A/N: I know its been written before but I wanted to do my take on this situation. I don't officially suffer from this problem myself but when I'm highly stressed do have the same reactions to touch and sound as Sherlock has here. I just fancied a crack at this and enjoyed writing it.
If anyone who does have this problem sees any mistakes in the story please feel free to correct me.
For anyone who doesn't know London's 'Winter Wonderland' is a market/attraction put on in Hyde park, it has stalls, food, fair rides and bands and attractions. I haven't gone this year - as Sherlock says - overpriced lol.
"We need to go." Sherlock closed his eyes only momentarily. This can't be happening, not now.
John turned around and glanced at him with a perplexed look.
"What?" he asked, stopping dead. "I thought we were looking for a killer here?" the doctor pointed to the throngs of people around them. It was two weeks before Christmas and they were at London's Hyde Park Winter Wonderland. Or as Sherlock had called it, 'An overpriced tourist attracting waste of time.'
"Well I was wrong." the detective snarled back, turning away from his best friend as to hide his grimacing face. The lights were burning the backs of his eyes. The bright flashing endless Christmas attire was relentless, and as people milled around them Sherlocks mind deduced every single one of them, a mess of muddled thoughts. It was starting to give him more than just a headache, it was overwhelming.
"What?" John gave a light chuckle, following his friend as the pair of them made in the direction of the exit. "You're never wrong Sherlock, what is it? Seasonal festivities too much for you?"
"Leave it!" he barked in response but did not turn to look at his friend, he needed out, and he needed out now! His mind palace was slowly self destructing from the inside out, too much input, he needed to get back to 221B and into darkness and silence, and he needed it right now. He could not let John see this, not his own genius mind failing him. They had barely been friends a year and the detective dare not allow John to see his weakness right now, but with every step it was getting harder to control the endless influx of sensations.
The smell of roasting nuts wafted across their path and he swallowed back the rising nausea which it brought upon him, covering his hand over his mouth and nose to avoid any other smells from entering his olfactory nerve endings. He pushed forwards, colliding with a young teenager in the crowds.
"Watch it mate!" the youngster shouted.
A endless stream of deductions swam before the detectives eyes. University student, 20 years old, first year, studying engineering, from Manchester, gay, meeting friends here, first time in London. Obviously. Has drunk two bottles of beer and eaten from the hog roast around the corner, with extra scratchings and apple sauce.
Sherlock turned quickly, the smell of food making it past his hand and into his mouth, he tasted the sweet smell of doughnuts and physically gagged this time, bending over to spit in the muddy ground below.
"Shit." John had actually noticed this time. Damn, he needed to get rid of him sharpish because things were going to get a whole lot worse in a few minutes if he didn't.
"You alright?" the doctor rounded on him, the look of concern on his face. Sherlock tried not to look at him, tried not to deduce him but couldn't help it. Yesterdays stubble still present, late night last night, date with Sarah. Wearing a new shirt today but the same coat as last night, he went for dinner at the Italian down the road, it went well, he went back to hers and didn't sleep on the sofa. He's meeting Lestrade and the yarders later for a drink in the local.
Sherlock turned away from him and stumbled forwards, too much input, he needed to stop.
System overload, reboot now, his mind palace screamed. Red lights flashing inside the corridors.
The detective growled inwardly. His heart was beginning to race now, the pulsing sensation did nothing for his mind, the quivering feeling rising from his chest up his neck and into his jaw.
"Sherlock? Are you sick?"
He needed John gone. He wanted him gone. He had to have him gone. Right now. He could not see him like this.
"Not sick." he managed in the most unconvincing voice imaginable. "I think i saw the suspect over there." he pointed back towards one of the small amusements, his hand wavering, damn it, couldn't his transport just do as it was told for once. Children were screaming as the ride close by bopped up and down and tried not to cover his ears to give away his increasing pain it caused. "Maybe we should split up, then we can cover more area." he added with haste, not trusting his voice for a second.
Johns head cocked to the side. "I thought we were leaving?" he enquired with suspicion.
"We are, but maybe we should do a sweep of this area first." Sherlock had no intention of helping in the search, with any luck John would disappear into the crowd and he could retreat and find a dark part of the park to spend a moment to himself. This was becoming unbearable, he was feeling like a trapped animal with nowhere to go and no escape.
System backup required. Urgent. Urgent. His mind was still screaming back at him.
Sherlock took a long deep breath to compose himself, hoping John would take the bait and leave.
But the doctor knew better than this.
"I'm not a fool Sherlock." John crossed his arms, "Even in this light I can see you don't look well. Your white as a bloody sheet, when did last eat?"
