John absently ran a hand through Sherlock's curls, his eyes glued to the television screen. The doctor was standing, legs slightly apart, with Sherlock resting on his own shins between his feet. Sherlock found that sitting in such a pose made his feet and, in a strange way, his mind, go numb. It was a good distraction from his cravings, and had the added benefit of enticing John to stand near and give him extra attention.
John grumbled at the football game. "Bloody morons," he said, and Sherlock winced as his hair was pulled.
"Oh, sorry." John moved his hands to Sherlock's shoulders. "Doing alright?"
Sherlock hummed and tried to lean his head further into John's hand, directing him to his favourite places to be scratched. John let himself smile since Sherlock was facing the other way; he knew he wouldn't appreciate the thought, but Sherlock really was like a puppy, up at all hour's of the night, eyes begging for scratches and attention, never far behind John's heels. And he even needed to make sure he didn't destroy the furniture or carpeting.
He knew that the recovery process had been a difficult one, and wasn't over yet, but it seemed that the hard part was over. And looking at it as though Sherlock were a dog to be housetrained was an easy way to mentally deal with the responsibility.
"Ready soon?"
Sherlock huffed. "I don't see why you can't check me yourself."
"A full physical will do you good. You made it to the one month mark, we should see how your body's recovering."
"You can do it."
"I don't have all the equipment here, and I'm not taking you to my clinic again. Christ knows I don't want a repeat of that."
Sherlock scrunched his nose.
"It'll be quick, I promise." He pulled him up by his forearm. "We'll grab some chips on the way back."
"Not hungry."
"Now I know you're being a git just for the hell of it. Come on."
…
Sherlock's physical went off without a hitch. His kidneys were almost back to their pre-abused condition, and his headaches had decreased. The old scars from his previous wounds were still visible but now taken care of; he still had a slight tremor in his hands, but he refused the medication the doctor offered him.
John led them to an outdoor fish and chips restaurant, as promised, and tried to hide his smile when Sherlock refused his own bag but stole from John's. They returned home, where Lestrade was waiting for them with a new case.
"Put it in the kitchen, I'll look at it later."
Lestrade and John shared a glance with one another. Sherlock had never left a case untouched, but he now returned to his meditative stance in the middle of the room and buried his nose in a book on the mating habits of bees.
"You…I don't know if you heard, Sherlock, but I've got a case for you," Lestrade said, his voice full of question marks.
"Yes."
"And you don't want to look at it now?"
"Well it's not going anywhere, is it?" Sherlock looked up momentarily but quickly returned to his book. "That's what you've been trying to teach me, yes? I don't have to inhale a case as though it's food about to be stolen from my bowl, and I don't have to worry that my handler isn't returning every time he leaves the flat."
John tensed. He knew Sherlock couldn't read minds but, damn, his perception was creepy sometimes.
Lestrade was ignorant of the doctor's tension and smiled. "Right-o. John, there's another match on soon yeah?"
"Yes, well, we could watch it at the pub. Sherlock'll need the telly in half an hour for the news."
"No, you can use it. It'll be on again at six, I'll just catch it then." Sherlock looked up once more. "Or I could go to the pub with you."
John couldn't keep his jaw shut.
"Not to drink," Sherlock added hurriedly. "But if you were wanting some privacy, that's fine too." He drummed his fingers along his book.
"No, no, we'd…love to have you."
Sherlock stood and headed for the spare bedroom. "Just let me grab my coat, then."
Lestrade caught the doctor's eyes as John let out a breath. "I know this sounds awful, Greg, I do. But he's been so pleasant lately, I'm started to get freaked out.
…
The pub wasn't quite as full as it could have been, but they still ended up crammed together at a small table in the corner. Sherlock ordered a tonic water and the others did as well out of a certain silent solidarity. No one really watched the match; both John and Lestrade darted their eyes back and forth between each other and Sherlock, who was drowning a lime in his water and picking through the bar nuts.
"You been doing well, then?" Lestrade asked during a commercial break.
"Today's medical exam would seem to indicate so."
"Yeah, mentally, though?"
Sherlock seemed to notice the concern on his friends' face for the first time. "Have I not been behaving happily enough? I've purposely woken up early and started the day with maximum caffeine consumption for optimal mood. I'm developing mindless hobbies like television and light reading, and I've done by best to turn off my internal clock and 'let things go,' as John likes to put it. Haven't you noticed?"
John let his hand find Sherlock's wrist. "Sherlock, do you actually feel better, or are you going through the motions to appear that way?"
Sherlock peeled the shelling off a peanut. "Fake it until you make it, yes? That should take the stress off of you. If you don't see improvement every so often, you'll give up hope and lose interest."
"Wait, no…" John took a deep breath and wondered how many times he'd have to talk Sherlock through this. "First off, the best way to make us happy is to be honest with us about how you're feeling. If you feel like using or if you're ill, or bored or whatever, tell us. And if you're actually doing well, then of course we'll be happy about that, too, and walk through what that looks like. Being healthy isn't something that comes naturally, Sherlock, you sort of have to learn how to maintain it. Everyone does."
"Amen," Lestrade said, toasting with his water.
Sherlock thought for a moment. "I have intense moments of desire that it seems only chemicals can calm. But I expect that will remain with me for life. Otherwise, I truly am…good. But I don't know how to stave off the boredom by being normal." He looked at John for a moment before returning his eyes to the table. "I enjoy watching television with you, almost as much as I enjoy working a case together. I love it when you make tea, or when you watch me conduct an experiment. I work better when you're around, and it's those little moments that calm the unbearable."
John waited.
"I guess that's the problem. That I am better, at least close to it, and it feels foreign."
"Are you glad you're better?" John asked quietly.
"Truly. And I can't thank either of you enough. I know how ungrateful I must sound, complaining about success."
Lestrade shook his head. "No, we get it. Relax. Sometimes the conclusion of a journey is just as exhausting as the start. And, lad, we're here for the whole thing."