Disclaimer: No matter how much I hope and dream, I will never own Sherlock.
This story is dedicated to one of my best friends from high school who passed away today. He was the inspiration for this fic. RIP Dallin. You will be missed.
Sherlock turned around from their living room wall that was plastered with pictures and maps for their latest case. "John. John. JOHN!" Sherlock looked to John, exasperation in the doctor's lack of attention apparent.
John finally looked up at Sherlock distractedly. "Hmm?"
Sherlock knitted his brows as he looked at John. The doctor's breathing was slightly faster and shallower, his eyes were unfocused and his lips were almost in a frown. "Oh…it's nothing," Sherlock replied in answer, after realizing something was wrong with John. He looked from the laptop on John's lap up to his face. "What's wrong?"
John focused his gaze on Sherlock for a few seconds. "It has to do with emotions and feelings. Things you don't do."
It was true that he didn't do emotions and feelings, but with John it was different. Ever since he came back from destroying Moriarty's web, he was different. He really wanted to know what was wrong. "John."
John gave a sad sigh. "I just found out that a really good friend I had while growing up, who I haven't seen in over fifteen years, but have kept in contact with through Facebook, just passed away from leukemia. His wife said that he was just diagnosed with it four months ago." John shut the laptop forcefully. "I didn't even know he was sick," he said somewhat angrily. He stood up and set the laptop on the floor. "I'm going for a shower." He quickly went up to his room and was in the bathroom with his belongings not two minutes later.
Sherlock was still standing in the living room looking at John's empty chair. Before his fall off of the roof at Barts, the news probably wouldn't have had an effect on him, but it did now. Both he and John had been through so much in those three years apart and he didn't want anything to hurt the doctor again. He knew there was something he should be saying or doing to comfort his obviously upset friend, but he didn't know what that would be
Not wanting to consult Lestrade, or god forbid, Mycroft, Sherlock grabbed John's laptop and began browsing the internet. Five minutes later, his head full of useful and useless information, he traded the laptop for his violin. He walked to window and began playing, back to the room.
Sherlock was so lost in his thoughts and the music he was playing that he didn't turn around from the window until almost forty-five minutes later. John was now seated on the sofa, leaning against the arm with a fist holding his head while in the other hand was a cup of tea. He was staring off in the distance, not really seeing anything.
Carefully, Sherlock set down his violin and bow and walked hesitantly to the sofa. He stood in front of the coffee table and looked at John. "Um. John? I…I'm…um…I'm sorry."
At Sherlock's uncharacteristic stuttering, John looked up, eyes glassy.
"About your friend," Sherlock continued. "I'm sorry about your friend."
"Thanks Sherlock." John gave a small smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.
Sherlock began fidgeting. "Is there…is there anything I can do?"
"Yes." Then John shook his head. "No." He brought his mug up to his mouth, and then realizing it was empty, lowered his hands, elbows resting on his thighs.
When John continued to stare unfocused at the wall opposite, Sherlock walked around the coffee table and took the mug from John and set it behind him. Before he could think about what he was doing, he sat down next to John, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and gave the doctor an awkward hug. "I want to help but I don't know what to do for you, John. Tell me, please," Sherlock whispered.
A few seconds later John turned into Sherlock, wrapped his arms around the man and held on tightly. Even though he initiated the hug, Sherlock initially stiffened at the unexpected contact and wanted to break away from the doctor. When he began to feel John's hitching breaths, those thoughts flew out the window. Right now John came first.
Five minutes later, when John released his hold and sat up straight, Sherlock was afraid to look at the doctor. With the way John had been breathing, he was more than likely crying. Sherlock did not want to witness it and had no idea what to do if that was the case.
"Thank you, Sherlock. I know how uncomfortable you were, but what you did was good. It was exactly what I needed," John said quietly, giving Sherlock an embarrassed smile.
Sherlock finally looked to John. There was no evidence of tears, but there was definite sadness in his eyes. "Um…you're welcome." Wanting to end all the emotional tension in the room, Sherlock jumped up from the sofa, grabbed John's mug and headed to the kitchen. "I'll make us tea."
A few minutes later Sherlock returned to the living room with two mugs of tea. He initially was going to hand John his mug and sit in his chair and enjoy his own. But seeing the still sad and unfocused gaze of his only friend, he sat down right next to John instead; legs and arms touching.
John leaned into Sherlock's side and took a sip of his tea. "For not having any experience in emotions and feelings, Sherlock, you are doing a good job of comforting. Thank you." John then sat back normally.
"Don't get used to it," Sherlock responded, though he knew he would always do anything to make John happy.