He’d woken from his nap feeling chilled and congested. His throat was sore and his nose was nearly constantly threatening to erupt in a fit of sneezes. In fact, he still hadn’t taken a bite of his food yet because he was waiting to see if this was the tickle that would finally make him sneeze. He had his napkin folded over and pressed to his nose, taking slow breaths through his mouth. His breath hitched and he angled away from the table…nothing. A series of wet little sniffles followed and Sherlock again felt his breath hitch.

Hehh Ehh..EHH!

Another false start. He scrubbed his nose back and forth and sighed. Mycroft frowned and got a handkerchief out of his pocket. He slid it across the table and Sherlock nodded, already struggling with another teasing buildup. The skin around his nose was pink and irritated, his eyes watery. Sherlock closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them and staring straight up into the kitchen light.

heh HEHH…hehhMPFTISHHHeew! hh’MFSHHHeew! eh EHH…hehhIHHMPSHHeew!

“Finally,” he breathed with relief.

“Bless you. That was quite the production.” Sherlock scowled at his brother but couldn’t really disagree. Mycroft was nearly a third of the way through his meal and Sherlock was just now able to take his first bite. He paused, mouth full of grilled cheese, a moment later and quietly said,

“Thanks, Mycroft.”

“Always carbohydrates and cheese when you’re ill. Ever since you were young,” Mycroft mumbled.

They ate dinner in silence—neither man particularly excited about the conversation they knew was coming. Sherlock was surprised at how nervous he felt. He ate deliberately slowly and avoided making direct eye contact with his brother.

“Are you done stalling?” Mycroft asked. Sherlock nodded and Mycroft cleared their plates before switching on the kettle. “Go sit down.”

Sherlock stood in the living room and looked at the two chairs, ultimately deciding to sit in John’s. He pulled his legs up and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and not opening them until he heard the clink of his tea cup being put down next to him. Mycroft sat down in Sherlock’s chair and crossed one leg over the other.

“So,” the elder brother said.

“So.”

And that was as far as they got before descending into uncomfortable silence. Mycroft picked invisible lint of his left pant leg and Sherlock seemed fascinated in what was in the bottom of his tea cup. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the mantle and Sherlock’s regular sniffling. Finally, Mycroft asked a question.

“What is it that you want to know?”

“How…how much did John tell you?”

“As little as possible I suspect,” Mycroft said. When Sherlock huffed in frustration, he continued. “He simply said that you may be recovering some memories and that you needed assistance determining the accuracy of those memories.”

“Right.” Sherlock found it interesting that either John hadn’t mentioned the disruption of his mind palace or Mycroft was purposefully sidestepping that part. “So, I think I’m remembering things but given my previous track record I’m…a bit unsure.”

“How can I help?”

“They’re not complete memories—more like flashes and little bits and pieces. That’s part of what makes it so difficult. I can’t place them in order.”

“Sherlock, I’m going to need you to be much more specific if there’s any chance of me being able to sort through—”

“It’s not that easy!” he snapped. “A lifetime of corrupted memories don’t seem to come back in any kind of logical order. I can’t simply will them to comply in order to make your work easier!”

Mycroft’s face hardened and he stood up.

“I did not come over here to have you yell at me, brother mine. If you’d like to call me when you feel like behaving like an adult—”

“You owe me this!”

“Owe you? What exactly do you think I owe you?” Mycroft asked. “If you want to create a list of favors performed over the course of our lives, by all means, let’s. I think you’ll see I come out well ahead.”

“We have a sister, Mycroft. She murdered my best friend, burned down our house, and I suppressed all of it. And you let me! The only reason I rem—ehh-heh…remember anything is because she nearly did it again. Tell me, if she hadn’t forced your hand, would you have ehh—Ehh! hehhihh…ever told me?” He barely managed to finish before snapping forward with a violent sneeze.

hehhIHHGNTSHHH!

He blew his nose into the handkerchief which immediately triggered more sneezes.

Ehh’ngtschh! NTSCHHeew! hehNGSHHeew! TSCHHHeew!

Sherlock’s head was spinning, his throat scraped raw, and his nose was running like a faucet. He had no idea if his brother had stormed out of the flat or not—and he honestly didn’t care at this point. He blew his nose and shivered, sinking back into John’s chair.

“Bless you, Sherlock.”

Still there then. Maybe if he just sat here with his eyes closed his brother would get frustrated and leave. This probably wouldn’t have been a good idea if he was at his best, and Sherlock had to admit he was a far cry from his best at the moment. He heard Mycroft’s footsteps moving away and he breathed a little sigh of relief, only to be surprised when the steps came back and he was covered up with the blanket he’d slept with on the sofa.

Mycroft sat back down in the chair with a heavy sigh, his posture slumped a bit. Sherlock stayed curled up in the chair with his eyes closed, but clearly not falling asleep. He was tense and guarded, the relative calm of the first half of their evening shattered. Mycroft decided to press on. Avoiding the situation (appealing though it may be) was clearly no longer an option.

“No. I would not have told you if she hadn’t chosen to reveal herself,” he said in answer to Sherlock’s earlier question.

“Why?” When Mycroft didn’t answer, Sherlock prompted him. “You have to tell me why.” Mycroft nodded and took a sip of his tea. Sherlock’s anger seemed to ebb a little and he gave his brother a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You have to understand a few things,” Mycroft began slowly. “After Victor disappeared you became a very different child. You were unresponsive for weeks, didn’t talk for even longer. Our parents consulted the very best professionals of course, but there was no consensus on how to proceed. Some thought you should be pushed and others advised to wait until you indicated some kind of change. Ultimately, it was decided that we would take our cues from you; we would adapt to you if and when you emerged.” Mycroft paused and traced the stitching on the armchair. “When you started speaking again it was slowly, usually only to me, and you never mentioned Eurus. We were advised to follow your lead—we agreed not to bring her up unless you did. And you never did. When you came out of that profound silence, Victor had transformed into Redbeard and Eurus seemed to have vanished. No one wanted to risk sending you back into that state. Everyone was afraid you might not come out of it a second time. Our parents remained conflicted about it until…”

“Until you told them she had died,” Sherlock finished. “That’s why you lied to them.”

