Chapter Text
John was never sure of Sherlock in the beginning, it had been a couple of weeks and he still hadn’t found his footing with his flat mate. It’s not unusual to have a flat mate who you dislike, or find weird. But to John Sherlock was different, he didn’t dislike Sherlock but was rather intrigued by him, by his intelligence and by his social skills. John could have left if he really wanted to, there were plenty of other people in London who were quiter and nicer who he could share a flat with. But the normality of life was too great for John to bare and the opportunity to live in Sherlock’s world where every day was different, gave John a purpose and kept him sane. As well as driving him insane.
John stayed because he didn’t have anything better to do and so he thought his life would be interesting with a character such as Sherlock being in it.
But you never really get to know someone until you live with them.
The first two weeks of their partnership was the most adventurous weeks of Johns life, he never felt so alive. There was no one to tell him what to do. No commanding officer barking orders. For Sherlock it was a fairly normal two weeks, but for John it was epic.
It was a Sunday morning and John was exhausted, as much fun as it was running around the busy streets of London and chasing down pysciopaths, he needed a break every once in a while. It appeared this Sunday morning would be the vacation he needed. So John sat with newspaper in hand scribbling in a crossword he knew he wouldn’t Finnish. Maybe Sherlock would like something like that, some word puzzle that he could display his intelligence, or maybe he would find it mundane. John struggled with the majority of the crossword, being in Afghanistan for so long meant pop culture wouldn’t be his fotrè. But he liked the solidarity, Sherlock being in his room doing some kind of experiment meant the living room was occupied only by John.
He let his mind wander to Harry. His sister. He missed her more than he would like to admit, even though she was selfish and a drunk, he still kept the fond memories of their child hood together.
But Johns attention was suddenly drawn to Sherlock door slamming, as the consultant detective strode into the room. Sherlock would often act like the flat was his regardless of how much of the rent John payed.
“Finnished are we?” John spoke first as he saw the frustration on Sherlock’s face. The man looked tired and stressed, but still kept his posture as he walked through the kitchen.
“Not unless you can explain how a man can live for a day and vanish without even checking out his hotel room” Sherlock’s sarcastic tone was flatter than usual, it was not as quick or sharp as John had felt it over the past weeks. But John didn’t know Sherlock and presumed he was tired or was having a bad day.
Sherlock places a glass of what appeared to be acid on the kitchen table before striding into the living room. His hair was untamed and he was wearing what John remebered as the same shirt and jeans he had worn the previous night.
As Sherlock collapsed into his chair John had the audacity to ask “Shower?”
Sherlock gave him a daring glance as he held his head up with his hand. Glancing at the clock Sherlocked returned Johns question with “Its not been 48 hours.”
John put his paper down. And paused for a minute. Study Sherlock like he had done to John the first day they met. And Sherlock did the same.
John felt a little sorry for Sherlock, such a normally well put together man must be having a bad day if he was unwilling to do basic tasks such as showering.
John asked “Tea?”
Sherlock almost looked thankful but of course replied in a tone still laced with sarcasm “Milk, two sugars.”
John casually walked to the kitchen to make the tea. He decided to grab some hobnobs because Sherlock was looking a bit skinnier and paler than he usually was, so a few biscuits would do him good. As he waited John drummed a random pattern on the counter with his thumb, a nervous tick of his after returning from Afghanistan. Once ready he gathered the tea a brough it to where Sherlock was still sitting.
He appeared to have zoned out, thinking about elaborate schemes or something. It appeared that Sherlock’s mind never rest. So John put the tea down purposely load to snap Sherlock out of his trance. Chucking the biscuits on the coffee table aswell.
But Sherlock stayed fixated, grinding his teeth as he stared into the abyss. This put John on edge slightly.
“Sherlock?” John didn’t raise his voice but was loud enough to ensure Sherlock would hear him.
“Sherlock, the tea.” John had a growing concern as he received no response. So he sat down in his chair opposite Sherlock and leaned forward. Bringing himself into the foreground of Sherlock’s vision.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but if I can get even the slightest indication that you are aware I’m speaking, that would be useful,” John still received nothing. Not even a flinch.
“Sherlock?” John proceeded, as he leaned further towards the man who appeared as to no longer exist in the same room as himself. John briefly sat back into his chair before launching himself up abruptly.
