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Sherlock awoke and instantly knew something was wrong. He sat up quickly and looked around the room scanning for danger. He didn't see any danger, but he was instantly aware that this was John's room and not his own. Why was he asleep in John's bed of all things? He felt heat crept up his face even though no one was here to see him. Sherlock's hand throbbed and he looked down to see his hand had thick bandages around it. But that didn't make sense…..

His head pounded, his stomach burned and he felt horrible. He felt like he hadn't even slept at all. Sherlock tried to think back to last night and what must have happened that he felt so badly; but when he tried to remember, nothing came to him. Nothing….not a single thing. The last thing that he could remember was being at the crime scene yesterday. The one that had gone so wrong…..

Sherlock could hear John in the living room and Sherlock walked into the room to join him. John was sitting at the table by the window, eating breakfast and Sherlock sat on the other side of the table. The way that John was looking at him was enough to tell Sherlock that whatever had happened last night, it was not good. John looked exhausted and pale and his eyes were full of concern.

"How do you feel?" John asked, giving Sherlock a worried look.

"I'm fine" Sherlock said, trying to avoid John's eyes, knowing the answer wouldn't suffice.

"You're fine?" John asked skeptically, "You don't remember anything about last night, do you?"

Sherlock thought about lying and saying yes, but he really didn't remember and he knew that lying wouldn't get him anywhere. His mental capabilities since all these flashbacks began occurring were so slow and muddled. So not himself. "No. Should I?" he asked sarcastically.

John shook his head. "I don't know, its probably better that you don't. Though that isn't an entirely good thing either."

Sherlock tried to hide his surprise; what did that mean? Whatever had happened was obviously bad….bad enough that John didn't want him to remember it. The fact that he didn't remember it was alarming.

John put his silverware down and put his hands together, surveying Sherlock over them. "We're leaving. Today" he said with a serious finality.

Sherlock felt an odd sense of confusion pass through him. "What? No, we're not going anywhere" he said strongly.

"Yeah, actually we are" John said, giving Sherlock an almost fierce look. "My cousin has a cabin out in the country and we are taking a holiday there."

"No" Sherlock said, sitting back and folding his arms. Who did John think he was making such a decision? It was stupid; they had work to do.

John sat back, arms folded. "Well, you don't actually have a choice Sherlock. For once, I'm making a damn decision that you are going to follow" he said angrily.

Sherlock was taken aback. This didn't happen; he made the decisions and John followed him. That's just the way that it was; why did John have any notion that it was going to change now? He didn't appreciate this decision making or the tone that John was using.

"This is ridiculous and I'm not going on any holiday. I don't need one" Sherlock insisted.

"If you had any idea what went on last night, you wouldn't be saying that. You do need a holiday." John insisted.

"You're overreacting, like always" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. That's what John always did. He always got so emotional about things.

"I am?" John said, raising his eyebrows. " Look at your hand. You did that last night….to yourself. Think that's okay?"

Sherlock looked down at the bandages as his hand throbbed; everything throbbed. His head, his stomach. He felt more explicably tired than he had in years .It was also the first time that Sherlock noticed the scratches on John's face and hands. Had he done that? Why would he? He couldn't imagine ever doing that to John unless he really was mental. Maybe a holiday was a good idea. But Sherlock didn't want to admit it. If he admitted that, even just to himself, that would mean that he really had given himself over to this illness. And he didn't want to do that just yet. Not without a fight.

"This is nothing but a flesh wound" Sherlock said, gesturing at his injured hand. "I would hardly think this was anything to worry about"

John shook his head with an undeniable "I-can't-believe-you" expression on his face. He ran his hands through his hair as he stared out the window. When he turned around he had an angry expression on his face like Sherlock had never seen before. "You are going" he said determined, walking closer to Sherlock. He leaned down as his face turned red. "If I have to beat you and drag you there, you're going. So, I suggest that you just start packing your bags and do this easily."

Sherlock had no doubts that technically in a fight John would win. And with the expression he had on now Sherlock was quite sure he would actually do it. "I have work to do"

John leaned down and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock . "Remember yesterday?" he asked. "You can't do your job anymore."

Sherlock felt an odd sense of….feelings? His stomach, which already hurt so much, felt a sensation like a punch as the realization that he was utterly useless came over him. John was right….he couldn't do it anymore. Then what was left for him?

Sherlock stood abruptly and pushed past John on his way to his bedroom.

John walked to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him and walking to the closet, pulling out his suitcase. He went to his drawers and began to look through his clothes, pulling ones out at random and throwing them into the suitcase. He was trying to keep busy, to keep his mind off the guilt that beginning to take hold in him, but it was no use. After a few minutes attempt to forget about it, in which time most of his items of clothing managed to make their way to the floor of his bedroom, he gave up, sitting down on his bed in defeat.

He knew that he had hurt Sherlock's feelings by telling him that he couldn't work anymore, even if it was the brutal truth. He knew before he said it that it was going to hurt him. But he also knew that unless he was hurtful and dug deep to the one thing that Sherlock held dear, his work, that he would continue to keep going on this way. He knew that he had to be hurtful, but it didn't make it easier when he saw Sherlock's face when the words had come stumbling out.

John spent the next several minuets packing up his things for the holiday, his guilt eating at him the entire time. Once he was satisfied that he had everything that he needed, he went to Sherlock's room. Just because he had meant to hurt Sherlock's feelings didn't mean that he wasn't going to apologize for it.

He knocked on Sherlock's door; it was silent for a long time and for whole John thought that he wasn't going to answer. But after a few moments, he heard a faint "come in" from behind the door.

John walked into Sherlock's room to see him sitting on the floor, still in his pyjamas, smoking. Judging from the amount of smoke in his room, John guessed that it wasn't the first cigarette he'd had. Sherlock didn't look at John as he said, "What? What do you want?" he stared straight up ahead, breathing deeply in from his cigarette. "I've already agreed to your damn holiday, so couldn't you leave me alone?"

"Sherlock, listen" John said, sitting down on Sherlock's bed so that he was sitting behind him. It would be easier to say it if he didn't have to look at him. "I know that I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry. But you really have to come with me, on this holiday. Last night…." John could feel a lump developing in his throat and he swallowed several times to try and rid himself of it. His voice was still strained as a result. "Last night scared me…..scared the hell out of me to be honest. I know you don't remember it, but it was horrible. You had no idea where you were, who I was. You were completely lost to your hallucinations….you tried to hurt yourself, tried to hurt me. I'm just worried about you" John stared at the back of Sherlock's head and wished for him to say something. But Sherlock didn't say anything. The awkwardness was so thick in the room that John had to get up and leave. He paused at the door. He looked down at the floor. "I know you think I'm nagging you or being annoying or whatever….about all this. And I'm really not trying to be. I'm just doing what I can to help you. I'm sorry about what happened to you that's causing you to have these flashbacks. I know it must be awful because you are strong, Sherlock. Even now you still are and….."John looked away from Sherlock's direction. "I lost you for three years and I've just got you back…." The lump was growing even bigger in his throat, threating to take over and keep him from talking. Threatening to make him cry. " I don't want to lose you again. I care about you too much"

John turned and left the room before he gave Sherlock a chance to say anything and make him do something stupid like cry.