The detective clenched his jaw hard, composing himself, there was only one other way to get John to leave and if he needed to do it this way so be it.
"Bugger off!" he shouted, "I don't know why you even tagged along tonight, you've been nothing but a distraction. Look Sherlock lets look at this, why don't you have a mulled wine Sherlock, do you think he'll be in here Sherlock...' he chimed, his voice was shaking and he hoped John recognised it as anger and not his fraying nerves.
His heart was thundering like a train now, spots dancing madly in his vision. With any luck this would upset the doctor enough to send him off in a tantrum, he was running out of time, fast. He needed out, right now.
Shutdown urgent. Defrag required. Files corrupt. The alarms were ringing loudly, lights flickering.
John shook his head sadly. "I know what you're doing, and I'm not buying it." he stepped forwards towards the detective. "Come on, lets get you a taxi home, you've probably just picked up a stomach bug, theres a lot going round." He grabbed for the detectives elbow to guide him forwards but Sherlock reeled sideways away from John's hand, colliding with another member of the public who cursed loudly.
"Don't touch me!" Sherlock cried, cowering backwards from both John and the stranger. He stumbled quickly forwards, gait wobbly, he was dizzy all of a sudden, the world tilted sideways. Too much noise, too many people, nowhere to get away.
Now John was really worrying.
"It's ok, take it easy. What it is, what are your symptoms?"
Sherlocks breaths hitched into short desperate gasps, he stumbled on, reaching a bench he leant on it heavily, his knuckles turning white from his desperate grip in an attempt to remain as upright as possible. His body was following his mind and failing though.
"Need to get home. Now." he cried breathlessly, giving up the fight of getting rid of John.
"Alright, then lets head to the exit and get a cab, do you think you can do that?" The doctor asked kindly, a sad smile passing across his face.
"Too late." Sherlock cried out as the sound of a group of teenagers laughing hit his ears. He grasped at his curls, pulling on them. "Too many, too much. Cant stop it. Too bright." he inhaled and squeezed his eyes closed. "Can't do it John." he moaned.
"Alright alright." John came to stand in front of his friend, mindful of the reaction to his touch seconds earlier. "look at me alright." he says sternly, but Sherlock continues to pull madly at his hair.
"Stop that." he asks, trying to stop the pulling without physically doing so. "Look at me."
But its as if the detective can't hear him anymore. The sirens of his overloading mind palace are deafening.
"Listen to me then. You need to slow your breathing down for me, do you think you can do that?"
If anything Sherlocks breathing worsens, now short and useless gasping breaths come all at once. He's swaying violently and John tries not to touch him but the detective rocks into him.
"What the?"
"I can't stop it." The detective moans, "Stop deducing!" he shouts to himself and yanks madly at his locks, growling whilst pulling hard. He stumbles forwards and then back, unsteadily. To any passerby he looked drunk but John knows better than this.
"Sherlock?" John says desperately. "Sherlock, can you hear me? If your going to go I need to know, you're a lot taller than me, I'm not sure I can catch you?" he jokes.
System shutdown imenent. Prepare for reboot. Restart now. The lights flicker off, its too late.
The detectives lanky body collapses forward all of a sudden and John just manages to grasp around under his arms in time. He struggles slightly before guiding his best friend down and onto the bench below. Sherlocks body slumps like a rag doll, his limbs limp, chin on his chest.
"Okay lets sit then." John exhales from the physical exertion. He's now drawn attention from several passers by who are hovering around. "Sherlock?" he cries, bending down to him.
The detectives eyes are closed and John's insides clench in panic. He pressed his fingers under his friends jaw to reassure himself that the younger mans heart is actually still beating. "Sherlock?" he pats the mans cheeks. "Sherlock, can you hear me?" He's happy the man's breathing has slowed somewhat.
"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" one of the spectators now says. "He doesn't look so good."
"No." John shoots. Not even sure himself if they should or not. "I'm his doctor." he blurts out. "Just give us some space for a moment please." he says politely, they happily leave them be.
He pulls his trusty pen torch from his pocket then, slowly pulling up the younger mans eyelid and shining the light into one and then the other eye, when he finds that neither eye reacts to the light his heart begins to pulse faster. "Nope, you're scaring me now." he cries, "come on, give me some sort of sign you're in there?"
A soft groan.
"There we go." John relaxes slightly, "Lost you there for a moment."
Sherlocks eyes open to slits but he doesn't focus on anything or give any indication that he had heard John. It's all his lax body does in reply to the doctors worried words, his body still slack and lifeless.
