Chapter 1
John's POV:
The first time it happened or better I witnessed it was a surprise for both of us. None of us was prepared and to my defense no one had told me something like that could happen.
A normal Sunday afternoon in 221B Baker Street, as normal a day as it can be with Sherlock Holmes. I was reading a novel in my chair and Sherlock was bored. It had been over a week since our last case. I can enjoy peace and quiet once in a while but Sherlock, he looked dangerously close to giving the wall a few more bullet holes.
Sherlock was on the sofa, I tried to ignore him so as not to encourage his childish behavior, but his total silence let me look up in his direction. His face was pale, even paler than usual and his eyes were showing terror. He got up or better tried to but with a pleading look to me he collapsed onto the floor, hands in his hair, eyes shut tight and screaming in pain. I have never heard someone scream like this, Sherlock's voice was raw and animalistic and it really hurt.
As I rush over to him he curls himself into a ball, tears streaming from his eyes. The man I had seen often ignoring the pain or without even flinching with broken bones or sliced skin was hurting and I felt helpless. Sherlock wasn't reacting to anything I did, only screaming in pain. I hold him to stop him from hurting himself further in his hopeless attempt to fight against whatever pain was tormenting him. As nothing I was doing was helping I called Mycroft hoping he would know what to do. Over Sherlock's screams I called him. He told me to bring Sherlock into his room and to close the curtains.
Easier said than done, Sherlock couldn't help me or stand so I had to throw him over my shoulder and bring him to his room. I noticed once again that Sherlock was much too skinny. I made a mental note to get him to eat more once he had recovered from this ordeal. I closed the curtains and waited next to Sherlock on his bed while I waited for Mycroft. He arrived seven minutes later, he was running. It was the first time I had seen the man move that fast. He sat on the bed and sent me out, closing the door I returned to the living room. The screams ebbed and changed to sobbing after twenty minutes. After another fifteen minutes a very tired looking Mycroft emerged out of the room. He sat down on the sofa where Sherlock had been bored not even an hour ago. I placed a cup of tea in front of him and he looked up at me. He nodded his thanks and took a sip.
"Is he all right?" A stupid question if Mycroft's look was anything to go by but he answered me anyway.
"He will be after he wakes up. He will be tired and have a headache but that's about it." Mycroft closed his eyes again. After he finished his tea Mycroft left the flat without offering an explanation.