John was pecking at the keys of his laptop, finishing up his retelling of Sherlock's latest case. Absently he sipped his tea and gave a quick "'lo" to Sherlock as the dark haired man entered the living room.
"Tea," Sherlock said in passing, heading to his bedroom and shucking out of his coat and scarf on the way.
John sighed, then stood quickly and returned from the kitchen a few moments later with a cup. He went into Sherlock's room and placed the cup on his bedside table. Then he moved back to the door.
Sherlock stood at his closet and stretched, cracking his neck and shoulders. The tea was snatched up and thrown back like a shot. Sherlock blew out a breath and started to dig through his clothes.
Pausing at the door, John turned, "Everything alright, Sherlock?"
"...Hm? Oh. Yes. Fine." He was throwing articles out of the closet like a dog digging through a yard after a bone.
"All right. Well," John headed back to the living room, "I'll be reading then."
"Mmm...no. Get my phone. Left outside pocket in my coat."
"Fine, right." John returned again. He offered Sherlock his mobile. "Anything else, or..?"
"Something stronger than tea is necessary." Blowing out a sigh and scrubbing his hands through his hair, he looked up at the ceiling and blinked several times in succession. "I'm at a very crucial stage in the Pointe murder case."
"I really don't think you need something stronger than tea, Sherlock." John looked worriedly at his friend.
"Thank you for your opinion, but it's completely irrelevant. I need something, get me something." He needed to stay focused. Awake. Just a day or two more...he had leads.
Damnit. Without a word, John left and went to his room, dug through his medical bag and found what he was looking for. He went back to Sherlock, offering a bottle of pills. "I don't want you do take these, Sherlock. But if you do, take one, eat something, and then take another one no sooner than three hours later. It'll help keep you awake and functioning." John didn't look at Sherlock as he spoke. He seemed almost ashamed, but offered the pills nonetheless.
Sherlock stood there for a long moment just staring at the bottle in John's hand. Then up at John's face. He'd expected an argument or an exasperated 'no'. This was completely unexpected and unlike John. Offering a former addict drugs. Well... take every opportunity as it presented itself. Sherlock took the bottle from John's hand and, against all advice, dumped a few in his hand and swallowed them dry. "Thank you. Coming out with me?" Bottle tossed onto the bed and back to digging in the closet.
John clenched his fists at his sides. "Dammit, Sherlock. ...Where are you going?"
"Just down Randolph. There was a fire. They tried to burn the evidence... what did you give me, by the way?"
"Acute asthma medication. And no, I'm staying here. I'm going to finish my tea, finish my blog and go to bed." John turned and walked stiffly to the door.
"Ah. Ephedrine, then. Interesting that you keep that in your kit." Aha! Pulling out a filtered breathing mask from his closet, he spun it round his finger by the straps. "I do have two of these, you know. You're perfectly fine with setting me loose in a half-burned building, blood pressure ready to skyrocket?"
John rubbed his face with his hands. "Fine, I'll come. But only to make sure you survive the night." This was not going well. Mycroft had tried to convince him the whole thing was for Sherlock's protection and he'd already given him unnecessary medication and was now going to follow him to an arson fire. Brilliant.
Fantastic. Sherlock's lips twitched up once in amusement and satisfaction in just having gotten his way. He tossed the mask at John.
Playing with the mask in his hands John said, "Just so we're clear, Sherlock; those pills were a one-time thing. " John followed his flat mate out into the hallway and pulled on his jacket.
Sherlock had produced another mask, tying on his scarf and putting his coat on. Already, he was starting to feel jittery. Not quite as strong as he would like, but strong enough to see this through. Heading down to the curb, he hailed a taxi, jumping in and keeping the door open for John. Of course they would have to get out before getting to the official scene, roped off with police tape and still smoldering in places.
John shook his head at Sherlock's silence and made a mental note to check the man's pulse every half hour. Idiot. Damn Mycroft. He followed Sherlock into the cab and shut the door. Staring out the window as Sherlock stated the address; he began to wonder if there was anything he could do to get rid of the geis. This was clearly good for neither him nor Sherlock. He'd check some books once they returned to 221B.
"With me, John. Put the mask on and act like you belong here. No one will say a word." The light was already back in his eyes, an energetic spring to his gait. He donned his own mask, ducking under the crime scene tape as they arrived two blocks of walking later.
John nodded and pulled on the mask, adjusting it carefully. It was nice to see his friend up and running about again, but John felt his heart twinge with guilt knowing that it was all medication. Medication he had given the man. Damn it to hell.
