Chapter Text
"You put somethin'in it?" Sherlock asked, his voice tense.
John swore inwardly, even in this state Sherlock's observing skills were working well enough to deduce this… like on autopilot. He had proven to have a good skilled one of those before.
The unexpected question was a dilemma, if John lied and he betrayed Sherlock's trust, if he was honest, Sherlock would suffer the entire night. He only had seconds for a decision that might affect their friendship for years.
"Sherlock, I know you already said you have no friends, but as your doctor - not your friend, I believe you trust in my medical skills - so as your doctor, listen to what I say: just drink it! You're sweating a lot and you need to calm down and get some rest, just drink it and lay down," John said, evading a direct answer.
Sherlock looked up at him, directly into his eyes, frowning, almost staring, an odd expression of sadness or maybe guilt in his eyes. Then he lifted his shaking hand and sipped the water. John helped him and guided his hands when it became clear Sherlock's wasn’t really able to hold the glass steady.
.
Sherlock suspected John had drugged the water, but during the past two hours he had had deep regrets for his spiteful words about not having friends. Those were so intense, he felt the need to go search for John… but he couldn't think of a way to take the words back, so it was no use. Additionally, he was well aware that whenever he had tried to apologise in the past he had done it wrong, made it even worse.
People had not reacted well to his attempts to make things right.
Not knowing how to do it, he abandoned he the idea, which frustrated him even more. He was well aware that John was keeping up with him although he was such a nuisance so often.
John was the first human being in a very long time who treated him well; who wasn't annoyed about him within minutes.
It was obvious every day that John cared. Nobody had ever cared about him like John did. He never had a friend before. He was not really sure if John considered Sherlock one, but…
The fond touches the doctor had given him in the past minutes left a warm safe humming somewhere in him… and now John was guiding his uncontrollable hands.
So patient and helpful…
Gratitude swept over him and it was like another heavy wave of emotions threatening to crush him.
The onslaught made his mind stumble and deafened him for a moment, until it had washed past him long seconds later.
He was hesitating to speak, feared to say something wrong or do something wrong, again.
John cared and he had been an idiot.
What was it with his feelings today?
They were are all exaggerated, he suddenly realised, it was not just the fear.
There was also sadness, shame, and anger about his body betraying him… all much too intense, hard to endure… and needing so much energy to be kept at bay.
Usually, he didn't even recognise those, they were just not relevant, a mere whisper in the dark his mind had no trouble at all ignoring. Usually, they were so faint that they weren't even recognisable as such.
Sorting through them to find out what they were was difficult, they overwhelmed him.
He felt odd, tired and lost… disoriented.
Maybe he should retreat into the mind palace, give John and himself some peace. The thing was he had tried to use the palace for hours and it hadn't worked.
It was as if the doors were blocked, which was a very frustrating, feeling debarred like that.
This was not normal!
If they were at home he'd do some experiments.
But they weren't home. The foreign surroundings made his mind itch; he felt not safe, he wanted to be home.
Experiments…
It was not just that he wanted to do them for his own pleasure, he needed to do tests to figure out what was going on. He had realised something was not right about this hours ago, but failed to act upon the understanding. In addition, he was not home and therefore he had no equipment available.
Oh! The military labs where there, he could use those! Why hadn't he thought of that before?
During the past hour he had distracted himself by planning tests to determine what was wrong with him and Henry.
Maybe he should tell John about his deductions.
But, no. Whatever he'd say right now, it would be wrong, John would get angry and leave again.
In search of extremely well mannered behaviour patterns to use in a situation like this, he sifted through his mental database. The right manners were hard to find, and the search process used a lot of brainpower. His mind stumbled several times and he had to start at the beginning again. After the fourth reset he gave it up.
Only remaining option: do nothing and say nothing… but that could also be interpreted as rude.
He was at the end of his endurance and had run out of ideas.
His body's stress reaction was not the only factor draining his reserves. He was beyond tired and exhausted, maybe that interfered with his thinking processes, too.
Even on a normal day it was very hard for him to find sleep, and in his current state he'd never find it by himself.
He had manoeuvred himself into a deadlock. No way out, not even a way back. The situation required a more thorough reset.
Therefore, he drank the whole glass, desperate to get away from it all.
.
John was surprised to see Sherlock drain the entire glass. He brought a stool to the bed and fetched some clothes from the ground.
A few moments later, the detective tried to put the empty glass to the nightstand but his aiming was so far off that John had to jump to catch the falling thing because Sherlock had placed it aside the surface.
