Chapter 6
The following day, Sherlock woke to an unfamiliar phenomenon. Erika wasn't there. Normally Sherlock would wake up, that is if he slept at all, on the sofa to the young woman running about the tiny flat. Her absence worried him. Tentatively he walked to the bedroom door and knocked quietly. From inside he heard a groan of pain. Worried, he opened the door and found Erika lying with her back to him, curled up in bed with her head under a pillow. From this Sherlock made a very quick deduction. Migraine.
Silently as he could he walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and two aspirin. He tip-toed back into the bedroom and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched and turned slightly to face him. He held out the pills and the water. She took both and down them quickly, desperate for any type of relief. She then turned more to smile at him but was met from the light outside the room. She hissed in pain and curled back up, her hands reaching over her head, pulling it to her chest.
Sherlock leapt to the door and closed it quietly. He then lay down on the floor at the end of the bed and closed his eyes, content to roam his mind palace and, in his way, keep an eye on Erika at the same time. For almost 3 hours neither of them moved, until they both heard a loud band, Sherlock identified as a car door being slammed, and Erika let out a shriek of pain. Sherlock jumped up and looked at her, ensuring that the pain was passing, but it didn't seem to be. She groaned and hissed with every breath and Sherlock was unsure what to do. He couldn't give her anymore drugs without risking making the headache worse.
Then a thought struck him. When he was a child, his mother always got migraines and one of the maids would give her a craniosacral massage. She always seemed a little better during one and it would help relieve the pain. Sherlock looked down at Erika and saw the pain she was in, knowing that if it were him he would do anything to remove it. Slowly, he assessed the situation and decided it was in both of their best interests to help her.
Sherlock grabbed the pillow she wasn't lying on, sat cross-legged at the head of the bed and put the pillow in his lap. He them patted the edge of the pillow. "Put your head in my lap."
Even in her pain-filled state, Erika managed a slightly sarcastic look in his direction before another wave of pain shot through her and she did as he asked, desperate for anything that would take away the pain. Slowly, Sherlock moved his hand to her head and massaged the skull as he'd seen his mother's maid do. As he continued Erika's groans of pain shrunk in intensity and frequency. She relaxed into his touch as he massaged her scalp slowly. She was clearly still in significant pain but it would appear to have dropped a lot. Sherlock was about to move her, convinced his treatment had worked but she stopped him.
"Please don't stop." Her plea was so soft Sherlock almost didn't hear it but in seeing the look of pain clear in her eye he nodded once and resumed his former treatment. Erika leant into his touch and Sherlock was amazed to discover he didn't mind. Normally he shied away from physical contact but in this situation, he would have been content to stay. For another 2o minutes this continued without either speaking a word. Finally Sherlock heard a soft snore and looked down to find Erika asleep in his lap. He sighed and continued, not wanting the pain to wake her up.
The rest of the day passed without either of them moving from their place. Erika drifted in and out of sleep but Sherlock never ceased his gently massage of her head. Night came and Erika's headache visibly worsened. Sherlock got her permission to leave and get her two more aspirin which she took without question. He then resumed his former position and role and soon Erika drifted off to sleep again, not waking for the rest of the night.
When she did wake up, she found both her migraine and Sherlock gone. He head still hurt but it was more of a dull throbbing in the back of her head. She wasn't surprised by this. She had brain cancer, she almost always had a headache and she just hid it very well. Shakily, she stood, dressed and walked out to the living room where Sherlock was laying on the sofa, fast asleep. She smiled softly, knowing he'd given up a night of rest for her and even he needed sleep. Being careful not to wake him, she made herself a cup of tea and some toast, quickly and quietly consuming them both. She then quickly wrote a note, grabbed her jacket and scarf and left.
Gone to see John and get him back in therapy
Thank-you for yesterday
Erika
Walking west on Salisbury Place, Erika quickened her pace against the cold. Arriving at 221B she knocked and was soon met with the tired face of Mrs Hudson. On seeing Erika she let a small smile flick across her face before speaking. "He's not living her anymore, my dear."
Erika's smile fell from her face and the elderly woman continued. "Sherlock left him over £700,000 and he needed to get away from all the…reminders."
Erika's heart went out to the poor woman and she spoke. "I understand. Do you have an address?"
It wasn't a long walk to Sussex Place and Erika couldn't argue John decision to get away from Baker Street. The rooms were probably haunted with memories of failed experiments, cases and the endless search for cigarettes. She knew all of his addictions; it was written between his index and middle fingers on his right hand and in the many dotted scars that littered his left inner elbow. Her own body was cursed with the same signs of addiction but he had succeeded where she had failed. He had given up. And because of that, he would live.
Arriving at his new address, Erika knocked softly. She heard a shuffle inside and soon the door opened and a rather crazed John answered the door. He was unshaven with dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled and he was barefoot. His cane was grasped loosely in his hand and he was visibly favouring his right arm, meaning his old war wounds had flared up. She pitied the poor man and fought the urge, as she always did, to tell him that Sherlock was alive and living 15 minutes away.
