Lessons in Friendship 7 – Needing something

Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

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Chapter 13

Day 3 - Sunday early evening

John stood up and stepped closer to Sherlock, who was showing more distress by the minute. His hand sneaked up to the other man's brow and slowly settled down on his forehead.

Sherlock's skin was clammy and he was paler than moments before, and he didn't move away.

"What's up, Sherlock?" John asked in a soft voice.

"I… er… I don't…"

"Are you gonna be sick again?"

"Er…"

"I interpret that as a 'yes'. Come on. What are you still doing here, then?"

"I…"

John dragged him to his feet, careful not to make him dizzy, but not wanting to wait longer than necessary.

When they reached the bathroom, John managed to get the lid up just in time.

The detective emptied his stomach into the toilet and the dry heaving continued for some long moments.

Sherlock had started to tremble all over and had fallen to his knees in front of the porcelain bowl, obviously not sure he'd be able to stand any longer.

When John was sure it was okay to leave him for a minute he went to the kitchen to get some water.

His flatmate was sagged sideways against the tub when he returned.

John wetted a washcloth and started to wipe Sherlock's forehead, but the detective took the cloth from his hands and wiped his mouth.

"Thank… thank you for not telling me you 'told me so'… and for not deriding me because I didn't listen to you," Sherlock's voice was hoarse again, "Apparently, you were right, coffee was a stupid idea."

"I'll never taunt you when you're miserable, I promise… and I'm not happy I was right. Gloating is not what friends should do… Come on, I think you're done here. I want you on that sofa with a new bag of that solution."

John briefly wondered why taunting was so very present in the Holmes' brothers relationship. He had only seen them together for some short episodes, but they were constantly quarrelling, it seemed.

Sighing softly, Sherlock allowed his friend to help him up and several wobbly steps later sat down on the sofa. John made him lie on his back and covered him with the blanket, then brought a new IV bag. After he had sat down next to his flatmate he once more pulled the skin of Sherlock's hand gently to see how fast it sprang back. Better than before, but not at all how it should be.

"I'm sorry if it was rude to confront you with my transport's malfunctions…" Sherlock started, he seemed to feel ashamed and vulnerable, maybe even disgusted.

"Seriously?… You realise this is complete nonsense?" John had sat down on the coffee table with the medical equipment next to him.

"No, why?"

"I'm a doctor, for god's sake. Doctors do that all day… It's our job to monitor health problems… and help patients get better… For doing that, watching is essential, don't tell me you don't know that."

"I…"

"You do, but right now you're a bit messed up… Why do you think that hiding your distress is necessary?"

"I don't want to be told I'm… to be told what I experience can't be true… And I don't want you to leave because you're disgusted by… People are grossed out when others puke or smell bad."

"Lot's of them are, but doctors deal with it… In fact you're in the wrong profession if you can't manage seeing someone vomit… because it happens all the time. Of cause there're some things that are really hard to watch, but puke and shit are not really some of those!"

"What are in your opinion?"

"Severe cases of sepsis, for example; and seeing people die and not being able to help is very hard."

"Right, but the classification of the place where sickness happens is the factor that… makes it difficult."

"You lost me."

"Of course, I know what doctors see and need to observe, but they do this at work, in hospitals, somewhere where sickness is supposed to be… Not at home, in their free time. People like to make a line in between this. Stupid and inefficient in my opinion, but you told me repeatedly you don't like body parts in the fridge… or experiments containing bodily fluids. You seemed… disgusted by it, just because it was not 'at work'."

John chuckled.

"Yeah. But you being sick is something different… Because you can't help it, that's the important factor… What makes you think sickness stays in hospitals? In fact, most people prefer to be sick at home."

"Really? Why?"

"Because when you already feel vulnerable, helpless and hurt, you want to be somewhere where you feel safe and have things around you that you love."

Sherlock stared at the wall for several seconds, "Oh… Right, but that's not really what I meant… It was more about…"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to be… ballast."

"Okay, that I understand. But it's nonsense, Sherlock. You're a friend and this is not a burden."

"Why not?"

"Because that is what friends are for, helping each other in need, laughing together, solving cases together… Share good and bad times… Wait, why do you think you're a burden?"

"I was told quite frequently when I was younger that my lack of social alignment made me a nuisance and that I should not wonder that no one wants to be bothered with such a stubborn and rude personality. People leave if you get on their nerves, or burden them with things…"

"Some do, yes, but those people don't really know you and those are not friends."

"…And some do as if they want to be burdened, or are interested, but in the long run, they go away, too. They were just pretending because they wanted something for themselves and masking their motives by faked care. I quite frequently wonder if the concept of friendship or love is just an illusion. Because people do what suits them and most of them only seem to fake affection… and when things get difficult they go the easy way."

"Is that what you're afraid of?… That I leave because you get on my nerves or because I prefer the easy way?"