He gently took Sherlock's shoulders and slowly pushed him down sideways.
To his surprise, the detective didn't fight him. Next, he lifted Sherlock's legs onto the bed, which resulted in Sherlock lying on his back in a slight twist due to the small bed. His flatmate didn't move, he remained in the exact position John had let go of him and stared at the ceiling.
"Sherlock?" John took his wrist again, the pulse was still way to fast, "Do some more deep breaths for me, will you?" he encouraged.
Slowly, Sherlock started sucking in a shaking breath and John opened his shoelaces to remove his friend's footwear, the socks he left.
The doctor returned to his open medical bag and fetched a tube, then squeezed a very small amount of additive free Aloe Vera Salve on his fingertip.
"This smells good, I'll put some on your face. It's just an anti-allergic and perfume-free lotion. I want you to inhale the subtle scent and concentrate on how soft and good it smells and feels."
John carefully applied some lotion on the point between Sherlock's eyebrows, using gentle pressure.
Sherlock flinched minutely at the touch, but inhaled slowly.
Smell was important in situations like this. John hoped the sensory input would give Sherlock a focus to stay present in reality, kind of a counterpart for the ugly reality of the panic.
"Get comfortable, relax… the bed is soft and warm," he tried to coax Sherlock into unwinding.
"No, 'ts not," Sherlock argued with an exhausted voice.
"Then at least move into a comfortable position," John suggested to the shivering man while sorting through the blankets and covering Sherlock with the warmer one. He had never needed to encourage a patient to do that before. People usually did this on their own.
When Sherlock didn't move he unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs from the outstretched arm that was conveniently hanging over the edge of the mattress. He started rolling it up and sat down on the bed, next to the supine figure.
"Whatare youdoin'?"
"Taking your blood-pressure. Any nausea?"
"'m fine, just leave it…"
It sounded almost like a plea and now Sherlock started to move, slowly dragging his arm away.
"No, you're not," John objected. You're cranky and still fighting to keep the panic at bay. Now, would you please shut up and let me do this!" John's voice had become louder and this could be interpreted as slightly harsh.
The consultant's breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut.
John reached for his wrist once more but this time, Sherlock jerked back.
"Don'touch me!"
Sherlock turned away to lie on his other side, back to John, his face almost touching the wall.
John shifted to the stool to give him some space, counting to ten and hoping for the medication to work soon.
Was a normal dose enough or had Sherlock such a high tolerance that it would be effectless?
For almost a minute, he stared at Sherlock's back before he noticed the trembling was worse than ever. He knew Sherlock didn't like to be touched, but it had been okay a moment before. John used an extra patient voice to try to convince Sherlock to allow him do this, but the other man didn't react or just shook his head. At some point he used his sleeve to wipe the salve away with an angry movement.
Just when John decided to take a shower to clear his head Sherlock finally moved.
"John…" his voice was suddenly hoarse and shaky and he sounded terrified, as he slowly and slackly rolled back into a supine position.
His face was white as a sheet and his respiration shallow and fast.
This time, he didn't fight when John took his wrist to check his pulse and then rested his hand on Sherlock's clammy forehead.
What had just happened?
"What is it? How do you feel?" the doctor asked.
Sherlock blinked slowly, while obviously trying to concentrate on taking deeper breaths once more. His silence was a bit unnerving.
"Dizzy…"
"That's absolutely normal in the aftermath of a panic attack, your respiration adds to that, too. Just try to loosen up. Any nausea?"
"Before, yeah… Now... feels odd… weak… pressing down on me… heavy," Sherlock's breathing slowed down.
"I gave you something to help you relax, just go with it. It's starting to work… It's how it feels when it's kicking in."
"You drugged me." Sherlock blinked slowly, his voice low and a bit slurred, but there was no surprise or anger in his tone.
John slowly moved his thumb over Sherlock's pulse point at his wrist to comfort him, most people found this calming. However, John was not sure why his friend didn't fight his touch now. Sherlock's breathing deepened and John could feel his body slowly starting to lose the tension under his hands.
So this was comforting Sherlock?
Sherlock's eyes slowly closed half, but stayed that way, probably still taking in everything around him, but his gaze was unfocussed now.
"Sleep, Sherlock… I'll make sure to wake you in case you start to dream… Just sleep, mate."
