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"Sherlock!" John yelled from the bathroom.
"Sherlock, I know you can hear me. I need you to bring me a towel."
Sherlock was sat on the floor in front of the couch looking miserable. His hair was an absolute mess and his eyes were bloodshot. He was trying so hard to block out sounds. But he could hear everything. He couldn't even retreat to his mind palace. He was stuck.
He could hear John yelling for him. It was as if he was yelling directly in his ear. It was bad enough to listen to the water in the shower pound on the ceramic tub and off John's skin for the past quarter hour. Plus the buzzing of fluorescent bulbs in the bathroom and kitchen. He could hear his heart pumping blood through every inch of his body. The sun shining through the windows was too bright but he couldn't get up to close them.
He could feel everything too. Every hair on his head and every fiber on his silk shirt. The tags on his clothing felt like they were cutting into his sensitive skin. He swore he had cut them out but he can still feel them there . He can even feel the heat from the sun through the windows. It was burning him.
He was aware when John slammed the bathroom door open. He could hear the water dripping from his hair to his face. He could practically feel his anger.
"Sherlock! Didn't you hear me calling you?" John was angry. "And don't tell me you were in your mind palace, we both know damn well you come out when your name is called."
Sherlock flinched and covered his ears. Now that John was closer, it didn't feel like he was yelling in his ear. It felt like he was in his brain screaming directly into his auditory cortex.
John came around the corner into the living room and saw Sherlock sitting on the floor. John was fuming. He was soaking wet and his clothes were sticking to him. The tiny washcloth left on the sink barely did anything more than air drying would.
"So you are ignoring me." John stomped over to Sherlock's curled up figure. "What in the world are you doing?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He tried shutting his eyes but the pressure-induced figures were somehow worse than the sunlight. God, he needed to go to his room. Be alone. Or smoke. Preferably both. But he couldn't make his body move.
John began getting angry at Sherlock not answering him. He rolled his eyes (Sherlock could hear it) and crouched down beside Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" He asked, concern edging into his tone. "What is going on with you? You never ignore me when there's no case on. You always have a snarky comment prepared."
Sherlock didn't answer. He couldn't. His brain wouldn't let him speak. And of course, he has no way to communicate that to John. John would get angry and leave. Everyone leaves.
But like always, John surprised him. John sighed and sat next to Sherlock. He could feel the heat coming from the older man.
"When you're ready to talk, let me know."
They sat there in silence. Sherlock doubted John could hear his breathing or heartbeat, but Sherlock could hear both of theirs. Eventually, though, Sherlock's heartbeat matched that of John's.
When Sherlock finally let out a loud and exhausted sigh, John knew it was safe to move.
"I'm going to make tea, do you want some?" John asked, knowing he was gonna make him a cup whether he answered or not.
Sherlock nodded weakly. That's a good sign, John thought, before standing up and making his way to their kitchen.
He paid extra attention to the way he made Sherlock's tea today, knowing that one slightly off component could return him to that spiral.
After multiple minutes, he came back to Sherlock with two mugs of tea in hand. He placed the mugs on the coffee table as quietly as possible, before sitting beside Sherlock again.
Sherlock was sitting up a little more now. He looked absolutely exhausted and his hair was a mess.
Knowing Sherlock likely wouldn't go for the cup on his own, John picked up his cup and carefully placed it in his hands. Once he was sure he wasn't going to drop it, he went to his own cup.
Sherlock took a small sip before carefully placing the cup back on the coffee table.
"Do you need a hug?" John whispered carefully. He knows they don't really do this, but Sherlock looked like he needed one very badly. He nodded.
John scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He hugged him as tightly as he could, trying to physically hold Sherlock together. Let him know he was going to be okay. It'll all be okay.
Sherlock hated physical touch most of the time. It was too much input, the uneven toughness of skin, the smell of their laundry detergent, their itchy clothes that didn't seem to bother them. But this? This was fine. It was pleasant. It was John.
Once Sherlock finally relaxed, John asked the question. "What happened?"
Sherlock sighed, cleared his throat, and spoke. "Um, John, you know I'm not exactly... normal." His voice was scratchy after not being used for so long. He took another, longer sip of tea.
"Yeah, well normal is boring." Sherlock let out a soft laugh.
"Not always. John I... I'm autistic. You're a doctor, I'm sure I don't have to explain what that means." Sherlock spoke fast, like he was afraid something was going to happen if he stopped for even a second.
"Well, I'm not a neurologist, but I learned the basics of it in medical school. Was that what was wrong? You were having an 'episode' or whatever it's called?" John asked.
Sherlock cringed at the terminology. It's not intentional, he doesn't know, he repeated to himself like a mantra.
"Sensory overload."
"Right. I remember learning about that. You're okay now though, yeah?"
"Yeah," Sherlock replied. He felt exhausted. He wanted to go to bed.
"You're not... surprised?" Sherlock inquired after a while.
"What, that you're autistic? No. I had a feeling you weren't... neurotypical? I think that's the word. You think differently than everyone else. That's why you're so good at what you do."
"Oh," Sherlock mumbled. He hadn't considered the possibility that John had noticed.
"You seem exhausted," John spoke as he pulled away from the hug. "Let's get you to bed."
It wasn't quite late, but if John noticed how exhausted Sherlock was, he should probably listen. He is a doctor after all.
John helped Sherlock stand up and walked with him to his bedroom, leaving the cups of tea on the coffee table. John will wash them later, he always does.
Once in bed, Sherlock quickly fell asleep. He felt the safest he had ever felt since he was a child. All thanks to John.