"Come on. Talk to me. Whats happening?" John gently turns one of Sherlocks hands over in his own and cups it so his fingers are now resting on his friends radial pulse. There is no reaction. He counts the beats under his finger tips, timing them.
"196. Christ mate." he whispers. "I might not have a choice but to call an ambulance at this rate." the doctor runs through the reasons for such a fast heart rate only coming up with the worst case scenarios he can consider, sepsis, shock, atrial fibrillation, tachyarrythmias, heart attack. He gulps back, no, he's sure there is a much less sinister reason for this.
"No." Sherlock suddenly cries, "no, no, no, no..." he trails into a whisper, lips moving soundlessly.
"No what?" John moves closer to try and hear what his friend is saying but he can't make out a single syllable.
Sherlocks eyebrows pull together, his eyes are still slitted but a single tear manages to escape one eye and rolls slowly down his pale cheek. John gently collects it with his thumb and the detective flinches back from the touch.
"Easy." John soothes, "take it easy. I'm here okay."
Sherlock shudders and brings a hand up to his forehead with a stifled groan."Bright." he cries.
"Alright. I understand." The doctor whispers quietly. "Lets get you out of here." he adds.
"Can't" Sherlocks exhales. His breaths are speeding up again. He grimaces and his eyes pull closed tightly. A nearby bandstand blares out a Christmas tune and he brings his hand up to his ears with a whimper.
"Yes you can." John bends down in front of his best friend. "Do you trust me?" he asks.
Sherlocks eyes snap open and he gazes to his flat mate with an questioning look. "With my life." he whispers, he grimaces at another sharp noise before closing his eyes shut again.
"Can I touch you for a moment?" John tries.
The detectives head dips in a slight nod and with that the doctor slowly slips his friends scarf off. Sherlock can't help but flinch back at the touch. "Sorry." he murmurs.
"No need." John smiles sadly. "I would stuff tissues in your ears but I'm not sure its a good idea right now, so lets keep that for plan B shall we. Lets try this first."
The doctor unfolds the woollen fabric and brings it up to cover over the detectives eyes before tying it behind his head snugly. "Right." John says. "Do you think you can get up?" he offers.
Sherlock rises up to his feet shakily and John's hand slides in-between the famous coat and Sherlock and around the detectives waist. Sherlock doesn't flinch back this time, he leans heavily on his friend grasping at John's own coat for reassurance. He lets out a long drawn out breath to compose himself.
"Ready?"
"Lets go." The younger man steps forward with wobbly legs and it takes a couple of attempts to get them going but they manage. John holds him fast, not letting him go as they make their way down the through the crowds of tourists and locals. They cause quite a spectacle. Sherlock's blindfolded form hobbling in the grasp of his smaller friend.
The doctor can feel his friend's taught muscles under his grip, with each sudden or loud noise they twitch and quiver in response. He thinks twice about the tissue idea but before he had a chance they reach the taxi drop off point and John quickly guides his friend into a waiting vehicle, glad that a young couple quickly give up their ride for them. John doesn't care if it's out of sympathy and he hasn't the heart to explain what's happening, he simply thanks them silently.
"221B Baker Street." John asks as he settles himself into the seat beside his friend. He reaches for the scarf but Sherlock grabs his appendage.
"Leave it."
The car glides forwards and the doctor can see his friend relax back slightly in the seat, though there is a slight tremor in the younger man's hands.
"You alright?"
There's a pause before Sherlock exhales a long breath, but he doesn't answer. The scarf remains in place, he's glad of it blocking out at least the bright Christmas lights of the city now racing past the windows.
"How long have you suffered from sensory overload?" John asks matter of factly, there is no sadness or accusation in his voice, just concern.
"How do you know...? Sherlock trails off, he stuffs his trembling hands into his coat pockets to hide their shaking.
"I might be an idiot Sherlock but I am doctor." John comments. "How long?"
"Since as long as I remember." Sherlock replies. "But I can usually control it, or at least self medicate it if I need." He gulps, instantly regretting that comment.
John frowns back. "Okay, perhaps no self medicating from now on. Just let me know what you need, anything at all."
"Home." Sherlock's entire body shudders as an ambulance screeches past the taxi, sirens full volume, he grasps at his curls once again and moans in agony.
"We're almost there mate. Just hold on a bit longer."
"Perhaps a little something for it wouldn't go amiss." The detectives whimpers against the pain, embarrassed that he is giving into his transports needs.
"Consider it done." John answers and ponders to himself what would be best to prescribe his best friend.
"Thank you John." Sherlock whispers quietly in reply.