“It was one reason, but yes, probably the main one. With her death, they no longer saw the point of risking further trauma to you.”

“That’s quite a burden,” Sherlock said.

“It was hard on them to be sure, but they healed.”

“I meant you.” Mycroft looked up and saw Sherlock watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“Ah. Well, it was…it was really a very easy decision given the options at hand,” Mycroft said.

A slightly less awkward silence ensued as both men processed the conversation. It might have persisted longer, but Sherlock began to cough—an irritated throat clearly at first, but finally the kind of full-throated cough that stung from his larynx to the top of his chest.

“You need more tea,” Mycroft said, getting up. He came back a moment later, this time with a cup heavily laced with honey and lemon. Sherlock sipped it slowly and felt the pain in his throat ease.

“There’s something wrong in my mind palace. Things are moving, rearranging themselves without my knowledge,” he finally admitted.

“Hm. If you’re recovering memories I’m not surprised,” Mycroft said. Sherlock couldn’t explain it, but he felt an overwhelming sense of relief when his brother seemed to take this news in stride.

“I’ve been afraid something was wrong,” he realized.

“That’s a normal reaction. It’s been one of your few healthy refuges and coping mechanisms. I think it will right itself with time.” Mycroft said it with such confidence that Sherlock believed him.

Heh Ehh… hehhTISHHHeew! ehhTSHHHeew!

Mercifully, he stopped at only two this time.

“Bless you.”

“Are you sure those pills you gave me weren’t Tic-Tacs?”

“You know you never do anything by halves, brother mine.” That earned him a small smirk from his younger brother and then another bit of honesty.

“I’m not sure how to talk about it,” he admitted. Mycroft nodded and thought for a moment.

“We could start by playing ‘True or False’” he suggested. “You tell me something you’ve recalled and I’ll simply tell you true or false to get things started. It was a modified version of a game they had played as children. Back then the goal had been to see how convincing a lie they could craft. Sherlock recognized the olive branch for what it was. He nodded.

“Okay. True or False…”

TBC...

[ichixshiro14]

This is magnificent! I am absolutely loving your characterization and plot! Any chances John might return from holiday with some sniffles? ? 

[Shamaël]

Do you allow me to scream hysterically? Because that's what I'm currently doing. Thank you so much for writing Mycroft so beautifully! (I like your Mrs Hudson too, even if I'm a bit sad for Big Brother who's just trying to be nice...)

20 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Oh, I do enjoy my run-ins with your octogenarian bulldog of landlady,”

20 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

It was easier this way—letting Mycroft deduce it. They maintained eye contact for eighteen seconds before Mycroft decided he had the information he needed.

Oh, the Holmes. I love them.

20 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Do you know what it’s like to have to order off the children’s menu from a restaurant where the head chef knows you don’t have children?” Mycroft asked.

... And Mycroft is just wonderful.

False starts, build ups and waiting for the sneeze are just what I prefer, so I was spoiled in this part. 

And the whole conversation about Eurus and Sherlock's childhood was just incredible.

20 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“That’s quite a burden,” Sherlock said.

“It was hard on them to be sure, but they healed.”

“I meant you.” Mycroft looked up and saw Sherlock watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“Ah. Well, it was…it was really a very easy decision given the options at hand,” Mycroft said.

Oh my heart...

20 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Okay. True or False…”

Hunger games???

Thank you so much! 

[Spoo]

Ahhhh, I feel so spoiled from all of the Holmes brothers goodness!  Loved every bit of their conversation, including this:

 

21 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Do you know what it’s like to have to order off the children’s menu from a restaurant where the head chef knows you don’t have children?” Mycroft asked.

“Humiliating, I hope.”

“Quite.”

 

Omg, Mrs. Hudson is fearless! The way she chased Mycroft up the stairs, hahaha. She's not afraid of that "reptile".  Not to mention Hudders being super protective over Sherlock makes me soooo happy. 

 

21 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

The skin around his nose was pink and irritated, his eyes watery. Sherlock closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them and staring straight up into the kitchen light.

heh HEHH…hehhMPFTISHHHeew! hh’MFSHHHeew! eh EHH…hehhIHHMPSHHeew!

“Finally,” he breathed with relief.

 

Lovely, lovely image here (I can totally hear Benedict's deep voice). 

 

21 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“When you started speaking again it was slowly, usually only to me, and you never mentioned Eurus. We were advised to follow your lead—we agreed not to bring her up unless you did. And you never did. When you came out of that profound silence, Victor had transformed into Redbeard and Eurus seemed to have vanished. No one wanted to risk sending you back into that state. Everyone was afraid you might not come out of it a second time.

This entire discussion gives me a lot of feels, and they're mostly sad ones.  Poor Sherlock (and bravo on Mycroft's characterization!). 

 

Can't wait to see where you take this, because honestly? It's a fantastic fic and one I didn't know I needed until it popped up on here.  

Edited April 30, 2017 by Spoo

[AngelEyes]

On 4/29/2017 at 3:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Say the word and I’ll drag him back downstairs by his ear,” Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock did his best not to smile but couldn’t hide it completely. When she saw the incredulous look on Mycroft’s face she pointed a finger at him. “I don’t like you and what’s more, you don’t frighten me in the least. I know your type—”

I love protective!MrsHudson, she's the best! And Mycroft just sort of takes it in stride.

 

On 4/29/2017 at 3:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

A tense silence followed until Sherlock raised his head and met his brother’s eyes. It was easier this way—letting Mycroft deduce it. They maintained eye contact for eighteen seconds before Mycroft decided he had the information he needed. He nodded and turned towards the kitchen.

This is perfect. I can totally imagine the brothers having some of their deepest communications just by studying each other without speaking.

 

On 4/29/2017 at 3:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Do you know what it’s like to have to order off the children’s menu from a restaurant where the head chef knows you don’t have children?” Mycroft asked.

 

 

“Humiliating, I hope.”

 

 

“Quite.”

LOL!

 

On 4/29/2017 at 3:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Ah. Well, it was…it was really a very easy decision given the options at hand,” Mycroft said.

Awwww!