A few moments later the detective seemed to start drifting but then a minute shake of his head showed John he still wasn't ready to let go. The drug relaxed forced further relaxation upon him and Sherlock exhaled with a silent groan. Apparently, he was fighting the urge to just let go and sleep, as if the detective knew he should give his body some rest but was too afraid to sleep.
For several minutes the only movement in the room was their breathing. To remind Sherlock of his presence, at times John moved his thumb over Sherlock's wrist slowly… Now and then Sherlock blinked.
But the longer the silence lasted the more restless Sherlock became.
When John finally realised Sherlock wouldn't drop off anytime soon he decided to do his best to find out what had happened. Maybe Sherlock needed input, idleness usually made him uneasy and worse, John knew that, so he removed his hand from Sherlock's forearm, which caused the detective to open his eyes wider in alarm.
"It's okay, just let me check your vitals."
He fetched the sphygmomanometer from his bag and wrapped it around Sherlock's upper arm. His patient for the time being just watched him from under his half closed lids. Though obviously calmed and relaxed by the medication it failed to knock him out, as it should have by now.
The doctor slowly unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt and warmed the stethoscope while putting on gloves. Then he auscultated Sherlock's lungs and heart and examined him thoroughly.
"'ake blood," Sherlock mumbled.
"What?"
"Want you… to draw… blood," he explained, his words very slow and obviously difficult to get out.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea right now," John answered.
"Need to test it." Sherlock became more agitated again, obviously preparing for an argument.
"You just had a major panic attack, this might not be the right moment-"
"Please."
John frowned.
Sherlock did not beg!
He must be sure it was very important.
"Alright… I agree with what you said earlier. This kind of attack is not normal for you. I'll take the samples and send them to the nearest lab in the morning for analysis."
Sherlock visibly relaxed, sank back deeper into the mattress.
After fetching the equipment, the doctor wrapped a tourniquet around Sherlock's arm and rubbed his crook with an alcohol wipe.
"Just relax, I'll hurry."
Sherlock huffed in what might be a hint of sarcasm.
Right, with his history he was not afraid of needles and John didn't need to worry therefore.
John placed his hand back on Sherlock's forehead while waiting the necessary seconds until the site was sterile. To his utter bewilderment Sherlock relaxed under the intimate touch.
John studied his features for a moment, then returned to the task at hand.
He inserted the cannula and drew five vials of blood, while Sherlock continued to observe him through l half closed eyes.
Then he drew a bit more of the already used medication into a syringe.
"This will make you sleep, I'll be right here, everything is fine…"
Sherlock didn't react, just continued to watch John.
As he proceeded, John decided if he had objections, Sherlock would have uttered them by now. So he flushed the catheter with saline and slowly injected the medication into Sherlock's bloodstream.
After removing the needle, John pressed some gauze over the site and guided Sherlock's arm up to his shoulder for pressure on the pad.
Gently shaking the vials to mix the blood with the different additives, he stood up and slipped out of his gloves and then his shoes.
He packed the samples and stored them in the mini-bar's freezer, all the time watching Sherlock who still followed his every move.
When Sherlock's breathing sped up again and John saw him blink rapidly several times he suspected Sherlock was starting to feel the effect of the medication. He assumed Sherlock wanted to escape experiencing the situation on one hand, but on the other was somehow afraid to give up control.
He returned to sit on the bed's edge.
"Easy… Don't fight it," John tried to convince him.
When Sherlock's hand jerked a few centimetres towards him and he saw a spark of panic in the half closed eyes, he slowly took the hand and wondered if this was what Sherlock needed.
Was he really asking for contact? The chance that it was just a random movement was much higher.
"Just sleep… I'll keep watch."
Sherlock's lids blinked once more, then his eyes finally fluttered shut.
His breathing deepened and John saw and felt his body becoming more and more heavier.
It was a process that took several minutes until Sherlock was really limp and most of the tension gone.
John had never observed him fall asleep before, he realised.
Was it always such a fight or just this time because of the day's events?
Took it always such an effort to let go and relax?
It might be a good idea to keep an eye on this in the future. If it was, no wonder that the detective doesn't like to go to bed and try to sleep… or fall asleep, whatever the problem was with this.
After waiting some more minutes, John positioned the armchair next to the bed and fell into it. He lifted his legs onto the stool and took his book from the nightstand to read. Though John was on alert all night Sherlock slept through it almost without any problems.
Once he got slightly uneasy, but when John started to read his novel out loud in a low voice Sherlock calmed immediately.