"Sherlock?! What are you doing calling here? How did you even get this number?"
"No, John"
"What?"
"That's not what we're going to talk about. We aren't going to exchange small talk, get into semantics and dance around the problem."
"Problem?"
"You didn't think you having a mental breakdown was a problem? You really think that little of your wellbeing John?"
John's heart dropped so far you could have heard the thud as it landed on the floor. "I… I… who told you that? That's not true!"
Sherlock drew a sharp breath and clenched his jaw, holding something back. "Your therapist wrote to me John. She told me everything"
John rocked back in the bed, fighting back the surging panic that filled his lungs like pulmonary oedema. He put his hand to his head and pulled at his hair. "It wasn't like that. I just got a bit overtaxed"
"So that drip in your hand is just for ornamental purposes?"
"Fuck!" John had completely forgotten that was in. he would've pulled it out right then but the doctor's instinct deep inside him knew it was his best chance of recovering from the severe dehydration he'd put himself through. He couldn't stop his fingers twitching and clenching over it. He must look like a real head case. Fuck.
"I was doing my job and just got a bit carried away…" the lies were so easy. He could roll them off his tongue like marbles. He would have continued if Sherlock hadn't crumpled at the waist, pitched forward and given a strangled scream.
"You don't get to do that! NO! You don't get to… To abandon yourself, to put everyone needs over yours. You don't get to act like you don't matter when I know damn well that you do!"
"Sherlock, it's my concern…" there they go again. Rolling off his tongue.
"… It's mine too! When you became my friend you made it my concern. You don't get to fix me and let yourself lie broken. You don't get to matter so much to me and mean nothing to yourself. You don't get to be my first friend, to show me what it is to love someone and then hate yourself. I won't let you." Sherlock's words weren't fluid like John's. His were crashing cars, breaking glass. A punch to the windpipe. It was getting harder for John to control himself.
"Why do I matter so much?" the question leaked out of him, air escaping a tire. "Because of what I do? I'm a doctor, I fix people that's why I matter. So I've got to keep fixing them…"
"Being a doctor is more than something you do John. It's who you are. Who you have been from the day you were born. You don't always have to be acting on that to validate it. You were a doctor, a healer for me and all you did was write letters. You protected me. It's who you are."
John gave an abrasive chuckle that took more breath than he really had "You want to remember Sherlock I'm a soldier. I've killed people."
"You're a Doctor. You save lives and defend patients"
"I have bad days."
"Bad days don't make you a bad person. They just make you… a person. Let yourself just be, John. Please. For me and for you."
"Sherlock… don't… please."
Sherlock sucked on his bottom lip. "I had to John. It's my job. I'm your friend… aren't I?"
"Yes Sherlock. You are my friend"
"And friends take care of each other yes?"
"Yes."
"Then let me take care of you."