"Sherlock, you alright?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock tilted his head ever so slightly in the direction of Johns voice, eyes not moving from the microscope in front of him. All he needed was to find some kind of trace, even just one cell, of a particular solution in this slide, and the case of the disappearing cutlery would be solved.
The edge of the panel came into view as Sherlock listened to Johns heavy footfalls drawing nearer. He raised his head, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration before turning to look at his flatmate.
"I'm sorry John, what were you saying?" He noted the slight crease in Johns brow, his squared shoulders and the contrasting cock of his head. Something was worrying him.
"I just asked if you were alright." He moved to the counter and grabbed the kettle, his movements stiff and controlled. Something was really worrying him.
"I'm fine." Sherlock turned in his chair, following his friend as he moved around the kitchen, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "But you're not." He saw John falter, and couldn't help but feel the small ping of satisfaction he always felt when he was right. Which, according to Sherlock, was always.
John stayed silent as he set the kettle back in its cradle and switched it to boil. A moment passed before he answered, without turning around.
"No, no I'm fine. Just, the usual you know." He grabbed a nearby tea towel and busied himself wiping down the bench, an obvious avoidance manoeuvre Sherlock took note of, and cleared his throat before continuing. "Bills, cases. Mycrofts taken to calling me you know, asking about all sorts of bloody things. I'm seriously considering changing my number, but then I guess we both know that…"
"John." Sherlocks smooth, calm voice cut through the babble spilling from Johns mouth like a knife through warm butter. John finally turned to face him, his carefully constructed composure melting under Sherlocks piercing gaze. His face fell, the crease between his eyes shifting from determination to… something Sherlock had trouble understanding. Desperation? Hopelessness? Fear? What would have John feeling so frightened?
Then he saw it. The sheen of sweat on his brow, the ever-so-slightly paler complexion in his cheeks. Sherlock felt his mouth dry out as one by one, the signs made themselves apparent. The slight tang of antiseptic in the air, the creases in Johns left sleeve from where it had been recently rolled up, the slight purple haze of a small bruise forming on the back of his hand from an IV needle. As usual, the clues fell into place in Sherlocks mind, and the possibilities flashed passed in a blur, until the only one that fit was left. Sherlock met Johns gaze, the silence between them broken only by the harsh click of the finally boiled kettle, now abandoned on the bench. The moment was immeasurable, a still pocket in time and space, existing only between the two of them.
"I'm ill Sherlock."
Johns voice cracked the silence like a gunshot through an empty street, and Sherlock dropped his gaze to the floor. His words hung in the air around them, intangible, yet existing in the space as if to taunt them. Sherlocks normally racing mind was oddly still as he absorbed the meaning behind those three small words.
Ill.
John gave a start as Sherlock snapped himself out of it, clearing his throat and straightening his back.
"Ill? With what? Something more than the common cold I presume, judging by the need to take blood samples." His voice was brisk, business like, and John shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, watching his friend as he turned his attention back to the microscope. He had known it would be difficult to tell Sherlock he was dying, but being in the moment left him lost for words.
"Sherlock, please, listen to me." He felt helpless, like a forgotten child trying to gain the approval of his executive father. He waited, but Sherlocks attention was pointedly aimed elsewhere, his face a stern mask of denial. With a sigh, John turned back to the now lukewarm water of the kettle, not bothering to re-boil it before making himself a cup of tea, and retreated into the lounge.