Hi there! :)

So... this is my first fanfic in the Sherlock fandom! This is an important story for me, as I'm having some problems with my right wrist (tendinitis), and it is seriously interfering with my life. My wrist actually aches to the point when I have to throw the pen down and clutch my right wrist for one minute before I feel slightly better and capable of writing. This story somehow helps me save myself from the fear of being permanently handicapped if I don't treat the problem in time... Yeah. Hope you enjoy this!

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's Sherlock.

The curly-haired man groaned as yet another wave of nauseous headache surged through his head, threatening to split it apart. This was what years of mental exhaustion did to him, a price that he had to pay in exchange for his fame and dedication. Absently running his temples with his long, slender fingers, an unfamiliar feeling settled inside him, and he felt - for the first time in his life - his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach.

What would he do if the doctor was right?

He knew very well that he should stop, but he couldn't. What would Sherlock Holmes become if his mind palace was forced to idle?

Nothing.

Absolute nothingness.

The shattering pain dulled into a nagging throbbing at the back of his skull, and he realised that he had no recollection of the events that happened when his head was too shattered to function.

This had happened before, and he started fearing for his sanity.

How many times would it happen before his mind would waste away because of a stupid, unknown disease, instead of age?

John had taken upon himself to drug Sherlock's tea in order to examine him (he had retaliated myriad times against seeking medical advice, stating that he was a doctor to his own self). The symptoms pointed to an expectedly unexpected syndrome - some disease that was caused by overt mental exhaustion and drainage. When the consulting detective woke up and got interrogated by the retired army doctor, the doctor was livid that he concealed his condition.

"What, you're telling me that your head has been bothering you for like, 18 months or possibly more? Sherlock Holmes, it's a wonder that you're still sane!"

Sherlock simply gave a half-hearted shrug, and then retired to his place on the couch, trying to solve the newest case that had been given to him, courtesy of a Detective Inspector, Gregory Lestrade. He found it harder and harder to concentrate on the case as the nagging throbbing came back in full force, in the form of a splitting migraine that was too irritating to ignore.

Heaving a sigh, he placed the paper down on the coffee table. "Stupid headache," he muttered, raising his hands to massage his aching temples for the fifth time in the morning.

The consulting detective could still clearly remember when the headache started. It was when he started with the Blind Banker case, which involved a field of symbols that he wasn't familiar with. The investigation drained almost every ounce of energy from him, not to mention the death threat John and Sarah received in the Black Lotus' lair had him rethink his priorities.

Never before had he felt so conflicted. He wanted to form as few ties with people as possible, yet John had taught him that there was a lot more to life other than psycho criminals and the land for imbeciles aka the Scotland Yard. There was also a brother that he had mixed feelings towards - Mycroft Holmes.

Damn. He would probably bribe John again to ship me off to some mental hospitals.

He found it hard to focus on the things around him as the headache began to intensify. Momentarily he let go of his temple, nesting his head in his palms and willing the ache to simply go away.

He wanted the pain to leave, so that he could resume a normal life.

Yet, there was a price to be paid. A CAT scan that John conducted when he was unconscious showed that the area of his cerebrum that was causing him pain were the cognitive and sensory areas in the right hemisphere. The most essential part of Sherlock Holmes' brain.

They weren't just any ordinary areas in a human's brain - these were where Sherlock fully utilized to bring criminals to justice.

If he chose to stop being a consulting detective, in an attempt to soothe the headache and nurse himself back to health, it would be a suicidal decision. He was reluctant to abstain from the only thing he found enthusiasm in to try to have the headache stop bothering him.

This wasn't a price that he was willing to pay. This wasn't an offer that he was ready to accept in exchange for his health.

But what other choices did he have?

Reviews are greatly appreciated! :)