No answer.

"Surely, there're loads of people who act the way you just described, selfish and mean, but there're also those who don't…"

"Yess, and those few ones, will get exploited sooner or later too by the first group and then become frustrated and decide they don't want to care any longer as well."

"Is that why you don't trust me with this? Because you think I'll leave if I see you in a weakened state?… Sherlock, where you openly caring in the past and decided against it?"

Sherlock just stared ahead.

"No," the detective disagreed.

Bingo.

John was amazed how deep this had gone within a few seconds.

"What can I say… Yeah, you got it right, many people don't live the things they preach… They are nice on the outside and ugly on the inside. But you won't find any good people if you don't risk seeing their insides."

"Why look?"

"You gave up?"

"Gave up what?"

"Looking. When?"

"Why are you interested in all this? I feel mentally dissected," Sherlock let his head rest on his crossed arms, hiding his face efficiently this way.

"When did you decide not to let anyone in?"

"When I was in school."

"Have you ever thought about trying it again?"

"At the U."

"And your experiences there confirmed the former decision?"

"Yes."

"So, I am… what?… An accident?… Why did you let me in?"

"It… It felt right."

John raised his eyebrows, well aware his flatmate was opening up, and when he was honest with himself, he was really surprised.

"Did you even consider having a flatmate before you met me?"

"Er… Not really."

"What happened?"

"Mike suggested it, I assumed more as a joke, and I answered that no one would like to live with me… and then he came back with you."

"And you then decided spontaneously to try it?"

"Yes…"

"You know… whenever I think I start to understand how you tick you do something that totally blows off the whole thing… just like now."

"No offence, but that might be part of the problem. People try to put me into their neat little boxes, and I don't fit in. But it's too much work to take a closer look to check if I was sorted in right, or if they do, to admit that their first impression was wrong. To evade facing that they were wrong, they stuff me in another box that usually is for the worse," Sherlock spoke so fast John had problems to follow. "Not with you, though… You seem to be willing to un-box me when needed. Though I'd prefer if no boxes existed at all."

"In fact I like you being not 'box able'. Makes life much more interesting… You also have boxes."

"Well… maybe, but they're different, their walls are not solid, so they are not confinements… And where normal people have ten boxes for a feature I have at least 386."

"Ten… 386…?"

"Rough guess."

"Er, to be honest, I think for one attribute / characteristic many people have one box, maybe two."

"This is frustrating… You're sure the boxes are even labelled with attributes?… Where are the nicotine patches?"

"No nicotine yet," John stated.

"Don't!… If I sit here, patient, and answer your ridiculous questions, grant me that at least."

"You're lying down… Does it even make you uneasy to admit that?"

"Present as less points of attack as possible to the world. So, where are they?"

John sighted inwardly, it would take a long time to make Sherlock trust him consciously, though he already seemed to do so subconsciously… or when on autopilot.

The topic was much too complex to establish trust within one weekend.

John knew from his own trust issues that this worked in waves. It depended on events and actions, some lowered and some heightened trust in another being. That trust receded partially was part of the process now and then.

Sherlock would carefully trust him more with time, he was sure about it, because the foundation was there, clearly visible. The detective already trusted him more than anyone else… Confidence would grow in time, as John's trust in Sherlock grew constantly.

The past days seemed to turn out to be an episode of fast forward… So, there were trust issues on both sides, though totally different kinds.

John grinned.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing's funny. Takes one to know one."

"Know what?"

"Trust issues."

"Oh… Right…"

John switched on the telly and handed Sherlock the remote, then connected the new bag of electrolyte solution to his IV port. He wondered what had motivated his flatmate to bare his soul like this… He had hoped for it, of course, but he had expected to get a door in the face. This actually slightly astounded him.

"You want to sleep?"

"I feel as if I slept the past two days," Sherlock stated, tough his eyes seemed very heavy lidded already, "but my memories seem to come back, I remember more now."

"Right, you kind of did… Why don't you nap a bit and in the meantime I'll look for those patches," John was not an idiot, withdrawal from nicotine would make Sherlock more miserable than he was already, so he'd give them to him if he asked again.

John went to the bathroom and cleaned before touching anything.

When he came back, Sherlock was breathing deeply, obviously asleep.

The drip was regular and John headed up the stairs to take a nap, too.

Before falling into an exhausted sleep he wondered briefly if Sherlock had answered his questions because he really wanted to, or because he was just to jaded to fight… Maybe his flatmate needed those explanations of human interaction and relationships. No doubt, he knew about them in theory and had meticulously stored the information, but that was a whole different thing from being in interaction in real life.

Sherlock's mind was an astounding mixture of a wonderland and a minefield. Curiosity and hurt and wisdom and ignorance… a remarkable place to see.

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A/N:

Feedback appreciated.