Warning for panic attacks.
It was about one week after Sherlock's whole perception of his flatmate had been flipped upside down.
By now he was practically accustomed to John's... augmentations, and he found it ridiculous and almost insulting to his deductive skills that John had been able to hide his wings for so long.
It was also excruciatingly frustrating having a marvel of science sitting right in his living room and being unable to do anything about it.
This was because while Sherlock had taken the new revelations in stride, John was still weary about the subject, holding his wings awkwardly behind him whenever Sherlock was around.
Take today for example, John had come downstairs in an increasingly familiar halter style top, allowing his wings to hang unrestricted, and he had seemed to shrink down on himself upon seeing Sherlock sprawled in his usual chair.
Sherlock let out an inaudible sigh as his flatmate all but fled into the kitchen.
Sherlock was aware that John was uncomfortable with his wings and needed time to adjust to their new situation, but he wished that things could go back to the way they were before.
He missed the easy relationship they'd had.
The problem was, he had no idea how to approach John at all.
And he was not about to incur the wrath of Harry by doing something wrong.
As a result he and John were almost in a stalemate.
John was uncomfortable, and Sherlock didn't know how to ask what the problem was.
Dragging his hand down his face Sherlock looked to the ceiling for answers.
Usually John was his interpreter for emotional situations.
Sherlock would have gone on lamenting his loose grasp on social conventions when he suddenly became aware of how silent the flat was.
Instantly he was on high alert.
John was in the kitchen. He was supposed to be making tea. That's what he did everyday.
Yet none of the usual tea-making sounds that Sherlock had come to associate with John in the kitchen were happening.
"John?" He called.
Nothing.
Sherlock's heart pounded as he stood up from his chair.
Logically he knew John should be safe, that the man was probably in the loo or had managed to sneak past Sherlock back to his room, but after their recent home invasion Sherlock was a little on edge.
In three quick strides Sherlock made it to the kitchen door, nearly flinging it open in his haste to check on John.
What he found left him totally unprepared.
John's tea lay abandoned on the counter, and the man himself was squeezed into the far corner of the room. His wings hunched around him, covering his head like a shield and Sherlock could now hear his quiet but rapid breathing filling the room.
Sherlock stood frozen in the doorway, his brain stalled by the intense wrongness of the situation.
John gave a particularly ragged gasped and Sherlock gave a start.
Panic attack. His brain supplied, his eyes bouncing around the room trying to figure out what to do.
Harry. He should call Harry, she would know what to do, in fact she had warned him that something like this might happen.
Sherlock was already reaching for his phone before he realised he didn't have the woman's number, not only that but John's phone was likely on his person, meaning Sherlock had no way of reaching the man's sister.
Cursing himself Sherlock glanced around hoping for some inspiration. His eyes landed on the afghan Bill had previously placed on John.
Perfect. If Bill had done it then it must be helpful in situations like these. Besides, wasn't Lestrade always trying to put shock blankets on him?
Silently cheering Sherlock snatched up the blanket before finally entering the room where John was.
Replaying Bill's previous visit Sherlock crouched, bringing himself closer to John's height and inched himself over to the cowering figure.
Once he got close enough Sherlock paused. John was essentially a feathery ball, leaving no clear indication as to where Sherlock should drape his offering.
Hoping for the best Sherlock clumsily spread the blanket over John's hunched form, causing the man to flinch deeper into the corner, his breathing stuttering.
Belatedly Sherlock remembered the rules Harry had set out.
1. Don't touch John without permission or warning.
Sherlock had already messed that one up, but he hoped that the blanket would a least help his flatmate once he got used to it.
2. Avoid loud noises.
Glancing around Sherlock was relieved to see that John had yet to put the kettle on, eliminating the possibility that it would shriek in the middle of his efforts to calm his flatmate. Checking to make sure he had no volatile experiments around, Sherlock moved onto the next rule.
3. No cigarettes, alcohol or corpses.
Easy. Sherlock had already vowed not to smoke in the flat and neither he nor John drank much. Scanning the counter tops Sherlock confirmed that there were no body parts laying around either.
4. John likes violin.
Eyes widening, Sherlock was about to half-crawl-half-run out of the kitchen in order to retrieve his instrument when the last two rules presented themselves.
5. Explain what you're doing to John (even if it doesn't seem like he's listening).
6. Two taps means safe.
Mentally berating himself for forgetting several important things Sherlock quickly tapped the ground twice.
"I'll be right back John." He rasped before awkwardly crawling out of the room.
Upon arriving in the living room Sherlock seized his bow and Stradivarius before trying to calmly rush back into the kitchen.
Breathing a bit faster than normal, Sherlock surveyed the situation.
John was still in the corner, looking like some sort of swamp monster with the way the blanket draped over his whole form, but the man's breathing was less laboured than it had been, so Sherlock counted it as a win.
Crouching again a good distance away from John, Sherlock readied himself.
"I'm going to play my violin John." He warned, before bringing the instrument up to his shoulder and wearily pulling the bow across the strings, watching John for any signs of distress.