John invited her in and she followed quietly. Glancing around she saw that the flat was about the size of the one she and Sherlock now occupied, if not smaller. He offered her a seat at a small table and he sat across from her. Biting her lip, she wondered whether she should speak first and, seeing how John seemed unwilling to do so, decided for it. "How are you coping?"
John smiled weakly and sighed. "As well as I can. I had to get away from Baker Street. I couldn't do anything without thinking of him."
Erika felt her heart tearing and she resisted the urge to cry. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, the uninjured one, as she spoke. "How's your leg?"
"Worse than ever," he answered, leaning down slightly to rub at the top of his thigh. "I can't get rid of it now."
Seeing her chance to do as Sherlock asked, she inquired, "What did you do for your leg before you met him?"
It seemed to be an unspoken rule between the two of them that they never mentioned Sherlock by name. He was always just 'him'. John took a sharp intake of breath before he spoke. "I did physiotherapy and I had a therapist but she did almost nothing."
"Perhaps…" Erika started, trying not to offend him. "Perhaps you should go back and see her."
John just stared at her. She was worried she might have over acted her part but then she saw the look on his face. He was contemplating the idea. She held onto hope that she wouldn't have to lie to him and he'd listen to her, but sadly it was not to be. "I don't need therapy. I'm coping."
"John," she said kindly, leaning in towards him. "You're not coping. You're barely surviving. You're unshaved, you're hurting and you clearly haven't slept through the night since he-"
She stopped herself, seeing John visible distress. He had averted his gaze and looked up at the corner of the ceiling, trying to hold himself together. Erika reached a hand across the table and took his hand in her own.
"John." He turned to look at her and their eyes met, green and blue, and she smiled slightly. "You need help."
He sighed and nodded his head, looking at the floor. A tear fell from his cheek and Erika stood, walked around the table, bent down and hugged him. He reciprocated and cried into her shoulder briefly. Erika allowed herself a lone tear before John managed to pull himself together enough to speak.
"I-I'm sorry," he muttered, wiping his eyes with his hands. She smiled at him sadly, signalling that it was alright. He then got up and made them both tea and they talked for hours about other things, staying away from anything related to Sherlock. They discussed Doctor Who, the clinic, each of their past relationships and, at one point, different types of tea. Erika did everything she could think of the make John smile and for a reasonably part, she was successful. She would have been happy to talk for another few hours but then her head started to hurt.
"Are you alright?" John asked, concerned by the way she suddenly flinched in pain.
"It's just a headache." John seemed to leap into doctor mode and scrutinised her.
"Do these happen often?"
"Yes, but it's alright," she answered. John didn't know that she was terminal and she certainly didn't want to tell him and bring more sorrow into his life. "It's just dehydration. I forget to eat and drink sometimes and I get headaches."
Instantly she regretted saying it. John's mind obviously jumped to Sherlock and how he would sometimes collapse from hunger or thirst and quickly Erika stood and made for the door. "Thank-you John. I'd best head home and get an aspirin. Please go back to your therapist. Goodbye."
She was barely out the door before the tears started to fall. She ran as fast as she could manage back to Thornton Place. Arriving, she saw Sherlock sitting on the sofa. She stormed in and ran to the kitchen, taking an aspirin to ease her pain. She turned and found her flatmate standing about a foot from her and she did the only thing she could think that he deserved. Sherlock recoiled from the harsh slap he received to his left cheek. His hand moved to cover it and he could taste blood in his mouth, advising him that she had cut his cheek.
"What the hell was that for!" Sherlock rarely yelled but on this occasion he felt it was warranted.
"For what you've done to him you son of a bitch!" she screamed at him, raising her left arm to slap him again. He grabbed her wrist and, as an instinct from fighting, twisted it behind her back. She let out a short shriek of pain before trying to kick him. He wrapped his arms around her, preventing any movement and waited. Soon enough she stopped fighting him and broke down in hysterics. She couldn't hold her own weight and Sherlock was the only thing keeping her up right.
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where he pulled back the covers and laid her on the bed. She sobbed and hugged into the pillows, unable to stop the tears or speak. Sherlock himself was fighting the urge to cry and simply said, "I'm sorry."
He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. He could still hear her strangled sobs through the wood and he decided to take a shower. He walked into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror. He could already see the bruise forming on his cheek and ne ran his hand against it, testing how painful it was and was rewarded with an answer, very.
Turning on the water, Sherlock stripped and threw his clothes in a pile near the door. He then stepped into the shower, standing under the water. He knew that he water was to cold, but he made no move to adjust it, he just waited for the water to wash his guilt, anger, pain and sorrow away but it made no effort to do so. Finally, Sherlock let himself go, knowing no one alive could tell the water from the tears.
