"John..." Sherlock moaned.
"Okay, okay, hang on. No- give me your hand!"
John helped Sherlock over to a nearby bench, taking most of the detective's weight on his good shoulder. Sherlock sank onto the bench heavily, eyes closed and hair disheveled.
"Stay here, I'll get you some water," John said sternly. "Okay?"
Sherlock didn't respond, only licked his lips slightly before placing his head in his hands. John took that as an affirmative. He hurried off to the nearest concession stand.
It seemed that Sherlock couldn't handle roller coasters- rather, he couldn't handle roller coasters after eating. He'd withheld the worst of his nausea, or whatever he was feeling, he wouldn't say, until after the ride, when he'd stumbled on the steps out and John noticed that his friend looked a bit more pale than usual. And the fact that Sherlock looked about to crash to his knees didn't help for Sherlock's mask of perfection.
John bought a bottle of ice water and doubled back to Sherlock, sinking onto the bench. "Drink this. Sherlock? Hey, drink this; you'll feel better."
He persuaded to talk the unruly, sickened man into taking the water bottle and sipping at it. They dissolved into a somewhat awkward silence after that. Until, after a few minutes, Sherlock screwed the cap back on the bottle and sat up a little straighter.
"Better?" John asked, looking at him.
Sherlock nodded slightly. "Thanks," he muttered, not looking at John. "I... I don't think I'm going to be partaking in that again."
"It might be just because you ate something, Sherlock. You're all fragi-"
"Don't say that I'm fragile."
"Well, you're a roller coaster novice, then."
"And you're not?" Sherlock replied indignantly.
"I have frequented them a few times."
"You're-" Sherlock broke off abruptly.
John looked at him quickly, thinking that he was about to get sick. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Sherlock retorted calmly. "I was just about to say that you must be insane to do this often."
"Sherlock, I live with you. I can't do anything considered more insane than that."
Sherlock smirked, finally looking towards John. His colour was a bit better, back to its normal pallor. He didn't have the slight panicked look in his eyes like he had had and he didn't look like he was about to spew half-digested cola-flavoured syrup and fried batter onto the grass.
"So... what now?" Sherlock asked, passing the bottle between his hands.
"All that and you don't want to go home?"
"I'm fine," Sherlock said, again, stubbornly. "This is interesting. I've found that eating and roller coasters don't go well together."
"Maybe you just have motion sickness," John half teased, smiling faintly.
"I most assuredly do not," Sherlock replied tartly.
"But maybe-"
"Nope."
John laughed quietly, hauling himself to his feet. "Come on. Let's walk. I got a couple of extra tickets but there's really nothing else here that interests me."
"What's that?"
John looked at Sherlock and followed his pointing finger. "Oh, the carousel. Merry-go-round. It's for kids."
"Why is it called a merry-go-round? Not everyone's merry. Look, there's someone crying."
"It's just... called that, Sherlock," John replied dryly. "I thought you were all powerful in knowledge. Shouldn't you know why it's called a merry-go-round? There's probably some story behind it."
"You know that I don't concern myself with the trivia," Sherlock replied, coming to a standstill.
"Oi! Don't just stand there, you nutter!" was the griping complaint from some burly man behind Sherlock. He gave the detective a dirty look, in which one Sherlock returned, magnificently, before walking around the lifesize humanesque traffic cone.
"Sherlock," John muttered, grabbing the detective's arm and pulling him out of the line of traffic. "You can't just stop in the middle of incoming traffic."
"Why not? This isn't a street. No one is driving a car, so there's no reason why one shouldn't stop in the middle of the aisle."
"It's rude, and people will yell at you," John replied, nodding towards the man who had called Sherlock out.
"I don't care if they yell at me."
"That dirty look you shot at him stated otherwise."
"He was being rude."
"See? You don't like it when people are rude."
"Actually, I don't care. I just thought it was wrong of him to call me out when he is the one who left his wife and two month old child lost in the middle of a crowd three aisles back without telling them where he was going. In actuality, he's going to meet his mistress of... three years, six years younger than him, and planning on taking her to some secluded part of the lot to-"
"Sherlock," John hissed, resisting the very strong urge to place his hand over the detective's mouth.
"What?"
"Tact," he muttered, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Tact."
"Truth prevails over tact, John."
"No, no, it shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because it shouldn't!"
"It does!"
"Not in society!"
"Then society is wrong!"
Now they had a group of people staring at them. John didn't realize it until after Sherlock had shouted the ending statement in their domestic, and when he did, he immediately locked his eyes back onto Sherlock's. Sherlock was just half glaring, eyes locked on John, but John knew his face was turning more red by the moment. Sherlock was too embarrassing to be out with public. And plus the fact that they were having a staring contest as if they were trying to see into each other's souls didn't help. But John would rather stare at Sherlock than stare at the rest of the people staring at them.
Sherlock, who hadn't seemed to take notice of the crowd or John's embarrassment, sighed after a minute and looked away from John. "Where to now."
"I think home."
"What? I don't want to go home; there's nothing to do at home. If we're going home, I want to take a candied apple with me to experiment on when I get back."
John stared at Sherlock for a moment, almost in disbelief. He hadn't even wanted to come in the first place and now... He sighed. Well. Being out in the wide-open air had to be better for the detective than slouching about on the couch with nicotine patches. He supposed.
"Alright, we don't have to leave. Come on."
"Where are we going?" Sherlock questioned, stepping after John, his Belstaff coat swishing after him as he walked.
Had to get one we're-going-to-stare-into-each-others-souls-as-the-rest-of-the-world-disappears moment. And those are canon. You know they are.
John? What is all this? There's goldfish over here. Yes, it's a game to win fish. Why would people want to win fish? A pet, Sherlock, they're pets. Oh... Let's get a fish, John. No! Why not? Because you just want to kill it! Do not... Yes, you do. Let's go see the entertainment. Entertainment? A band. Oh, dull.
Keep the reviews coming! And P.S... this isn't going to be a fourshot, anymore. I've having too much fun. Thanks for reading!