 

On 4/29/2017 at 3:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You know you never do anything by halves, brother mine.”

So true!

 

On 4/29/2017 at 3:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

“We could start by playing ‘True or False’” he suggested. “You tell me something you’ve recalled and I’ll simply tell you true or false to get things started. It was a modified version of a game they had played as children. Back then the goal had been to see how convincing a lie they could craft. Sherlock recognized the olive branch for what it was. He nodded.

 

 

 

Good idea. Mycroft's so smart!

[cally]

On 24/04/2017 at 4:14 AM, matilda3948 said:

That means you’re going to text him on your way to the train station because you’re a busybody and it’s what you do.”

Yes, yes, this.  

On 29/04/2017 at 9:13 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You know you never do anything by halves, brother mine.”

Oh, so so true.  

This is such a terribly enjoyable piece and I am sorry for my lapse in commenting, but I've been enjoying since you first posted.  

[matilda3948]

On 4/30/2017 at 11:38 AM, ichixshiro14 said:

This is magnificent! I am absolutely loving your characterization and plot! Any chances John might return from holiday with some sniffles? ? 

I don't know. I haven't actually figured out how I want to end it.

 

On 4/30/2017 at 0:55 PM, Aliena H. said:

Do you allow me to scream hysterically? Because that's what I'm currently doing. Thank you so much for writing Mycroft so beautifully! (I like your Mrs Hudson too, even if I'm a bit sad for Big Brother who's just trying to be nice...)

Oh, the Holmes. I love them.

I'm so glad you're liking it! I love Mrs. Hudson. So fierce!

On 4/30/2017 at 1:59 PM, Spoo said:

Ahhhh, I feel so spoiled from all of the Holmes brothers goodness!  

Can't wait to see where you take this, because honestly? It's a fantastic fic and one I didn't know I needed until it popped up on here.  

YAY!! I hope the next section stays in character. 

On 4/30/2017 at 4:39 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said:

Oh wonderful. Your Mycroft is lovely. 

Thank you  

On 5/2/2017 at 1:36 AM, AngelEyes said:

I love protective!MrsHudson, she's the best! And Mycroft just sort of takes it in stride.

I love her and the protectiveness she shows for her boys.

On 5/2/2017 at 10:54 AM, cally said:

This is such a terribly enjoyable piece and I am sorry for my lapse in commenting, but I've been enjoying since you first posted.  

I'm really happy you're enjoying it. I've had fun writing it.

[matilda3948]

Thank you all for the comments!

I think this is the last major section. I do want to write some kind of post-script but I've no earthly idea what that's going to be. I hope this stays in character. It can be a little difficult to write dialogue for characters who rarely have lengthy conversations on screen.

**

“Okay. True or False…”

Sherlock paused and tried to decide where to start.

“She took the wings off butterflies,” he finally said.

“True.” Mycroft wasn’t sure if this reassured his brother or disturbed him. “She had a predilection for de-winging a number of different animals—butterflies, moths, flies, lightning bugs, bees.”

“She kept the wings in boxes?”

“Also true.” He could see Sherlock trying to decide if he wanted to ask additional questions or move on to something else. Mycroft kept his face neutral. As he had for most of his life, he would follow his brother’s lead and go at the pace he set.

“She drew intricate maps.”

“True,” Mycroft said.

Another long pause, but this time for a more obvious reason. Sherlock’s head tilted back slightly his Adam’s apple bobbed as he suffered through two sneezes that deserted him at the last moment. He rubbed his nose against the back of his wrist and finally felt the tickle come surging back.

heh EHH…hehhngTSCHHH! ehhSNTSCHHHeew!

“Bless you.”

Sherlock made a thick, nasal sounding sniffle and got a fair handful of tissues from the box next to him. He blew his nose, wincing at how tender the skin was getting—no doubt the skin was red and absurd looking. Before Mycroft got a chance to try and get him to go to bed, Sherlock pressed on.

“She liked Vivaldi.”

“True.”

“I loved her.”

“True.”

“Then why?” Sherlock whispered. Mycroft swore he felt an actual pain in his chest. He hated this. He’d worked for years to avoid saying what he was about to have to say.

“You adored her, Sherlock. You really did.” He sighed and kept going. “You were an incredibly loving child but Eurus wanted all of your attention, all of your affection. Any kindness you showed someone else she took as a slight. She resented anyone that you cared about but no one more than Victor. The closer your friendship became, the more vengeful she got. Nothing short of owning your every moment would satisfy her…and even then I’m not sure how long that would have kept her content.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and drew his knees up in the chair. His head hurt and he was cold. There was something else tugging at his memory but he couldn’t place it. His thoughts were slow and uncoordinated. Maybe if he just kept his eyes shut and tried to focus he’d sort through it…

“Sherlock? Come on. You need to go to bed.” He heard his brother’s voice cutting through the haze and felt a hand resting heavily on his shoulder. As he forced his eyes open he saw that there was a fire in the fireplace and the flat had been tidied. “Here,” Mycroft said, holding out several clean tissues. Why was he—oh, that’s why, Sherlock realized.

hh’gntschh! NTschhh! hehh EHHSNTSCHHeew!

He blew his nose and rubbed his throat. Those hurt.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked. He cleared his throat when he heard how hoarse and gravely his voice was.

“Nearly two hours. You seemed comfortable enough but you shouldn’t spend the night sleeping in a chair.”

Sherlock slowly stretched out and got to his feet. He cocked his head when he got a good look at Mycroft. He’d discarded his jacket, waistcoat, and had his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“No tie or cufflinks? Did Lady Smallwood visit while I was asleep?” Sherlock asked. He may have rolled his eyes, but the snide comment made Mycroft slightly less worried.

Sherlock made the bare minimum effort it took to get ready for bed and then crawled under the blankets with a relieved sigh. Mycroft had him take another dose of medicine and put a fresh box of tissues and full glass of water on his bedside table.

“Are you staying?” Sherlock asked.

“I was planning to.”

“Good.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He turned off the lamp and was nearly at the door when he heard his brother’s voice again.

“I thought you were staying.”

Oh. He meant staying in the room.

“Just getting a book and turning out the lights. I’ll be right back,” Mycroft said. Sherlock nodded and yawned before pulling the quilt up to his chin.

