He became more clumsy, more uncoordinated, and John couldn't bear to watch.
The man who had once been capable of soaring between rooftops of buildings and fighting off multiple enemies trained in martial arts with ease could no longer navigate stairs. Safely. John no longer let him do them alone, insisting he be below him in case he fell.
There was only mild protest.
They still went on cases, but no longer did the legwork that Mycroft so detested and Sherlock so enjoyed. John found it incredibly unfair.
They did go to the scene because that was what Sherlock lived for. Observing all the little bits that seemed coincidental and entirely unrelated until Sherlock gathered them up and magically formed them into a work of art. That's really what it was. Art. Sherlock could call it science if he liked but John had seen people do things sort of like this before, not this obviously, but other fantastic things that he could only describe as art.
It was a Sunday when they were called in for a body. Badly burned, hard to tell anything.
Lestrade now only called John about cases, not Sherlock.
"Female. In her 20s or 30s, bloody impossible to tell really, she's so badly burned. We've got nothing so far."
"We'll be there. Address?"
Lestrade gave it to him, then hesitated.
"We found the body on the fourth floor."
John knew what this meant. Knew what he was saying, but not wanting to say those words.
John glanced over at Sherlock, lying on the couch playing with a bouncy ball.
"It'll be okay," he replied, somewhat uneasily.
"Are you sure? Cause we can just get you the photos-"
"No, no," he assured Lestrade. And himself too really. "We'll manage."
And with that he hung up.
"Case Sherlock!" he announced.
Sherlock practically fell off the couch in excitement.
"Better be good," he retorted, "that last one was hardly worth my time. Except for what you did to Anderson."
There were two other cases in there, but they were dull so Sherlock probably deleted them. However, they were no more dull than the case Sherlock does remember, so it must have been the Anderson incident that made it memorable and worth saving.
John was rather pleased with this.
John questioned his decision later as he watched Sherlock struggle up the stairs, which Lestrade failed to mention were steep, narrow, and without a railing. Because John would have most definitely declined his invitation then.
Sherlock had given John a glare when they got there that clearly stated 'if you try to help me I will rip you to shreds.' So John only followed slowly behind. He could feel Lestrade and Donovan staring. Anderson, thank goodness, wasn't working this case. He suspected it may have had something to do with their last encounter.
"What's with the freak?" Donovan enquired not so discretely to Lestrade, ensuring that everyone as well as Sherlock could hear.
Lestrade did not reply.
"Well?" Donovan asked insistently.
Sherlock spun around so fast John thought he would fall down the stairs.
"My brain can no longer take any of yours and Anderson's stupidity and is literally melting."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"Really," Sherlock replied to her unasked question.
He continued struggling up the stairs and John followed behind, smirking to himself as Donovan only stood there shocked and Lestrade tried hard not to laugh.
