The Benefits Of Falling Ill
Sherlock had texted, called and read but no case was of interest so he was pretty much on a holiday which was the 'worst thing to happen to someone' and is 'really boring'.
While I was a fragile little fellow, the last night's 'At your own risk' was for some reason. I felt very weak in my legs, my head spun if I tried to do pretty much anything and almost the whole time, I felt nauseous.
Sherlock flashed his I-know-it-all smile when I told him about the same. I asked him to help and he readily agreed, which was quite strange.
He helped me to my room but when we realized that Sherlock had zero knowledge in taking care of someone, I was carried to the sofa.
"Please make me some soup and bring sheets to cover me." said I.
Sherlock went into his room and brought his sheets, I was going to object but the next thing he said made me go quite, "How do you make soup?"
"What?" said I truly annoyed but also surprised.
"How do-"
"I heard you."
"Then?"
"How do you even don't know how to make a thing as simple as soup?"
"Well, how do you see a man, with long and equal strides, soft voice but firm manner and not very elegant but neat clothes, and are not able to deduce that he's an army or an ex-army official?"
That shut me up and I slowly explained him the process of how to make soup.
I informed Sherlock that I was going to sleep, just as I had finished the soup, to which he asked if I wanted to hear a story, which I think was sarcastic, though his expressions were very genuine. I said no, regretting the same.
The smell of the sheets was very Sherlock-y and it actually helped me sleep.
When I woke up, it was almost seven in the evening. I couldn't see Sherlock or for that matter, anything. It took sometime but I soon saw that he was in his recliner. I got up and switched on the lights. I guess he was thinking about something because he didn't even wince when I did the same.
"John."
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"Do you think that it's-" and he suddenly stopped.
"I'm listening."
He looked at me with very sad eyes and dropped his head back on the recliner. I almost ran to him and sat near his feet with my hands on his knees.
"Sherlock, what is it?" I didn't know that I could have a firm voice too. He sat upright and with a small smile said, "Is it alright to get scared for your friend when he's just a little sick?" He said this with a hint of fear but mostly innocence in his voice.
"Yes, Sherlock, yes it is completely alright." said I, trying to soothe a man who I thought didn't have feelings, until now.
He got up from his recliner and sat next to me on the floor. I guess I saw his trembling hands but he quickly put them between his crossed legs. He looked at me for awhile with confusion but suddenly making a decision he said,
"I've these- these visions, these assumptions that you're sick because of some old villain whom I put behind the bars. It scares me, John, when I think I might be the reason you die."
As he said the last words his whole body convulsed. I quickly took his hands in mine and forced him to look at me, which he ignored, "Sherlock, look into my eyes." said I firmly, "Do you see any doubt in them?"
"No, but-"
"No, Sherlock, there are no buts. I trust you and I know you'll never let anything happen to me. Even if something does happen," I placed my hand on his right cheek, "I'll never blame you, nor will you. You'll get that bastard and kick his ass." said I smiling, but with tears in my eyes.
"You're crying. Did I do or say something wrong?" said he with still trembling hands and perplexity in his eyes and features.
"No, not at all. You showed that you do feel. And as it was for me, it made me immensely happy."
He finally stopped shaking and tried to smile. I got him to stand and walked with him to his room while he kept repeating to himself, 'I told you so.'
"What did you tell, Sherlock?"
"That holiday is the worst thing to happen to someone."
He asked me to stay with him in his room when he tried to sleep. I got our sheets and everything into his room and made us some crepe which we ate in silence. I brought the book I was reading and sat beside Sherlock on his bed while he tried to sleep. It took him two hours to fall asleep. Thankfully, we had retired to bed early so he could get a good night's sleep. Or so had I thought.
He woke up at two in the morning and went to the toilet. Hurt his toe on the way back. I was still in my sitting position and somehow today had become a light sleeper. So even when he moved his leg, I woke up. In the meantime, I tried to tell myself that I just had a crush on him which would eventually go away but when I looked at him all these thoughts seemed mere lies.
He told me to sleep but I refused and told him that I wanted to take care of him. He argued that I could look after him even by lying down but I refused. He gave up. He tried to sleep but couldn't. He soon got up and got his violin. As happy as I was to hear him play, I was equally unhappy with him for not resting. But it was too much to ask from Sherlock and knew I had to be content with his three hour nap.