**

He woke with a shout, panting and clawing at the blankets. Mycroft had been dozing in a chair next to Sherlock's bed and was startled awake by the sudden outburst. When he attempted to calm his brother down, Sherlock shouted at him to stay away. Mycroft wasn't entirely sure his brother even knew where he was; his eyes moved around the room like it was the first time he'd seen it. His clothes were soaked with sweat and his hair was disheveled and stuck to his face. Nightmare then. With his hands held up in a placating gesture, Mycroft took a couple steps towards his brother.

"Just a dream, Sherlock. Time to calm down."

Sherlock looked at him and then promptly bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Deciding to give him a few minutes, Mycroft went about changing the sheets on the bed—nothing worse than sweaty sheets. He heard sneezing and coughing coming from the bathroom and tamped down the urge to go after Sherlock. Next thing he heard was water running in the sink and it sounded like Sherlock was splashing it on his face. After getting clean pajamas from the dresser, Mycroft rapped on the bathroom door. It was unlocked and that was as good as a "come in" in his brother's world. He opened the door and saw Sherlock still bent over the sink, arms braced on the counter. Every few seconds he scooped up a handful of water and rubbed it over his face. His breathing was still shallow and uneven, his hands shaking and spilling most of the water. Myrcoft took a flannel off the shelf and dipped it in the cool water in the sink basin. He brought it up and blotted Sherlock's face, pressing is gently against his eyes, and then moving around to the back of his neck. The process was repeated several times before Sherlock seemed to calm down and come back to himself. Mycroft dried his hands, let the water out of the sink, and put the pajamas on the counter.

"Change your clothes before going back to bed," he said closing the door behind him. 

He finished straightening the bed and turned when he heard the bathroom door open. Before he could register what had happened, he found himself with an armful of Sherlock Holmes. His brother was hugging him. Hugging! This was simply not done. Once his initial shock ebbed, Mycroft wrapped one tentative arm over Sherlock's shoulder. 

"My goodness, what on earth did you dream about?" Mycroft asked.

"I remembered what 'Danger Nights' were really about."

"Oh." Mycroft felt a rush of worry, sadness, and anxiety flood him all at once. He hugged Sherlock back in earnest now, shifting so that the younger man could rest his head on his shoulder. He swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat and began to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I had hoped that one might stay forgotten," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." Sherlock didn't answer but Mycroft could feel tears dripping onto his shoulder. He even felt his own eyes sting a bit standing in the middle of the bedroom with his brother clinging to him like his life depended on it. It was only when he felt Sherlock sway on his feet that he said, "Get into bed. Your legs are going to give out and I'm not strong enough to hold you up."

Sherlock all but collapsed onto the bed but then slid all the over to the side. Any other time and Mycroft would have said no, or at least made some kind of scathing remark, but not tonight.

“Tihhehh…tissues?” Sherlock managed. Mycroft snagged the box and handed them over. Sherlock looked miserable. His eyes were bloodshot and he was pale as a sheet except for the angry red skin around his nose. Even his sneezes somehow managed to sound miserable.

heh Ehh...hehIHHGNSHHH! hh’gsnnshhhh! hehh Ehh…ehhSNSCHHHeew!

“Bless you, Sherlock.”

Mycroft stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard and almost instantly had Sherlock's head in his lap. 

"You're burning up," Mycroft said, brushing the hair off his forehead. 

"M'cold."

"You'll feel better in the morning."

"The memory is fuzzy. Explain how it happened."

"Let's wait until you're feeling a little better," Mycroft said.

"No. Now."

"Sherlock, please—”

“It’s been just out of my reach for days. It can’t wait until morning—I might not get it back.”

If you insist." Mycroft didn't really think he'd get off that easily but it was worth a try. He pressed his lips together and tried to figure out where to start. "It was getting clearer that you were her target. She would watch you constantly, occasionally trying to lure you out away from the house. It was easier to manage during the day time but night was different. Our parents thought I was overreacting of course but it was clear as day to me.”

“You used to call it a ‘pirate sleepover,’ a danger night on the high seas,” Sherlock said.

“That’s right. We’d push the bed against the wall and pretend it was anchored to the side of a ship. You’d get in bed, I’d cover you up, and then lay on top of the blankets. I was afraid she would convince you to get up and follow her in the middle of the night. I did everything I could to make sure I would wake up if you tried to get out of bed.”

“Did she ever try?”

“She came in almost every night towards the end. Always singing a song and claiming she wanted to play with you. I refused to leave and eventually she would give up. Sometimes she stood there for over an hour hoping my resolve would crack.”

“Your resolve never cracks,” Sherlock mumbled, rubbing at his nose with a tissue.

“I knew what she was and what she was capable of, even then.”

“You were a human barricade while I slept through and you’ve been putting yourself between us ever since.”

Mycroft didn’t really know what to say to that. He’d seen many frightening things in his life, but few still gave him nightmares like those long nights staring down his ill, angry, dangerous little sister. The thought of waking up one morning and finding his brother had disappeared gnawed at his nerves. Eurus knew it and never missed an opportunity to remind him that he couldn’t be there every moment of every day. That annoying lump in his throat was back. While he hadn’t suppressed these memories the same way Sherlock had, he certainly didn’t enjoy revisiting them.

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

“This is the second time you’ve thanked me tonight. Should I send for a doctor?”

“Shut up.”

Sensing the conversation was over, Mycroft eased Sherlock’s head off his lap and shifted down in the bed to get more comfortable. He was tired and the room was comfortably warm and quiet. Sherlock was fumbling for tissues again and Mycroft braced himself for what he knew was coming next.

hh’gntschh! NTschhh! Ehh…heh EhhNTSCHH! GNT’SCHHeew! hehh EHHSNTSCHHeew!

“Bless you. Goodness, more?”

heh—ehhSNTSCHHeew! hehSNTSCHHHeew! Ehh…eh HehPTSSHHHeew!

The final sneeze prompted a rather dramatic bought of coughing until finally Sherlock flopped back against the pillows winded and sniffling. Mycroft was glad it was dark—lessened the chance that Sherlock would see the worried frown on his face. Sherlock shifted closer and lifted Mycroft’s arm.

