Chapter 10
Sherlock heard the distinctive sound of the panda car's engine cutting out as it parallel parked on the Baker Street curb outside. She didn't even need to look out the window to know that Lestrade was back. The doorbell chimed and Mrs. Hudson began to descent the stairs, muttering about the late hour and the nuisance of it all.
"Mrs. Hudson, I do believe something horrible has happened." Sherlock said cheerfully, appearing at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas with a blow torch in hand. The smell of burning hair followed her down the stairs.
"Oh, Sherlock..." The older woman shook her head and headed for the door as the bell rung again.
"Never mind, I'll get it. Off to bed with you." Sherlock said, bounding down the last few steps past her landlady. She composed herself as she reached the door, smoothing down the front of her dressing gown and, as though it were an afterthought, turning off the torch. She opened the door to find Lestrade holding up John's nearly limp body. Sick on his jumper. Jacket missing. Sweat. Smoke. Lager. Tequila? Sherlock didn't need to employ much deductive reasoning to see what had transpired. The first words out of her mouth surprised everyone, however, including Sherlock. "Where's Harriet?"
"Dunno. I got called out for a spell. When I came back he was completely arseholed and had been thrown out of the pub. Don't know where his mates ended up and I've never seen John drink like this so I—" Lestrade's explanation was quickly cut short.
"Yes, I don't need you to outline every piece of your exhilarating thought process. Bring him inside." Sherlock said, stepping aside and gesturing with the blow torch to the stairs.
"Oh, dear! I'll put on some coffee." Mrs. Hudson said, scuttling up the stairs.
"What he needs, Mrs. Hudson, is hydration and sleep. A diuretic stimulant would hardly seem the best course of action, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock said, following behind Lestrade up the stairs. She directed him to John's bedroom where he eased the Doctor—who was now singing a Kylie Minogue song—onto his bed. "Thank you very much, Detective Inspector. Goodnight." She said without looking at Lestrade.
"Sherlock—" Lestrade began but Mrs. Hudson's hand on his arm cut him off. She knew Sherlock well enough to pick up the traces of anger in her tone. It wasn't directed at the DI but if he remained there was a good chance he'd come under fire all the same and that would only get Sherlock in trouble.
"I'll show you out." She said kindly, leading him away. "Let me know if you need anything, dear." Mrs. Hudson added.
"I'm quite capable, thank you." Sherlock said with a wave of her hand as she slammed the door rather loudly. Once alone she gently rolled John onto his side and leaned close to listen to his breathing, ignoring the smell of sick and liquor. Eleven seconds. Breath. Eight seconds. Breath. Thirteen seconds. Breath. She pressed her hand to his cheek and then lifted his shirt slightly to check his temperature where his flesh hadn't been exposed to the night air. Mild hypothermia. Body temperature approximately thirty five degrees.
"Whass goin' on?" John asked without opening his eyes. It seemed like far too much effort at the moment.
"You, Doctor, have a lovely case of alcohol poisoning. I could take you to hospital and let your fellow physicians laugh at your utter lack of self control but instead I'm just going to see to it that you don't die." Sherlock said, her voice tight as she gingerly coaxed John into sitting with most of his weight supported by her.
"You came to my party after all." John grinned, head lolling to the side.
"Rather, the party came to me I think." Sherlock replied, tugging John out of his stained jumper.
"Sherlock..." John shivered as her hands slid over the bare skin of his sides.
"Your body temperature is low. I'm going to get some more blankets. Try not to choke on your own sick in the meantime." Sherlock said, easing him back down onto his side and tucking a blanket around him tightly, covering everything but his face.
"Hypothermia?" John said, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as though thinking was painful.
"Yes. I could give you a medical school refresher on alcohol, vascular dilation, and what an idiot you are to have lost your coat but I doubt much of it would stick at the moment." Sherlock said, rising from the bed.
"Don't go." John said, sounding quite pitiful but shooting an arm out from his blanket cocoon and gripping her wrist firmly. He even managed to lift his head a bit.
"Don't be ridiculous, John. Let go." Sherlock said, trying to ignore how adorable he looked. I did not think that. Pathetic, that's what I meant. Utterly pathetic.
"Sherlock, I have to tell you something. C'mere. Listen." John said, pulling her back down and opening his eyes slowly. "I really think that I lo...oh, I'm going to be sick."
When John's face blanched even more Sherlock jumped up, pulling him free of the blankets and wrapping her arms around his torso to drag his short but solid frame to the adjacent toilet. He barely made it to the bowl before emptying his stomach not once, but three times. The sound of retching was interspersed with whimpering and short, rapid breaths. Sherlock sighed and sat cross legged next to him on the tile floor. She stretched out her hand tentatively a few times before actually deciding to touch him. She patted his shoulder awkwardly as his body shook and he heaved again.
Eventually she started rubbing his bare back in circles which seemed to relax and comfort him. John rested his cheek on the toilet seat and tried to catch his breath. "I just...need to lay down a bit." He said, slipping to the floor.
"John, the bed—oh, sod it." She said, taking off her dressing gown and wrapping it tightly around him to try to preserve as much of his body heat as possible.
"Don't go." John repeated.
"Yes, yes, all right." Sherlock said, pulling the fabric up to his chin. "John, why did you do this to yourself? You're going to regret it a great deal in the morning."
"Sad." John said, the words a bit muffled because he was trying to move his mouth as little as possible to form them.
"Oh, you aren't that old." Sherlock said, rolling her eyes. "And if you don't enjoy your birthday then do the logical thing: don't celebrate it."
"Not sad because I'm old. Sad because I'm an idiot." John said.
"I hope you aren't drunk enough that you expect me to argue with that assessment." She said drily.
"Same Sherlock." John said with the tiniest smile.
"I fail to see what you have to be sad enough to drink yourself sick over. Certainly, you're a wounded veteran with no job, a troubled relationship with your family, no sex life to speak of, and an unfortunate height deficit but these things are just as true any other day as they are today." Sherlock reasoned calmly.
"Fuck you make my life sound so depressing." John said, squeezing his eyes shut tightly again.
"I simply observe." Sherlock said. "What was the catalyst for this little binge?"
"You." John said.
"Me? What the hell did I do?" Sherlock said defensively.
"It's what you always do. So damn—clever and mad and sexy and—and fucking confusing." John said. "I knew I was stupid, I mean that you'd never want me. Or anyone because you're Sherlock Holmes. Then you made me hope and then you kicked me in the bollocks."
"I...I rather think I would have remembered doing that." Sherlock stammered, completely thrown by his confession and trying to make sense of it.
"It's a metaphor—fuck, how can someone be so smart and so stupid?" John said, shivering beneath her dressing gown. "I'm so tired."
Sherlock rubbed her face with her hands, groaning in annoyance. "Just sleep, then. You aren't making any sense."
"You won't go?" John said. Sherlock sighed and looked down at the quaking man. She wiggled down onto the floor and wrapped her arms around him beneath the gown and rubbed some warmth back into his chest.
"Less talking, more resting." She said. "If you annoy me then I'll leave you on the cold damn floor by yourself." Please don't let Mrs. Hudson see this. She'll never let it go.
"That's almost sweet. For you." John said, a smile in his voice even through the hoarseness and exhaustion.
[Another chapter for you all. I hope that you enjoy their little drama. As always, if there's something specific you all want or hate, please let me know. Next chapter is currently being written. Ta!]