John squatted next to Sherlock and placed a hand on the man shoulder.
“Sherlock are you here.” John said softly as he bagan to study the man with his medical knowledge. Snapping his fingers in front of Sherlock’s face, the mans jaw was tightly clenched as he proceeded to grind his teeth. This combined with the lack of food made his cheek bones ever so prominent. Which deeply concerned John.
John must have sat there for a good minute trying anything to make Sherlock respond. Before Sherlock appeared to come back from where ever he had gone. John knew this from the deep inhale Sherlock took and the relax in his shoulders. Sherlock slumped in his seat. Staring at John, he asked “Tea,” in a relaxed manner which John had never experienced.
John let go of his shoulder. Sherlock has acted as if nothing happened, never mentioning it or explaining his deep inner thoughts of any case or theory. Which a John was expecting him to do. Instead the two men sat for another hour drinking tea. Sherlock completing Johns crossword after picking it up off the table. John sat and watched as Sherlock seemed unphased as to what had just happened.
After sitting for that hour or so, Sherlock let out a sigh. Throwing the paper across the room he leant and placed his head in his hand. Digging his fingers into his curly hair as his breaths got deeper. His faced scrunched up and he began gritting his teeth again.
John wavered. “Sherlock are you ok?”
Sherlock looked up as he ruffled his hair.
“Headache.” He replied in such a weak unrecognisable voice.
He put his head back in his hands. John was worried now as this didn’t look like a normal headache. Sherlock looked like he was in some serious pain. Migraine. John thought as he continued to stare at Sherlock.
“Do you want to go to your room. It will be dark and you could get some sleep.” John asked, as he thought about what drugs they had in their bathroom cabinet.
But Sherlock did not respond for a while. He just took alarmingly deep breaths. Then he agreed and began to get up. John doing the same. But suddenly Sherlock collapsed. Hitting his head of the coffee table and ending up on the floor.
“Oh God, Sherlock!” Exclaimed John as he took the two steps necessary to reach his room mate, kneeling by his unconscious body. John places a hand in his back.
Sherlock then had a seizure. And Johns mind began to race. John breath quickened and he sat back helplessly as Sherlock thrashed on the floor.
John took a gulp, placing a hand back on Sherlock repeating “You’re ok, you’re fine.” More for his own benifit than Sherlock’s. Blood began to accumulate on the carpet as Sherlock had bitten his tongue. A tear rolled down Johns face as it sank in that he had been seizing for only thirty seconds. And so John did the only thing he could, watched he clock. Waiting and hoping that it wouldn’t pass five minutes. And it crept toward that dreaded time as four minutes passed. It appeared the seizure was becoming more agressive. John knew his tongue would need stitches at the very least. So he texted Lestrade, his life line.
[Baker St. Now S.O.S]
Five minutes passed.
Six minutes passed.
Eight minutes passed.
Lastrade arrived as Sherlock continued to thrash on the floor. He was soaking with sweat, piss and blood. 8 minutes 37 second he finally quelled lying still on the floor.
“Jesus John.” Lastrade finally said after being stood for thirty seconds in shock. He knelt next o John placing a hand on Johns shoulder. What do you need.
“Hospital now. Grab his legs.” John said in the familiar military tone that came to him all too easily.
Lastrade did as he was instructed however questioned John. “Should we not call an ambulance? Surely he needs paramedics?”
John was quick to reply “we don’t have time, just go.” Both men very quickly yet clumsily carried a heavy Sherlock down the steep stairs, taking extreme care not to bang Sherlock’s head. Blood still dribbling from his mouth they were able to lie him in the back of Lastrades unmarked police car. John let another tear fall as they raced to the hospital with sirens on. Lastrade was definitely panicking as he drove rapidly down the road.
He asked “Is he going to be ok?”
John did not answer, he held Sherlock’s wrist in one hand, insuring the man still had a pulse.
Lastrade attested again “John! Will he be ok.”
John had only known Sherlock for a couple weeks yet had grown unknowingly attached to a man that was rude, verbally abusive and unhygienic. Yet had shed two tears, something John was unable to do for his own sister. John took a deep breathe.
“I don’t know.”