“What on earth are you—” He stopped when Sherlock came to rest his head on his shoulder, letting go of Mycroft’s arm so it draped down with his hand resting on Sherlock’s head. His forehead was so warm—he’d definitely be ready for more medicine in a couple hours.

“I’m sorry you had to shoulder so much,” Sherlock said quietly. Mycroft patted his arm.

“You were just a child.”

“So were you.”

“Hmm.”

Sherlock knew that noncommittal noise meant Mycroft was at his max. No more questions or unusual displays of gratitude or brotherly affection tonight. He kept his head on Mycroft’s shoulder though, he could faintly hear the steady thump of his heart—that silly organ he swore he didn’t have right up until the moment where he asked Sherlock to shoot him.

“It’s more comfortable this way—not having the bed jammed against the wall,” Sherlock said.

“Agreed, brother mine.”

Edited May 5, 2017 by matilda3948
Spacing Drama

[Spoo]

My poor heartstrings! They weren't just pulled after reading this, oh no. They were RIPPED OUT.  The details you included about Eurus' obsession with Sherlock were so creepy and disturbing (but that's basically her character in a nutshell, innit? ). I still loved every bit of Sherlock and Mycroft's interaction (characterization remained great!), but this part right here is what got to me the most:

 

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“I’m sorry you had to shoulder so much,” Sherlock said quietly. Mycroft patted his arm.

“You were just a child.”

“So were you.”

“Hmm.”

Sherlock knew that noncommittal noise meant Mycroft was at his max. No more questions or unusual displays of gratitude or brotherly affection tonight. He kept his head on Mycroft’s shoulder though, he could faintly hear the steady thump of his heart—that silly organ he swore he didn’t have right up until the moment where he asked Sherlock to shoot him.

 

[Shamaël]

I don't know if I'm more euphoric because this part was extraordinary, or freaked out because in the fic I'm currently writing (slowly, I'm afraid) for the trade, I mentioned "danger nights" and my conception was very close to the one you wrote in this part... Okay, let's say we have similar headcanons.

The interaction between the Holmes brothers are incredible.

16 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Your resolve never cracks,” Sherlock mumbled, rubbing at his nose with a tissue.

I've pictured it inside my head a hundred times and I hear Sherlock's voice and I never get tired of it...

I love your Myroft so much. Thank you for this - it's probably the BEST chapter I've ever read in a Sherlock fic, even without the fetish (sneezes being the icing on the cake of course...).

 

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

I knew it! This chapter was going to amazing and you did not disappoint.  

I loved the game and your description of Eurus's psychosis...

On 5/4/2017 at 10:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You adored her, Sherlock. You really did.” He sighed and kept going. “You were an incredibly loving child but Eurus wanted all of your attention, all of your affection. Any kindness you showed someone else she took as a slight. She resented anyone that you cared about but no one more than Victor. The closer your friendship became, the more vengeful she got. Nothing short of owning your every moment would satisfy her…and even then I’m not sure how long that would have kept her content.”

Completely and utterly creepy. (Like the twins from TLOG...)

And Mycroft's efforts to protect Sherlock...

On 5/4/2017 at 10:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You used to call it a ‘pirate sleepover,’ a danger night on the high seas,” Sherlock said.

“That’s right. We’d push the bed against the wall and pretend it was anchored to the side of a ship. You’d get in bed, I’d cover you up, and then lay on top of the blankets. I was afraid she would convince you to get up and follow her in the middle of the night. I did everything I could to make sure I would wake up if you tried to get out of bed.”

“Did she ever try?”

“She came in almost every night towards the end. Always singing a song and claiming she wanted to play with you. I refused to leave and eventually she would give up. Sometimes she stood there for over an hour hoping my resolve would crack.”

“Your resolve never cracks,” Sherlock mumbled, rubbing at his nose with a tissue.

“I knew what she was and what she was capable of, even then.”

“You were a human barricade while I slept through and you’ve been putting yourself between us ever since.

Human barricade indeed, between Eurus, drugs, Moriarty and Serbians and anything and everything that might harm Sherlock. (Though missed Irene and regretted it.)

On 5/4/2017 at 10:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

No more questions or unusual displays of gratitude or brotherly affection tonight. He kept his head on Mycroft’s shoulder though, he could faintly hear the steady thump of his heart—that silly organ he swore he didn’t have right up until the moment where he asked Sherlock to shoot him.

 

Gah! Broken! This broke me.

 

[AngelEyes]

This is incredible. Brilliant and heartbreaking. Sherlock realizing exactly what Mycroft did for him. Beautiful.

On 5/4/2017 at 9:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

“You adored her, Sherlock. You really did.” He sighed and kept going. “You were an incredibly loving child but Eurus wanted all of your attention, all of your affection. Any kindness you showed someone else she took as a slight. She resented anyone that you cared about but no one more than Victor. The closer your friendship became, the more vengeful she got. Nothing short of owning your every moment would satisfy her…and even then I’m not sure how long that would have kept her content.”

Perfect description of Euros' creepy psychotic obsession.

 

On 5/4/2017 at 9:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

"It was getting clearer that you were her target. She would watch you constantly, occasionally trying to lure you out away from the house. It was easier to manage during the day time but night was different. Our parents thought I was overreacting of course but it was clear as day to me.”

 

Totally creepy.

 

On 5/4/2017 at 9:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Your resolve never cracks,” Sherlock mumbled, rubbing at his nose with a tissue.

“I knew what she was and what she was capable of, even then.”

“You were a human barricade while I slept through and you’ve been putting yourself between us ever since.”

Awwww!!!

 

On 5/4/2017 at 9:16 PM, matilda3948 said:

“I’m sorry you had to shoulder so much,” Sherlock said quietly. Mycroft patted his arm.

“You were just a child.”

“So were you.”

My heart!

[matilda3948]

Thank you @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier @AngelEyes @Spoo and @Aliena H. for your sweet comments! I'm glad you liked the story. This is the final piece and it took me ages to get it right(ish). Aliena, I hope you like how it resolves. I had such a great time doing this trade with you!  