It was hard to tell because of the blanket, but John did seem to relax, so Sherlock kept playing, the music calming his nerves as well.
oOo
Sherlock wasn't sure the exact moment John came out of his panic attack, for all he knew John stayed under the blanket longer than necessary, unwilling to show himself. Regardless, Sherlock played, waiting until his flatmate felt comfortable enough to emerge from under the cover.
Eventually John did emerge, pulling the blanket down and around his shoulders before pushing himself up off the floor, looking vaguely embarrassed.
Sherlock's playing halted then, and he remained awkwardly crouched on the other side of the room, not having thought about what to do once John was himself again.
John broke the silence first, looking slightly to the left of Sherlock's shoulder.
"I'm going to take a shower." He burst out, his hands twitching on the blanket around his shoulders, wanting to sign but not willing to give up the comforter.
"Right." Sherlock nodded, noting the dampness of John's hair.
They stared at each other for another moment before John finally edged off in the direction of the loo.
Sighing Sherlock stood up and turned back towards the living room, putting his Stradivarius away and settling in his chair, ready to analyse the afternoon's activities.
As far as he could tell, John had calmed down through his administrations, and while Sherlock had been rather clumsy with his blanket placement, John had kept it, meaning it had to have been helpful. Right?
Sherlock's violin seemed to also have been a success in dealing with the panic attack and Sherlock made a note to remember that for the future.
Frowning, Sherlock folded his hands together as he tried to figure out what had triggered John's attack, the man had been making tea as usual, and Sherlock hadn't seen anything potentially triggering in the kitchen...that being said, John might have reacted to something Sherlock had no clue about and therefore could not protect against.
Sherlock heard the shower stop and absentmindedly noted the time in his mind palace. John had spent longer than usual under the water, likely a side-effect of today's events.
John's shuffled footsteps stopped in the kitchen and Sherlock heard the sounds of running water and rattling cups.
I can surmise that tea was not the trigger. Sherlock mused, doubting that John would be up to the task if it had just recently set him off.
The kettle shrieked and John came soon after into the living room, a cup in each hand, the blanket threatening to fall from where it was loosely hung around his shoulders.
Upon handing Sherlock a cup, John quickly pulled the cover tighter around his shoulders before disregarding his customary chair and making his way over to the couch.
Sherlock was confused at the abnormal behavior but sipped his tea anyways, grateful for something to do.
"I'm sorry." John murmured out of the blue, his dominant hand in a fist, circling in front of his chest.
This is apology tea. Sherlock thought absentmindedly while he tried to figure out how to respond.
"You don't have to apologize John." He said finally.
John pressed his lips together and clutched his teacup with both hands, silently disagreeing.
Sherlock clenched his teeth and his brows pulled together. "I'm serious John." He insisted. "You have nothing to apologize for. Your reaction was perfectly normal."
Granted Sherlock didn't know what John had reactedto, but considering his history Sherlock assumed his reaction was typical.
John scowled slightly in frustration as he had to set down his tea in order to sign what he wanted to next, but Sherlock didn't comment. Harry had informed him that John was likely to become embarrassed and stop communicating at all if he was pressured about his signing habits.
As a result, Sherlock simply had to be willing to wait until John was comfortable enough to speak without signing.
Both hands free John sat back. "I didn't want to bother you." He explained, cupping his left hand and tapping it against the top of his right.
"You didn't bother me." Sherlock insisted, privately hoping that John didn't realise how out of his element he'd been. "I don't mind."
John's hands fluttered indecisively. "I... don't want to make you uncomfortable." He explained reluctantly.
Sherlock's teacup paused midway to his lips as his brain stalled. This whole time he'd been worried about making John uncomfortable when in reality they wereboth making each other uncomfortable and then tiptoeing around the subject.
"I'm not uncomfortable because of you John." Sherlock tried to explain, setting his cup down. "I just... don't want to do anything wrong."
John looked dumbfounded. "You don't... Sherlock you've kept heads in our fridge." He sputtered, his dominant hand pulling back as if opening a door.
Sherlock winced, remembering how John had reacted to that little experiment. "Right, sorry about that."
John shook his head. "No... I'm mean yes, but..." his hands lagged indecisively. "I don't want you to be walking on eggshells around me." He finished, his hand pointing to his chest.
"I mean, it's good that you're being considerate!" John hastily added, his finger pointing to his head. "But... I think it would help if we could work at living like before."
Sherlock nodded slowly. "...what if I trigger you or something?" He questioned, gesturing towards the kitchen.
"We'll work on that." John insisted, his hands flying. "Just try to warn me before you do anything crazy, like shoot the wall."
Slowing down John looked reluctant and sheepish at the same time. "And I'll... I'll let you know if something is bad for me."
"Deal." Sherlock agreed, feeling relieved. He knew he and John still had a lot that they had to talk about, but they had at least started.
AN:
The first of three chapters where John and Sherlock heal and learn form their experience.