Sherlock wasn't careful when he went into the charred remains of the building. It was a dangerous place to be for anyone and here he was tromping about and scanning for evidence. Most everything would have been burned, but there had to have been something! He crouched in the ashes closer to the source of the fire and dug through the water-sodden mess, breathing loudly into the mask. "I have reason to believe that it was the elderly parents who murdered their three adult children. They were controlling parents, even having them sign their death benefits over to them. If I could find the papers that would be enough proof..."
John heard the creaking support beams before he saw them fall. "Sherlock!" He dove at the man, managing to knock him clear and taking only a glancing blow to his shoulder. Unfortunately it was his wounded shoulder and he gasped out in pain. Grabbing it, he groaned. Then he noticed the safe that had fallen from above. "Sherlock, there."
His eyes were wide with the thrill of panic that had gone through him as John knocked him aside. For a moment, he feared that John would have taken a full on blow from the falling support beams and bits of floor. Yes. The safe! There! But... "Are you all right?!"
John nodded, face tight with pain. "Fine. Let's get out of here." He pulled himself up slowly, cradling his arm and shoulder.
"I have to get into that safe. Don't focus on the pain. Get out if you need to. Wait for me on the street." Zipping over to the safe through the debris, he started to work with it. It was still hot to the touch and he didn't have the combination... a challenge.
Leave Sherlock in a still smoldering building? Not bloody likely. "I don't need to, Sherlock. I want to stay." Despite his words, he found himself moving toward the street. "Sherlock!"
Odd... John was leaving even though it looked like he very much didn't want to. Sherlock's eyes narrowed just a bit in suspicion before going back to fiddling with the safe. Pressing his face against the safe to listen to the tumblers shifting was not an option. He looked around for something to try and jimmy it open.
Oh no,nononono. John found himself increasing the distance between himself and his flatmate until the latter was out of sight. He stood on the street, waiting impatiently. Lestrade pulled up and jumped out of the flashing police car. "Lestrade!" John shouted to the man, "Lestrade, Sherlock's in there! Please get him out, drag him if you have to!" Lestrade looked startled but waved a few officers to follow him and headed into the damp smoke.
After that, Sherlock was dragged out by both arms struggling. "No! You have to get the contents of that safe! Let go of me you bumbling idiots!" ...of course his voice was muffled by the mask, so it was less effective. After he'd had enough, he slipped out of his coat so that they no longer had hold of him, only the sleeves of the wool garment. "Get the safe!"
"All right, ALL RIGHT! Sherlock, get the hell out of that mess, we'll get the bloody safe!" Lestrade was looking more and more angry. "What the hell are you even doing in there?"
"The EVIDENCE, you moron!"
Lestrade was at least a little taken aback. "...Sherlock. Are you... God, no. Are you high?!"
Suddenly able to move, John rushed forward and grabbed at Sherlock's wrist. 180/80. Way way way too high. "Sherlock, with me. We need to get you calmed down. Lestrade will take care of it." He forcibly pulled the taller man away from the excitement and down the block a ways before hailing a cab. "Sherlock, you need to calm down."
Ripping off the mask, Sherlock took a great gulp of the fresh night air and tried to pull his wrist away from John. "I'm fine. I'm great as a matter of fact. I'll be even better once I have the evidence in my hands, those idiots won't even know what to look for!"
"Sherlock!" John grabbed both his wrists despite the pain it caused him and pulled them down to his sides. Looking the man in the eyes, he said, "It doesn't matter, Sherlock. Lestrade will save everything for you and we'll get it sorted tomorrow. If you don't relax, I'm taking you to the emergency room. Alright?"
"What? Why would you be taking me to the emergency room?" He was struggling to get his wrists out of John's grip at first, but then tried to be mindful of his injury. "You should probably be headed to hospital but I am fine."
"You're about to go into cardiac arrest, Sherlock! Stop. Moving." John pressed the other man to the wall of the building behind them and held him there. When Sherlock stopped fighting him, John placed two fingers to his neck and checked his watch. After a few more minutes of this, he released Sherlock and rubbed his brow. "Fine. Can we go home now?"
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stood and took it calmly, going through a deep breathing exercise until John was placated. "Since you've effectively gotten me kicked off the crime scene, I suppose that's the only option, hm?" Chest pain was minimal. Still high energy. Angry but still taking deep breaths so that John wouldn't force him against a wall again. Transport was fine as far as Sherlock was concerned.