 

John nudged the door open and came inside the flat. Their train had just arrived back in London and John decided he and Rosie would go to Baker Street to check on Sherlock. Apart from one quick text from Mycroft assuring him that Sherlock was “being looked after” John hadn’t heard anything for two days. And he wasn’t sure if Mycroft’s version of looking after Sherlock would lead to more harm than good. John found his friend in exactly the same place as where he left him—on the sofa. However, he was pleased to see that Sherlock looked relaxed while he slept. He was still paler than John would have liked, but there were no stress lines on his face, no nervous twitching of his hands or feet. He was snoring lightly through his mouth. That combined with the pink, chapped skin around his nose told John that Sherlock still hadn’t shaken off the head cold but, overall, he seemed okay. Rosie squirmed and John quietly hushed her, bouncing the baby on his hip. Sherlock yawned.

“John?” His voice was slow and throaty. Sherlock reached out a hand until he made contact with John—his knee since John was standing next to the sofa.

“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Mmm. Rosie?” Sherlock still hadn’t opened his eyes but pulled the blanket down and settled on his back.

“Here you go.” John put the baby down on Sherlock’s chest and kept his hand there until he was sure his friend was awake enough to look after his daughter. He watched the deep rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest and content look on his face. He swore he even detected a smile as Sherlock ran a hand over Rosie’s hair.

“I think she’s grown in the two days you were gone,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Did you miss us?” John teased.

“Don’t be stupid.

“I think you missed us.”

Sherlock didn’t reply and John went into the kitchen with a satisfied smirk on his face. While he couldn’t make out what Sherlock was saying, he could hear a distinct back and forth between the detective’s low baritone and Rosie’s happy chatter. After switching on the kettle, John fixed Rosie a bottle. He took stock of the kitchen. Someone had been looking after Sherlock for the last few days—all the dishes were clean and put away, there was a reasonable amount of food in the refrigerator, and there were boxes of tea and tissues on the counter. His only question was if it had been Mycroft of Mrs. Hudson.

“You want to feed her?” John asked as he came back into the living room.

“She hardly needs help anymore,” Sherlock said even though he moved to his chair and propped a pillow behind his left arm. It was true, Rosie was able to hold her bottle with only an occasional correction from whomever was holding her. John went back to the kitchen to fix the adults each a cup of tea. He put Sherlock’s down and then settled into his own chair with a content sigh.

“How are you?” John asked, testing the waters.

“Fine. Your trip went well, I see.”

Okay, not taking the bait then. No problem—John could wait him out.

“Yeah, actually. Harry’s doing well and she adored Rosie. The first night was a little strained but we did fine. We took Rosie to the park Saturday morning and—”

hh’gntschh!

“Scuse me—NTschhh!”

Sherlock had turned his head as far away from Rosie as possible and stifled the sneezes against his opposite arm.

“Bless you,” John said. “Tissues?” Sherlock nodded and John grabbed a fresh box from the kitchen. He tore the top off and handed a few to his friend before putting the box on the floor next to him. Sherlock still had a vaguely sneezy look as he rubbed his nose in the tissues. In fact, his breath hitched twice and he tilted his head to the side but the tickle suddenly disappeared. He sniffled and wiped his nose before stuffing the used tissues into the pocket of his robe.

“How are you feeling?” John asked. Sherlock shrugged and sniffled again.

“I’m fine. You were saying something about the park.”

John shook his head and gave Sherlock a gentle, but firm, Doctor Watson look. Sherlock sighed in dramatic fashion—it felt good and familiar, causing both men to smile.

“I’m mending, John. Mycroft came over Friday night per your instructions. I spiked a fever during the night but it was gone the next morning. I slept enough to even make you happy the last two days. Some residual congestion, sneezing, and sore throat that should be gone in the next two to three days.”

“Thank you for that succinct summary,” John said.

“Like it was optional,” the other man grumbled.

John stood up and paused in front of Sherlock’s chair.

“I’m going to give Rosie her bath and put her to bed. I want you to think about two things while I’m upstairs. First, what you want to eat for dinner. Second, how you want to explain what’s happened in the last two days. I didn’t just forget the state I left you in, you know.”

“A man can hope.” Sherlock kept his eyes on the baby until John squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s just me and we’re just talking. I’ve been worried about you.”

Sherlock nodded and kissed the top of Rosie’s head before handing her over to John.

“Enjoy your bath, Watson. Squirm and wiggle around so it takes your father ages to finish.”

“She’s too young to be your accomplice in stalling,” John said.

“Not for long.”

“God help me,” John called over his shoulder.

Sherlock grabbed his mobile and ordered dinner then stepped into his mind palace to consider John’s second question. He supposed discussing things with John couldn’t be any harder than discussing them with Mycroft. Of course, with Mycroft he’d just been seeking reassurance; with John it would all be new information. Would John think differently of him once he knew about his childhood? Would—hehh EHHSNTSCHHeew! Ugh, his nose itched. Would it be the worst thing in the world if John did think of him differently? He certainly felt different since Eurus’ revelation—perhaps it only made sense that John would feel differently towards him as well. Different didn’t necessarily mean EhhNTSCHH! NT’SCHHeew! didn’t necessarily mean bad, of course. On the other hand, if John’s opinion of him was damaged—”

“You’re overthinking it,” John said.

Sherlock opened his eyes to find John back in his chair. How long had he been in his mind palace?

“I ordered from Angelo’s.”

“Thanks. Sounds great.”

Sherlock grabbed a couple tissues from the box and blew his nose. He felt an uncomfortable knot of nervous energy in his stomach and took a deep breath.

“Well, the good news is that the memories I’m recovering seem to be accurate according to Mycroft,” he began. “Nothing that I’ve recalled so far was incorrect or embellished.”

“Okay. I take it there’s bad news?”

“The bad news is that the memories I’m recovering seem to be accurate,” Sherlock said.

“Oh. That bad?”

Sherlock nodded.

“It pains me to say it, but I think I may need to be nicer to Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, I hate to hear that.”

John’s comment got the intended huff of laughter from his friend before Sherlock turned serious again.

