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John started his morning as he did any other weekday: with a cup of tea. He had to brew it himself, since Mrs. Hudson had finally put her foot down about the fact that she was not the housekeeper of the Baker Street boys. Sherlock still seemed to assume that the morning tea just appeared, but John was okay with that. He enjoyed their morning chats and didn’t feel the need to shatter the illusion of the mysterious tea.
John snuggled into his favorite chair, really his only chair, and soaked in the silence of the morning and the heat of the teacup in his hand. He waited for Sherlock to predictably stumble out of his room, half awake, as he did near every morning, and plop his bum in the chair across from John.
Sherlock was a bit late to emerge from his room. He usually slept in, but this was an odd hour even for him, it was past noon. The tea was cold. John didn’t realize how long he’d been sitting there lost in his thoughts. His flatmate was clearly starting to rub off on him.
It took mere seconds for John to notice that something was off this morning. Sherlock’s hand grazed the hallway wall as he made his way to his usual chair, sitting himself down and staring blankly at his hands.
“Sherlock are you okay?” John questioned concernedly.
“I’m fine,” Sherlock stated blankly, not looking up.
“What’s wrong?” John was not convinced, he knew that ‘I’m fine.’
“It’s… nothing.”
“It’s definitely something, don’t lie to me, I know when you’re lying.”
“I…” Sherlock hesitated, “I can’t describe it… I’ve never… I’ve never not known…” he trailed off.
“Try Sherlock, try to tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m scared John… I feel… wrong…” a tear rolled down Sherlock’s cheek.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, what do you mean wrong?”
“Well, it’s… it’s my head, and my body, I don’t know I feel dizzy... but not dizzy. It comes in waves. I feel far away. It takes over me. I can’t move for a split second and then it’s gone. And then it comes back again. I feel like I’m levitating in my own body. Like my brain is expanding in my head. Like tv static when we switch to the wrong channel. It’s paralyzing. But only for a moment. And then I’m me again. John… what’s happening to me?” Sherlock began to sob uncontrollably.
John moved to the arm of Sherlock’s chair, putting a reassuring arm over his friend’s shoulder, “I don’t know… I… I’m sorry I wish I knew Sherlock… but I’m here okay? I’m here.”
“Thank you John,” Sherlock cried, holding his head in his hands. He began to shudder violently, and his breathing became shallow, but only for a moment.
John sat with Sherlock for the remainder of the day. He read to Sherlock from some of his favorite authors. He played, and lost, several games of chess. Then they watched some crap telly until Sherlock was tired enough to drift off to sleep.
John gently woke a lightly sleeping Sherlock and walked him to his room. As Sherlock sat down on his bed, John placed a hand on Sherlocks shoulder, looked him sincerely in the eye and said, “Tomorrow will be a better day.”
Sherlock gave a reassuring smile, and replied, “Thank you for being there for me today John, it meant a lot to me, I… I’m still not sure what this is but… it helped to have you here.”
“I will always be here for you Sherlock,” and with that John turned out the light to his flatmate’s room, then retired to his own, leaving both doors open so he could hear if Sherlock stirred in the night.