"Yes. Good." John nodded and hailed a cab successfully this time, inviting Sherlock to go in first as if worried the detective might run off. "221B Baker St, thanks." The doctor kept an eye on Sherlock as he angrily texted Lestrade about the safe. Stretching his shoulder carefully, John pulled out his own phone and sent a text to Mycroft.
[Your brilliant plan almost got Sherlock killed tonight. Well done there. JW]
He didn't expect a reply but at least he was making his annoyance known.
"Stop watching me like I'm about to fit. It's annoying." He kept his eyes on his phone, still shooting annoyed messages back and forth with the DI, who kept bringing up drugs. "I'll tell you if I've ever taken too much of a stimulant to handle. This is nothing."
John's eye slid off of Sherlock and he sighed. 'Yeah, except you're an idiot and I'm the doctor. I'll explain things to Lestrade later, just stop insulting the man."
"He's the idiot. He believes I'm back under the influence of cocaine. As much as I would have liked a clean syringe and a seven-percent solution, he has it wrong. Again." Huffing, he dropped his phone in his lap.
"Well what is he supposed to think, Sherlock? That I gave you Ephedrine?" John heard the guilt in his own voice. "And don't talk like that. You've been clean for over a year." His phone buzzed at him and John was surprised to see he had a text.
[Give it time. You'll be more use to him like this. MH]
The blond seethed and furiously responded
[I'm his friend, Mycroft, not his servant! And since when has Sherlock had any idea about what was best for him? JW]
"Why are you texting Mycroft?" ...because John got a very particular look on his face when he was speaking to Mycroft. That and it was time to change the subject.
"What? I'm not." John looked up startled and stuck his phone into his pocket. At the look on Sherlock's face he capitulated. "Alright, I was. It doesn't matter, Sherlock. Nothing that would interest you." Okay, first outright lie. John held his breath and looked out the window hoping Sherlock would let it go and knowing that it was nearly impossible that he would.
"Nothing that would interest me, you say..." Sherlock looked out his own window and let it go for a few seconds. Then: "Stop the cab! I fancy a jog back to Baker Street. Maybe even a hard run."
The cab pulled over and Sherlock had his hand on the door handle, positioning himself to jump out.
His eyes wide, John looked at Sherlock in disbelief. "No way, Sherlock. Not a chance. We're taking a nice relaxing ride back to the flat and then putting you to bed with some chamomile." He spoke to the cabbie. "Please continue. My friend here is drunk."
The door opened. No way for the cabbie to continue with the door opened. "I don't fancy a relaxing ride and I hate chamomile. I also don't fancy being lied to. Last chance to come clean, John."
"Fine! Sherlock, get back in the cab!" John held his phone out to the man. "Look through it if you like. I don't care. Just sit down. Please."
"That would be tedious." Sherlock did sit back and shut the cab door. "Tell me what's going on."
Shitshitshit. If it hadn't been an order... "I was talking to Mycroft about this...thing he did to me to help you. I told him it almost got you killed and he said to "give it time" and that I'd be more use to you now. I politely told him he was a moron and so were you." John managed to stop speaking. He didn't look at Sherlock and was glad there were only a few more awkward minutes in the cab.
"A 'thing' that he did to you." Sherlock's eyes were fixed on John expectantly. Slowly, slowly a smile curled onto his face. The 'I've worked it out' face. "John, touch your nose with your little finger."
John's face froze in a mix of panic and embarrassment. He put his finger up and touched his nose, then shoved his hand quickly back into his pocket. "It's nothing, Sherlock. Leave it."
"No, no. Touch your little finger to your nose and leave it there until I tell you to stop."
His eyes closed tight, John lifted his hand again and put one finger to his nose. "Damnit Sherlock,' He muttered under his breath.
"Tell me how brilliant I am."
John rolled his eyes, "You're really very brilliant, Sherlock."
"Why on earth did Mycroft think this was a good idea?"
"I don't know! He seemed to think this would help protect you. I can't see how." John pulled a face which, as his finger was still against his nose, came across more silly than expected.
"Very convenient, however. Later tonight, we're going over the evidence I already have and following a second lead. We can't afford to waste time on this case. You can stop touching your nose now, John."
Looking at the detective in surprise, John wondered if that was the end of it. If Sherlock was able to refocus on the case at hand; that would give John time to sort out his own problem. As the cab came to a stop, John bounded out and left Sherlock to pay. He run up to the door and pulled it open, running up the stairs and into his own room and slamming the door shut behind him.
Unusual, but Sherlock let it be. John would be left alone for a few hours while Sherlock researched.