“John, she was hehh…hold ehh on…” Sherlock pressed a loose fist to his nose trying to buy himself enough time to get to the tissues. He put the box in his lap and brought a handful to his battered nose. The itch had settled high in his nose and promised to not go easily. His eyes watered as his breath faltered in a frustrating false start. Sherlock was actually happy that he couldn’t open his eyes at the moment so he wouldn’t have to see John’s reaction to his predicament. His nose was running and again he was brought up to the precipice just to have the sneeze disappear on him again. After blowing his nose, Sherlock gave his head a little shake and sniffled. “Absurd,” he sighed. “As I was saying, she was born a—ehhSNTSCHHeew! hehSNTSCHHHeew!"

“Bless you.” John frowned as Sherlock coughed into the crumpled wad of tissues. “I’m not loving the sound of that,” John said. Sherlock waved off his concern.

“It’s getting better Ehh…eh HehTISSHHHeew! When you look at the big picture at least.”

“If you say so,” John said despite his itch to grab his stethoscope and listen to his friend’s lungs. “You were saying that Eurus was born a…”

“A predator,” Sherlock said quietly. “She was born a predator.” John stayed quiet and let Sherlock explain on his own timeline. It seemed to be causing him some distress so it wasn’t the time to push him. “She started the way most psychopaths start—hurting animals, testing the limits of their pain. She couldn’t understand why causing harm to things upset people. She sought to own and control…I think it’s the closest thing to “love” she could understand. That’s probably why she killed Victor…it was about owning me…He was a threat to her control…she wouldn’t tolerate it…”

“You alright?” John asked. Sherlock looked confused by the question. “You’re crying,” John said.

“Am I?” Sherlock raised a hand to his face, surprised when his hand came away wet. “When did that happen?”

“Doesn’t matter,” John said quietly. “We can stop if you want.” Sherlock raked his hands through his hair. His chest hurt. So did his head. How odd for his transport to be malfunctioning like this because of something that happened decades ago. “Take a deep breath,” John said. “It’ll help.”

“The intensity of it still catches me unaware,” Sherlock said, a little breathlessly. John nodded in understanding. He wasn’t sure how to respond in this situation. Anyone else and John would have been out of his chair and hugging them, but this was Sherlock and the rules were different.  Most of the time the younger man loathed any degree of sympathy or kindness. Unless, of course, it was one of the rare times when he desperately needed it. Never any moderation—either anger or complete surrender in the face of kindness and John didn’t have enough information yet to determine which situation this was. So he waited and he watched as Sherlock’s mind wandered into the past. When the detective finally spoke again, his voice was quiet and disconnected. “Mycroft saw her for what she was of course. Even then he knew…what it must have been like to not be believed by our parents. He saw danger everywhere and made it his job to keep me from it…never stopped I guess.”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and John got up to get their food. He put everything in the kitchen.

“I know you’re not hungry,” John said. Sherlock shook his head. The nervous energy was making his stomach hurt and he got up and started pacing the room. John debated—sit back down or stand? Sherlock had paused and scrubbed his hand back and forth across his nose and sighed. This whole thing was bad enough without the regular interruption of sneezing.

hh’gntschh! Ngtshhh! ehhNGSHHew!

 “Bless you,” John said.

Sherlock nodded and pulled several tissues from the pocket of his dressing gown and blew his nose.

“What do you need, Sherlock?” John asked.

“What?”

“What do you need right now? What can I do?”

The question seemed to genuinely throw Sherlock off guard. He blinked and opened his mouth to answer but found he didn’t have any words. What did he need? He wanted to stop feeling out of control of his emotions. He wanted to get rid of the nagging sensation behind his eyes. He wanted to dull all these terrible feelings. But what did he need?

“I don’t know,” he finally whispered. His voice didn’t sound like him and John must have noticed something too because the good doctor finally stopped playing the role of passive observer. He took three steps towards his friend and squeezed his shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you,” John said. Sherlock’s eyes filled with tears and his breath caught in his throat. John rubbed his arm. “This is miserable and you’re doing well, Sherlock. I’m proud of you for facing it. Come sit down,” he said, gently pushing Sherlock towards the sofa. Once seated, Sherlock rested his head in his hands. He hated this. The sofa sunk as John sat next to him and rested his hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck. Truthfully, this was what John had expected a couple months ago, when Eurus’ revelations were still fresh. Sherlock fought back the tears again and took a couple slow, deep breaths.

“I’m going to get you some water,” John said, getting up and going to the kitchen.

Ehh…eh HehNTSSHHHeew!

Sherlock grabbed a couple tissues and blew his nose. His breath immediately hitched and he pitched forward with another sneeze,

hehhTSHHeew!

“Bless you.” John was back and held out a glass of water. Sherlock shook his head before sneezing again.

SNTSCHHeew! h’TSCHHHeew!

“You can’t catch a break, can you?”

John sat back down and waited until Sherlock finished blowing his nose before handing him the water. He drank over half of it in three gulps, then put it down on the table.

“There were danger nights back then,” Sherlock finally said. If he was honest, this was the thing that was upsetting him the most—the nights his brother physically barricaded him. He had to tell John; it was too big to keep in his own head without help. His progress was slow and halting, but he managed to relate to John what Mycroft had told him two nights ago. If John was trying to hide his horror he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He only interrupted twice, both times when Sherlock seemed to be in danger of shutting down. And so over the next thirty minutes, Sherlock picked his way through the story. When he was finally done, the two men sat in silence for a couple minutes.

“Christ, you have gone ten rounds in the last two days, haven’t you?” John finally said. “Were you alone yesterday?”

“No. Mycroft stayed. He actually slept here again and didn’t leave until this morning. We didn’t talk about…anything else though.”

“You both had to be at your limit,” John said. Sherlock nodded.

“And I really didn’t feel well,” he admitted.

“You still don’t, do you?”

“No.” Sherlock rubbed his forehead.

“What feels the worst?” John asked. The answer wasn’t what he was expecting. Sherlock rubbed his eyes and looked at his friend.

“This…this ache in my eyes. The strain of it, John…the strain is…it’s awful.”

John felt a pang in his chest. He slid over and pulled his friend into a hug. Sherlock’s body was rigid but John just squeezed him a little tighter.

