Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
Any relevant information is the same as in Chapter Eight … enjoy!
John had been moved from ICU the same day he had regained consciousness. Sherlock hadn't gone home except to shower and get some clean clothes, although he did accept Molly's sandwich the next time she offered. He fell asleep in the visitor's chair on more than one occasion and John was slightly worried about why Sherlock was acting this way.
After two painfully boring days in hospital, Sherlock finally called Mycroft and convinced his brother to pull a few strings and send John home a day early. John didn't complain when Dr. Williams told him he could finish his recovery at home. Sherlock had quickly packed the bag he had brought for John and slung it over his shoulder before pushing the wheelchair John was in to the hospital doors. He watched carefully as John got into the cab and again as he climbed up the stairs at Baker Street.
"It's good to be home," John said, falling onto the sofa. Sherlock set the overnight bag down and ran upstairs for John's pillow and blanket.
"Here," he said, handing them to John. "I'll make some tea."
After practically being spoon-fed soup by Sherlock later that evening, John convinced his friend he could shower by himself. It felt wonderful to shower in a real shower and wash away the hospital smell. He had felt like he was covered in sweat – hospital sponge baths could only do so much – but he felt clean and refreshed when he got out of the shower.
Sherlock saw him upstairs, asking if he needed anything. John sighed, said no, and fell asleep relatively easily.
Sherlock closed John's bedroom door and trudged downstairs. He was exhausted, having taken care of John around the clock since he woke up, but he couldn't sleep if he tried. He wouldn't sleep, not until John was completely recovered.
Sherlock washed up from supper and tidied the living room before sinking into his chair. He couldn't do an experiment and he couldn't lose himself in his mind palace. His thoughts wandered where they pleased until he heard John begin to cough.
In an instant, Sherlock was upstairs with a cup of water.
John, who sat up until the coughing fit passed, accepted the water and took a sip.
"Thanks," he wheezed, setting the cup down before falling back onto his pillow. Sherlock frowned, laying a hand on John's forehead.
"You're warm," he said. "Let me find the thermometer."
John merely sighed and obliged as Sherlock took his temperature.
"And?"
"Only thirty eight point two," Sherlock replied. "Low grade but nothing to be concerned about. Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm fine." John said. Sherlock nodded and turned to leave.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock stopped and turned around again.
"Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
"What do you mean what am I doing?"
"You've been at my beck and call for the past four days." John said. "I'm almost better and you're still trying to take care of me as though I'm dying."
"I'm just trying to be a good friend," Sherlock said, shifting uncomfortably. He had told John about how the case had ended, although he hadn't shared his thoughts on practically killing John by bringing him to hospital.
"Why?" John asked bluntly. "You never try to be a good friend."
Sherlock shifted again.
"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John pressed. "Just tell me, I promise you'll feel better. Something is bothering you."
Sherlock sighed and sat on the end of John's bed.
"It's the least I can do," he mumbled. "After practically killing you."
"What do you mean? You never tried to kill me."
Sherlock rubbed his eyes.
"Yes, I did," he said. "When I took you to hospital."
John raised an eyebrow.
"You tried to kill me by bringing me to a hospital? Come off it. You're brilliant; if you wanted to kill me, you'd have come up with something more original."
Sherlock didn't smile at the joke and John's eyebrows furrowed.
"Explain, then."
Sherlock sighed.
"When I found you in Jenn's flat," he said. "I took you to hospital. I took you away from the one thing that could have prevented all of this. She was going to make you better, she always does. But no, I had to come in and drag you to hospital where you just got more and more ill because the doctors there couldn't treat you."
Finally, it made sense to John.
"You feel guilty."
Sherlock toyed with the edge of the blanket, not meeting John's eye as he nodded.
"Yes."
"You shouldn't."
Sherlock looked up sharply.
"Well, I do. If you died, I was going to commit suicide. I wrote a note and everything."
John raised an eyebrow involuntarily.
"But I didn't die," he said. "Don't forget that you may have taken me away from the antidote but you still went and found it afterwards."
Sherlock shrugged.
"That's my job."
"No," John said. "You never care about the victims, who they are or what family they left behind. If it was anyone else, you wouldn't have disconnected a ventilator in the ICU to give them medicine. That was not being a consulting detective. That was being a friend."
Sherlock didn't say anything.
"Come on," John said, throwing the blankets back. "I'll make some tea."
"No, you rest," Sherlock said immediately. "I'll make it."
"No," John insisted, standing. "I'm stiff and it will help to walk around a bit. Besides, I owe you for saving my life, remember? And while I don't think my life is worth only a cuppa, it's a start."
Sherlock finally cracked a small smile as he stood. He let John make him a cup of tea, leaning heavily against the sofa cushions. By the time John had finished his own tea, Sherlock was fast asleep. The doctor smiled and pulled the blanket around his friend's shoulder before going back to bed.
And that is the end of Obsession. Thank you so much for reading and for such encouraging words in your reviews!
Happy reading and writing,
StoryLover18