He played a very, very sad song which I couldn't recognize. He usually played with his eyes closed but today they were fixed on me. Observing the confusion on my face he asked, "What?"
"What song is this?"
"Oh, I made this one." said he, genuinely smiling after the incident.
I couldn't help it as a smile crept on my face. After playing the song once more he put down his violin and said, "Do you believe in ghosts?"
"No."
"Then, why were you so scared yesterday?"
"Well, as you know that nothing you do would harm me but you're still scared. It's the same. You just get caught up in the moment."
"So you care about ghosts?"
"No, I don't even-"
"Then how is it the same?"
"Wait, are you saying that you care about me?"
"Isn't looking after someone and trying to help them, caring?"
"Pretty much."
"Well, then I care about you."
This left me speechless. I knew he worried for me but caring was a very big word. I guess I blacked out for a second because when I returned Sherlock wasn't there.
"Sherlock." I shouted.
"Wait up." came a reply from the kitchen.
He returned with two glasses of water. He handed me one and then drank from the one in his hand. After finishing he said, "You remember you asked that if I could see any doubt in your eyes and I replied 'No, but-?' "
"Yes, clearly."
"The complete sentence was: No, but how is one able to see doubt in someone's eyes?"
And I laughed.
His Normal Is Our Abnormal
The next morning, Sherlock came out of his room dressed in blue pants, an untucked black shirt with folded sleeves and messy, wet hair. The serious look had returned on his face and he looked both cool and hot. This was even better than the sports tee.
He looked at me for awhile and made a weird face, "Why in the world aren't you dressed?"
"Nobody told me to get dressed."
"Well, let me call your mother for the same."
I smiled as the Sherlock everyone knew had returned. I got up and got dressed. It was almost twelve and he was as annoyed as he possibly could be.
"Can you, for once, not be staring at me with that weird expression?" said he and I looked away bashfully.
"Thank you. We're going out for lunch." said he.
"What? Are you asking me out?"
He looked at me as if I had said something really stupid. After all the staring he went out without a word and I followed suit.
He had borrowed Mycroft's bike. "Why didn't you tell me about the bike? Now, wait here I'll go bring my jacket."
"No need to. You can stay close to me, as such I'm not wearing one either."
Well, I guess somebody had played with his brains. I sat behind him with my hands around his waist.
"Why are you acting so, so-"
"Nice?"
"No, I mean yes but the word I was looking for was- yes! Abnormal."
"What are you talking about? I'm behaving as a perfectly normal man."
Which was exactly the problem, Sherlock behaving as a normal person. I knew it was no use asking further. So I grabbed him tightly for the simple reason that it was cold or maybe because I liked it.
It was a sweet little place, the restaurant. Not many people were there and surely no one was there on a bike. I pointed that out for Sherlock which he dismissed with a hmm.
He said that I should order. I knew some of his tastes, which were very few because he hated food altogether. I ordered the same for both of us and we sat in silence until the food arrived.
He was texting someone, very fast, which was unusual because one, he never texted and, two, even if he did it was with the speed of 1 word per minute. I wondered who he was texting and as soon as he saw the waiter heading towards our table he put his phone in his pocket and smiled at me.
"I've a few things to tell you about." said he with a grave expression on his face.
"I'm all ears." said I, digging into my food.
"Well, I know that you like me." As soon as he said the same I was almost choking on my food and coughed a little. I could feel his penetrating gaze on me and he pointed at the glass of water which I gladly took.
"How do you-"
"You were acting quite, well, not John-like. I was confused and asked Mycroft about the same. At first he said that you wanted to kill me but I said that it isn't possible so he told me that you possibly liked me."
I sat there silent. He didn't say anything further but raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, I do like you. But if you don't, um, understand and feel the same, it's totally alright."
"Now, the other thing." said he as if whatever I had said went unheard.
"I asked Mycroft about the changes in my behavior which are: thinking about you when I'm on a case and caring for you. He said maybe in the future I might start liking you."
"Oh."
"Mycroft also said that if you have any questions you could contact him."
"I'd rather talk to you."
"As you wish. Do you have anything to say?"
"No."
"Well, then let's eat."