“So stop fighting it,” John said.

“No.”

“Sherlock, this is a normal reaction. Stop. Fighting.”

John felt Sherlock’s body go slack, his head dipping down to rest on John’s shoulder. The choked sobs sounded painful—constricted and breathless—but it was a start.

“There. Let it go,” John said.

Sherlock hated crying. He hated the occasional slow tears he couldn’t always restrain, but this was something else entirely. This was like a wave that showed no sign of stopping. He’d seen other people crumble like this; he’d held John through a similar event so many months ago. Now their roles were reversed. He didn’t talk, didn’t think, he just felt. It was safe to feel here, so he finally did.

He was lighter. That was the first clear thought he finally had—that the leaden weight shadowing him for the last few days was no longer pulling him down. He slowly sat up with John’s help and accepted the box of tissues. Blowing his nose made him cough, coughing made his eyes water, which in turn made his nose run more. Apparently catharsis had a cost and it came in the form of a miserably drippy, sick, respiratory system. Just when he thought he’d gotten himself under control he felt a tingling sensation in his sinuses.

“Oh, of course,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “hehh…Ehh hh’IGNSHHH! HehGNSHHeew! Bloody hehhh EHTSHHHeew! KTSCHHHew! heh ehh… hehTISHHHeew! Ugh.” Sherlock flopped back against the sofa with a huff.

“Bless you,” John said.

“Thag you.” Sherlock sniffled and ran his fingers through his hair. Everything felt messy and undone. He cleared his throat. “John…I…um…”

“Hungry?” John asked. Sherlock gave him a relieved smile. Of course he wouldn't have to explain to John.

“Starving actually.”

“Good. Once you have food in your stomach I’m stuffing you full of cold meds. You sound awful.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

 

[Shamaël]

That was marvellous!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS STORY!

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

And he wasn’t sure if Mycroft’s version of looking after Sherlock would lead to more harm than good.

John, how do you dare??? Of course Mycroft's done his job perfectil, as always.

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

John put the baby down on Sherlock’s chest and kept his hand there until he was sure his friend was awake enough to look after his daughter. He watched the deep rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest and content look on his face. He swore he even detected a smile as Sherlock ran a hand over Rosie’s hair.

Let me just melt here. Litterally.

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Thank you for that succinct summary,” John said.

“Like it was optional,” the other man grumbled.

John-Sherlock interaction. So spot-on. Perfect.

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“Enjoy your bath, Watson. Squirm and wiggle around so it takes your father ages to finish.”

“She’s too young to be your accomplice in stalling,” John said.

“Not for long.”

“God help me,” John called over his shoulder.

Maybe I should quote the entire story, in fact... I totally picture a grown-up Rosie helping Sherlock to hide some of the detective's stupid decision from John...

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

Would—hehh EHHSNTSCHHeew! Ugh, his nose itched. Would it be the worst thing in the world if John did think of him differently? He certainly felt different since Eurus’ revelation—perhaps it only made sense that John would feel differently towards him as well. Different didn’t necessarily mean EhhNTSCHH! NT’SCHHeew! didn’t necessarily mean bad, of course. On the other hand, if John’s opinion of him was damaged—

That's maybe the part I preferred - thougts intertwined with sneezes. Oh my God. 

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“It pains me to say it, but I think I may need to be nicer to Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, I hate to hear that.”

Oh Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock.

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“John, she was hehh…hold ehh on…” Sherlock pressed a loose fist to his nose trying to buy himself enough time to get to the tissues. He put the box in his lap and brought a handful to his battered nose. The itch had settled high in his nose and promised to not go easily. His eyes watered as his breath faltered in a frustrating false start. Sherlock was actually happy that he couldn’t open his eyes at the moment so he wouldn’t have to see John’s reaction to his predicament. His nose was running and again he was brought up to the precipice just to have the sneeze disappear on him again. After blowing his nose, Sherlock gave his head a little shake and sniffled. “Absurd,” he sighed. “As I was saying, she was born a—ehhSNTSCHHeew! hehSNTSCHHHeew!"

Thank you SO MUCH for that little piece of indulgence for me... I'm speechless here. Please just let me recover my senses before I can carry on with my reading... 

The whole conversation about Eurus and Sherlock's feelings towards what happened in his childhood was a perfect missing scene. I'd have loved to watch it in the show. You're the best. Honestly.

8 hours ago, matilda3948 said:

“This…this ache in my eyes. The strain of it, John…the strain is…it’s awful.”

OH. MY. GOD.

I don't think I can thank you enough for this trade. 

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Oh, lovely story with a touching ending and some really nice fetish moments to boot.  

On 6/3/2017 at 8:12 PM, matilda3948 said:

Would John think differently of him once he knew about his childhood? Would—hehh EHHSNTSCHHeew! Ugh, his nose itched. Would it be the worst thing in the world if John did think of him differently? He certainly felt different since Eurus’ revelation—perhaps it only made sense that John would feel differently towards him as well. Different didn’t necessarily mean EhhNTSCHH! NT’SCHHeew! didn’t necessarily mean bad, of course. On the other hand, if John’s opinion of him was damaged—”

This was brilliant, the sneezing interrupting the thinking. 

On 6/3/2017 at 8:12 PM, matilda3948 said:

“It pains me to say it, but I think I may need to be nicer to Mycroft,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, I hate to hear that.”

I bet you do Watson. Nasssty Hobbitsss. Sorry, still ticked off at John for saying Mycroft deserved to be stuck in Eurus's cell. 

On 6/3/2017 at 8:12 PM, matilda3948 said:

“Thag you.” Sherlock sniffled and ran his fingers through his hair. Everything felt messy and undone. He cleared his throat. “John…I…um…”

“Hungry?” John asked. Sherlock gave him a relieved smile. Of course he wouldn't have to explain to John.

“Starving actually.”

 

Aww...  Friendship at its finest. 

[lsbn]

Wow wow wow wow wow. Tons of other people have already commented on how amazing this is, but just to reiterate---this is SO FREAKING GOOD. Thank you so much for writing, I love everything about it!!!!!!!!

[2SHY222]

I FREAKING LOVE THIS!!!!❤️❤️❤️