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Sherlock looked at his phone for the time. Mistake. Under the clock, there was that date again. He knew it was a birthday. Someone’s birthday. But whose? All he could think was Redbeard. Why Redbeard? Dogs don’t tend to celebrate birthdays. What was happening to him?
He focused on his body more than his mind. He was falling. Not actually falling, but it sure felt like it. He felt disoriented, dizzy, he could barely make out the room around him from the fuzzy blobs of color that clouded his eyes. He was shaking. Why was he shaking?
Sherlock sat down and tried to steady himself. He closed his eyes and was sucked into the tornado of his mind. He felt sadness, loss. Redbeard. There it was again. He could hear a child saying it this time. Impossible.
His chest heaved in and out as he took in rapid breaths. His eyes opened but it was no use, there was nothing to see but a black cloud anyway. His hands were balled up on his knees. He tried to open them. Nothing, they wouldn’t budge.
“John! John!” Sherlock called helplessly, hoping his companion was at home.
“Sherlock, what is it?” John came running in the room, very expressively concerned.
“I… I,” words hurt, not physically but somehow inside they just hurt, the vibrations of the noise reverberating through his throat was too much to handle. His jaw felt stiff as if it would fall off if he uttered another word.
“Shh, shh it’s okay Sherlock,” John said tentatively, sitting down next to Sherlock, but being careful to leave some space between them, “is it okay if I give you a hug?”
Sherlock nodded as tears started to stream from his eyes. He didn’t like this feeling at all. He didn’t know what it was. Well he did, it had happened before but… why now, what was this about? How could something so arbitrary set him off with such a reaction?
John leaned in and wrapped his arms around Sherlock and gently led the man’s head to rest on his shoulder. John stayed right by him until Sherlock felt his muscles move on their own again. He felt the tightness of his throat retract enough for him to breathe, and the tingling sensation throughout his body was still present but far less overwhelming.
Sherlock slowly let his body drift out of John’s grasp.
“Are you okay?” John asked, a worried look in his eyes.
“No, I mean I’m doing a bit better now after the hug, thank you John that helped. I’m just, I don’t know, it’s stupid, I feel like an idiot.”
“Sherlock, you’re not stupid or an idiot, we both know that,” John chuckled a little bit with the comment, “and you know you can tell me anything, you don’t have to, but you can.”
“It’s the date John, I can’t explain it. I don’t know how.”
“The date?”
“Today’s date, the calendar.”
“Oh, okay,” John nodded, clearly not really knowing how to respond to that.
“The only way I can really explain it is that I just woke up this morning, and every morning on this day of every year and just seeing the date… I don’t know, it makes me… sad? Angry? Helpless? I don’t really know how such a small thing can make me feel so bad about myself. Make me feel like I’m someone I’m not… like someone I used to be but someone I don’t remember being… and just I don’t know… alone I guess.”
Sherlock looked pleadingly at John. He felt so broken, so lost in this moment. He was terrified that this was going to be the thing that scared John away for good. He knew he was too much to handle, it was only going to be a matter of time before John figured it out too.
John looked a bit confused like he didn’t really know how to respond. Sherlock was half expecting him to just stand up right then, walk out the door, and never come back. He nearly started to cry, and immediately felt ashamed and angry at himself for feeling this way. He felt himself spiraling again about feeling bad for feeling bad.
“You’ve got me,” John started to Sherlock’s surprise, “you’ve always got me, okay? Tell me what I can do to help and I will be here for you.”
“Just you,” Sherlock started. Suddenly all the bad thoughts racing around his mind turned from a hurricane to a manageable swarm of bees buzzing around in his head, “just you being you helps, thank you John.”
“You’re welcome,” John smiled, “need a bit of a distraction? Want to watch some telly?”
“Yes please,” Sherlock managed a smile and reclined into the sofa.
John switched to a channel with some stupid reality show that was sure to amuse them. He then sat back and laid his arm over Sherlock’s shoulders. With his other hand he intertwined his fingers with Sherlock’s, and Sherlock smiled fully and contentedly. He let himself breathe a full breath and rested his head again on John’s shoulder. He then turned his attention to the show, extremely ready for a quiet night at 221B Baker St.