The soldier glanced down at the chinese in front of him. His stomach twisted after only two mouthfuls. The blonde man pushed the plastic tub away from him on the lab desk which was supposed to be a table. The genius, who was sat opposite John, frowned and pushed the half uneaten food back towards his flat mate. John looked away from the food and instead glared at the NHS cane that was leaning against the table.
"You have to eat."Sherlock said sternly. As a result of the order, John glared down at the food before lifting his eyes to the part-stranger.
"It's obvious that you don't so why should I?" The soldier asked defiantly. He was suddenly glad of his medical knowledge. It was obvious that the man didn't eat properly.
Sherlock tried to hold back a groan before he scooped a fork of food into his own mouth. The doctor smirked satisfied and the detective scowled.
"Now you." Sherlock commanded.
"Actually, I don't feel like it." The blonde man pushed himself away from the table,grabbing his cane, and glanced around the kitchen for the bin. Triumph rose in his eyes as he found the it. The doctor quickly moved over and tapped the bottom of his food container so the contents fell into the bin.
He moved back over to the table but didn't sit down instead he glanced around the room. A frowning Sherlock watched him.
"Ummm..." The soldier muttered. He took a hesitant step towards the corridor but stopped and looked over at the man he had met for the first time yesterday, in his mind anyway. "Wh-where is it that I sleep?" He asked quietly, embarrassed that he didn't know. He leant heavily on his stick.
Sherlock glanced quickly down the corridor that lead to their bedroom. The the peered up at the man who thought of him as a stranger.
"There is a room upstairs." The detective watched the doctor carefully. He hoped that maybe something up their might spark a memory. "That is where you slept."
The blonde man nodded firmly before marching down the corridor. Sherlock watched in confusion until he realised that the man was looking for the staircase.
"Not that way." Sherlock called out and looked down at his hands that were sat on the table. He didn't look up as John walked past but he listened very carefully to every step until they had reached inside the bedroom. He sighed and shuffled through to his bedroom. He was determined that the doctor would eat but he just needed time. He was also determined that the soldier would remember their life after service in the army.
The soldier pushed the door open gently and stepped inside. The room was small but relatively neat in comparison to the other rooms of the flat. The military doctor glanced around curiously. Something didn't feel right about the room. It felt cold and unlived in. The hairs on John's arms rose as the dust he had just stirred rose up into the air. The unfamiliar itching sensation at the back of his throat appeared when be inhaled a large quantity of dust filled air.
The short man glanced around the room, curious to see what he had lived in. He winced as a sharp stabbing sensation began in his leg. The doctor hobbled to the neatly made bed and sat on the edge in an attempt to take the pressure off his leg. He rubbed his leg roughly and the jerking movement caused a dull throbbing to begin in his damaged shoulder.
He groaned as the pain worsened. He had lived in this pain for then last two years? It didn't seem right. The soldier leant his cane against the wall and lay back on his bed. He gently placed his head on the cool pillow and closed his eyes.
He already missed it. He could feel his body craving it. He needs it. The adrenaline. The doctor lived off the adrenaline and he was missing it. How did he survive like this everyday?
He pulled himself up and shuffled to the drawers in a search for some pyjamas. It took him a while but eventually he found something to wear although, it concerned him that there was only a few items of clothing.
It felt wrong. It felt like he didn't belong here. This can't be right, the soldier thought. John glanced down at the neatly folded pyjamas and suspicion bubbled up in his mind. They were cold and crisp like they had been lying at the bottom of this drawer for years.
The soldier placed the clothes down on the bed that was apparently his and picked his cane up quietly. He didn't doubt that he had amnesia but what he was suspicious of was this place. This room felt cold and unlived in. It was like the man down stairs was taking the chance and kidnapping him while it would be easy.
The doctor pushed himself up from the bed and winced as his leg complained. He sucked in air as the bed creaked when he moved his weight off it. Silently, the soldier switched to stealth mode and began to creep out of the room, only stopping to pick up his wallet and phone.
John shuffled, with minimal noise, towards the front door of the front door. He could hear Sherlock's violin singing out a sorrowful lullaby in the sociopath's room. The blonde man tip-toed further until he was standing at the top of the stairs. He knew that some of them squeaked but he didn't know which ones.
He pulled in a deep breath and stepped down gently. It doesn't make a sound and John released a breath that he hadn't realised that he had been holding. The short man picked up the pace slightly and moved onto the next step. The first few were fine and silent but then he moved onto one about halfway down, it cries out in a loud squeak as be applies weight. The man becomes motionless as the song from inside the flat suddenly stops.
John swallowed and listened for movement from inside the flat. A few seconds later, the music continued but this time it was more timid and quiet. Sherlock was obviously more alert.
The doctor quickly hurried down the last few steps and was out of the door in seconds. He gently pulled the door closed so that the gentle click was almost inaudible. John looked up at the dark building as he limped away quickly.
His leg began to protest but he wouldn't dare wait around for a cab. He needed to get away from this unfamiliar house and to somewhere he knew.