cw for a bit of white coat syndrome.
It's ironic really. This clenching knot infesting his stomach. Weeks ago, it was no more than an uncomfortable ping when he thought about it but overtime it has grown into an ever-present tangle of anxiety.
It's ironic, he thinks with a dry laugh. He's a doctor. All the warnings and patient advocacy are basically memorized psalms in his mind. John knows what to expect and, more than likely, the appointment will last a total of 15 minutes. But his therapist tells him to be honest with himself and he can't help the way he's feeling however inconvenient.
John sits in his chair and stares at the fireplace. The only sound besides the crackle of wood is his leg bouncing up and down. The flat is empty besides him. Sherlock is out this morning doing some secret errands and not for the first time this morning John almost wishes Sherlock was here, that he would come to the appointment with him. Silly, asinine thought he quickly pushes aside.
Sherlock accompanying him makes no sense. Neither does the slight relief he feels when thinking about it. He's of adult status, has been to wars. The least he can do is get through the questions and exam without making a fuss.
The thought of Sherlock waiting in the lobby entered his mind again and his brow softened. Sherlock standing up when he came out of the room, Sherlock interrogating him afterward, Sherlock riding back to their flat next to him; to their home.
John shakes his head.
5 minutes and then he'll leave. The clock ticks by slow. All the more so because his eyes stray with increasing frequency to his phone.
Something weighs on his chest, tight and controlling. He tries to lessen the feeling with deep breathes but it doesn't feel right. He doesn't feel right. John's fingers dig into the chair's arms. 7 minutes have passed but getting up seems impossible.
"You're late."
His head whips around. Sherlock stands, bundled up in his coat and scarf, staring at John. His eyes narrow and John wonders if Sherlock can see what's pressing down on him. If it's that obvious. He rubs his collar bone, before clearing his throat.
"I'm late?"
"Do keep up, John. Unless, you think I should take over your schedule as well as mine."
John stares but just barely keeps his mouth from gaping open. Sherlock holds his hand out and when John still doesn't move - doesn't breathe just yet - he begins to walk forward. John realizes he is carrying his coat in hand.
"I have your coat here but really we must be going or else you'll have to reschedule and you know how booked up they get at this time of year."
All John can hear is the 'we'. And he just nods and follows Sherlock.
Somehow, John ends up downstairs, dressed and ready. It still feels like he hasn't breathed yet but, Sherlock beckons him forward to a waiting cab.
He can feel eyes on him. The piercing gaze that only Sherlock manages to make both intimidating and comforting. John steps out the door. Sherlock steps in stride with him and the weight squeezing him from all angles lessens.
The knot lingers, John still doesn't want to go and have someone, a veritable stranger poke and prod with invasive questions and sideways glances. The chance he is sick or hurt. John doesn't want to give any of it, limited possibilities or not a voice no matter how necessary it is.
He glances at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. The man probably has it all figured out.
"Sherlock." He says unsure how to proceed or what he wants to say even.
"We'll be late but they can piss off if they say anything. I'll blame it on Lestrade if I have too." Sherlock steps forward making sure John follows.
"Thanks, Sherlock." He says once they are in the cab. Sherlock doesn't as much as tip his head.
"Did you know in a mere 500 million years, the moon will be 23496.422 kilometers further from the earth, eventually effectively disappearing?"
John can't help himself and snorts.
He's never forgotten how astounded John was with his lack of orbital knowledge. These new space facts are sporadic but frequent enough John knows Sherlock must have googled enough to last a wild.
Sitting in the quiet cab, he wonders how someone like Sherlock can forget the Earth orbits the Sun but remember that John has a doctor's appointment.
When Sherlock indeed does interrogate him on the way to their favorite restaurant, John can't help but give him a small smile.
Thank you for reading!