"Sherlock."
He started, flinching out of his reverie and looking up to find John staring straight at him, laptop set aside.
"Hm?"
"I've said your name three times, now. Are you okay?"
"Mm..." He nodded slowly. "I was just thinking."
"About what?"
Sherlock was vaguely unsettled by the way John was looking at him now, and it didn't seem as if he were going to stop pursuing the subject.
What to say?
"Cases. I was... going back over information."
"No..." Why was John shaking his head like that? "No, you weren't going over cases. Sherlock, you looked sad."
Sherlock's lips parted, but he had no words. After a moment more of regarding John with an intense gaze he averted his eyes, gears spinning in his skull without finding any traction.
He'd been distracted...
What to say... what to say...?
"D'you want me to ask again? Hm?" John pressed his lips together and gave him a searching look. "Are you okay?"
Maybe...
If he just said-
If he just told him-
But he couldn't say...
Sherlock drew in a quiet breath and held it for a second, aware that his voice was going to sound tired and low. Finally he glanced up at John.
"...No."
This was not at all like it used to be.
Nothing remotely like the oblivious John of only a few years ago.
This was vastly different.
Not okay.
No.
As soon as the word had fallen from his lips Sherlock felt as if he were suddenly laid completely bare, defenseless, exposed and human. And with that a frigid burst of panic flooded his veins.
Why had he said that?!
He could no longer bear to sit still, and instead leapt up from the sofa and crossed the room in three steps, beginning to pace his familiar track from the sofa to the window and back again. He was half convinced that if he stopped moving his hands would start shaking, and then John would see the extent of it, then he would know-
"Sherlock. Sherlock, can you stop? Hey! Talk to me." John had stood up as well, and was following his movements with a concerned yet confused look.
He wouldn't get it.
Of course he wouldn't get it.
It was beginning to worry Sherlock that the rising chill in his blood hadn't dissipated; in fact, it continued to do just that-spreading up into his chest to send frost creeping into his heart and making it skip and jump like a careless schoolkid knocking against his ribs.
It wouldn't stop.
And it was getting harder to breathe.
His teeth were clenched so hard it almost hurt, and his muscles felt tight. It was a little like the rush he got on a good case-only this wasn't nice.
Wasn't okay.
It was a horrifically helpless feeling-utterly out of control.
Wrong, wrong, wrong...
Not this again-
Control, control, control-
Like his own thoughts were killing him.
A hand closed around his arm, and at first he recoiled and tried to jerk away-but when he looked up John caught his eye and, at least momentarily, everything stilled.
John was there.
Still there.
He still had his blogger.
John cared.
"Sherlock-what's going on? ...Are you high?"
He shook his head vehemently, slightly hurt at the idea, considering his situation, but aware of what it must look like all the same.
He wished he were high.
This was hell.
The only thing to do now was to pretend it wasn't happening.
He gathered every remaining wit at his disposal and forced out a laugh; it sounded... nervous.
Damn.
"I'm fine, John, don't be an idiot. I meant 'no' as in... not... That is, em..."
Brain, don't fail me now...
"Sit. Now." John's tone was commanding, and although he tugged the detective down toward the floor by the arm, Sherlock barely needed the direction.
He was already beginning to feel a wash of fatigue overtake him, as if he'd been fighting for days on end and only now stopped for a rest. Perhaps he had been, in a way.
He sank to the floor beside the sofa, and John followed suit, kneeling on the carpet and not letting go of his arm. "Talk to me. Look, have you... 'done' anything? At all? You know...?"
Sherlock shook his head again. "No..."
The doctor looked reassured, but still worried. He was obviously perturbed by such out of character behaviour.
Sherlock sat up a bit straighter, squaring his shoulders and letting out a soft sigh. "I'm just... very, very tired. That's all. Tired."
"Okay... tired, and what else? Are you... I don't know... stressed about something?"
"I said I was just tired, John!"
"Alright, alright..." He held up his hands in surrender. "It's just that... most people have better reasons for having breakdowns."
"I'm not having a breakdown!"
"Sherlock."
He looked up at him again, tense and accusing.
"You're shaking."