Things Are Changing

"That's the tour. Simple and to the point of what is needed for me to work and recover." Sherlock and John had reconvened to the living room sitting closer than was usually considered to be normal for friends.

"What are you going to do about all of the clothes that you had been in the middle of making?"

"Right now I have been advised not to work on any of the clothes for the first three weeks of recovery. They want my lungs irritated as little as possible." There was a tone of annoyance in Sherlock's voice.

"I know it will be hard and maybe bad for business, but look at the bright side; you can start getting rid of your smoking habit."

"When put like that it's a good, but thing I can't create without my nicotine. The lack of nicotine causes a lapse in my creative process."

"Sherlock, you need to think about stopping altogether. After what happened your lungs aren't going to be able to handle the same abuse as before."

"You seem to care about this a lot, why?"

"What do you mean why? I want to keep you around Sherlock. I can't do that if you're dead because you would rather smoke and cause your lungs to stop functioning than stay here with- with me."

"Oh. I...I hadn't thought about it like that. I'm not used to- there has only ever been one other person who was fascinating to me and, well, they left a long time ago. It's been awhile, and even they didn't care as much as you do."

"I'm sorry to hear that Sherlock, I am. I want you to know I will always be there for you; no matter what happens." John cupped Sherlock's face. The two locked eyes before Sherlock pulled away a second later. It was made clear to John that whatever happened with the last person Sherlock found fascinating did not end well. There was pain and fear in Sherlock's eyes that told John that whatever he did he needed to take things slowly. "I should go. I'm glad you are doing better and safe here, but I think it would be better if I left. I'll come see you tomorrow after my shift." Sherlock looked about to protest, but John cut him off before he could. "Don't argue with me about it, please. It is best for both of us. I'll see you tomorrow." John leaned in and kissed Sherlock's left temple and let himself out.

All Sherlock could think was how caring John was, how stupid he was and how stupid he himself was. Sherlock felt it was clear how John cared too much for him and that John wouldn't know how to read a person's body language even if that person was sitting on top of him naked with the words 'Have sex with me' were written across their face. Then again as Sherlock reflected on what he was feeling when John said he wasn't going anywhere did scare him just a tiny bit. He just wasn't used to that much straight forward dedication from a person that wasn't family. Even then with family it was an obligation to be there for your other family members.

Before Sherlock went to bed, he told Mrs. Hudson he didn't want to eat, and she could tell that no matter how much she pestered him he would not eat tonight. She sent him off to bed with a small plate of biscuits instead. As Sherlock approached his bed, he slowly became more zombie-like in his walking as he began to be drawn deeper and deeper into his thoughts. Thoughts that he steered away from most days in order to keep his sanity, but for John's sake he knew he needed to face them if he was ever going to be fully present with him.

"Last delivery of the day," John said to himself. This last delivery was not on his usual route, but the person who normally took packages to this recipient was away on holiday, so everyone was pitching in to cover for the round.

There were specific instructions to deliver this package directly to the person receiving it. John walked up to the door of the address Twenty-two Northumberland Street. He knocked on the door and within seconds the door opened. "Sorry saw you coming."

"Richard Brook?" John asked reaching for the clipboard in his mailbag for the man to sign.

"Yep, that's me, Doctor Watson." John froze, he knew that there was no way for this man to know that he was formerly a doctor, and his last name was Watson. "I'd tell you not to be afraid, or to tell Sherlock 'Hi' for me when you see him, but I would be lying and being malicious. The only way you will be able to tell Sherlock hello or goodbye will be in your own blood, now do come in before Sebastian makes you. I would hate for things to get out of hand.

Sherlock was in a tizzy; it was three hours after the end of John's shift. John had promised he would come and see Sherlock. had reassured Sherlock many times that she had seen John during the day doing his run and that he seemed just fine. Sherlock was so worried he was on the verge of calling his sister scared that possibly the same freak thing that happened to himself had happened to John, but he didn't want to cave so easily if it wasn't and John was just bowing out gracefully from their budding relationship. So instead Sherlock called his brother to no avail. For a man who was always by a phone and telling Sherlock to call him a bit more often, he never seemed to be near a phone when Sherlock needed him most. He thought about calling John and his brothers mutual friend Jeff over at the fabric store, but that seemed a bit excessive. Just when he was about to cave, he heard a knock on the door. In his frantic state, he ran to it running past and threw open the door, only to see his brother and sister with grim faces. Sherlock backed away slowly shaking his head he refused to believe what they were silently conveying. Mrs. Hudson came up behind him wondering what was wrong. All she had to do was take one look at the siblings in the door, and she ran out of the room in tears. Sherlock, on the other hand, had collapsed to the ground in the fetal position his eyes wide and unblinking; Sherlock wasn't rocking back and forth, he was just sitting there on the ground curled into a little ball. Trying to keep at bay the thoughts he thought he had defeated that now had more fuel on their fire than ever before. There were only two things that were going through Sherlock's head; 1. Not John and 2. This is worse than what Richard did to me.