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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Thank you so much for your reviews and your support :) I am kind of surprised people uttered that they enjoy reading this story again, and quite happy about that fact, too.

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I left the days over the paragraphs, not to loose my sense of time, and decided to leave them there for your orientation, but Sherlock is definitely not away what day or time it is.

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Chapter 16 – Sherlock's POV

[Day 3 - Sunday]

John disconnected the IV tube but forbade him to shower.

How had he known he wanted to shower?

"We need to find out how you caught it. So feel free to make some deductions."

Slowly, Sherlock made another try to get up. He tried to convince himself - and John - that he was fine and needed no more attention… Everyone watching his every move was an unpleasant experience.

"What do you remember from the past days?"

Sherlock considered shutting him out, then he realised he hadn't done it automatically.

He couldn't ignore John, he needed to give John some trust… maybe Mrs Hudson was right and… telling him would be better.

"I think I might have puked, in the bathroom," he briefly described one of his misty memories.

Campylobacter infection. Bruises from a fall. He was messed up!

And he had made it worse by denying it. God, Mrs Hudson was right.

He felt ashamed, he hadn't felt like this in a very long time.

What was it that forced him to remember his childhood so often in the past hours?

He hurried into the bathroom, taking the nice and warm blanket with him, glad nobody followed him.

When he re-entered the kitchen he had forgotten the warm cocoon, so he returned to fetch it from the rim of the tub, someone spoke of coffee.

Yes, coffee would be great, sounded so good!

"I want coffee, too."

"No, you sit down and drink that," Mrs Hudson ordered, dragging him into the nearest chair. Maybe he should just surrender to whatever odd social behaviour they expected from him… be compliant… take the line of least resistance.

He was just too tired to care.

They asked, he answered.

Oh, a task! Find the source of the bacterium.

When he tried to do some productive thinking his thoughts were… rummy, tasting pale and mint green… distorted….

Why investigate this?

John explained the reason… sounded logical.

"Can I have some coffee, too?"

He wanted sugar and caffeine… he'd feel more awake with both. Maybe it would even help the headache.

"I wouldn't recommend that," John informed.

"I don't really care."

He was cold, sugar would make it better.

Finally there was a mug in front of him with hot sweet coffee.

He sipped it… tasted good. He felt like he hadn't had something tasting this good for months… the flavour was even better than he remembered!

He sat there, unmoving, on one hand disturbed by the lopsidedness of this thoughts, on the other glad that he was managing to sit at a table and experience the desire to drink something for a change.

Sometime later John offered painkillers, he refused.

"I want nothing, except making you better. Is that supposed to mean you think I'm doing this for some cheap favour?"

He had dropped a brick - again.

Was it just imagination or had he done that repeatedly in the past days?… Interacted socially wrong? Done the opposite of the expected? Was is worth doing what they expected?

Well, they were here… and they did things for him… Why? He didn't know…

Would he do things for Mrs Hudson when she was sick?

Of course, or at least he would make somebody do them. Therefore he probably shouldn't be so surprised they tried, too.

He was confused… and so tired.

The pesky amount of questions running through his brain without pausing were clearly exaggerated.

Why was it that way?

He needed to stop the flow, it was taxing and getting on his nerves.

Great, what wasn't?

He wanted his mind to shut up.

"Sherlock, I'm offering some friendship here, did you get that?"

That utterance caught him off-guard.

He had thought John wouldn't want to be his friend.

When he had introduced John as a friend to Sebastian the doctor had rectified him, called himself a colleague… Sherlock was pretty sure he had gone too far… had blundered. After that event he had tagged the word 'friend' as 'not to be used for John' in the future.

John was quite annoyed with him sometimes… friends wouldn't behave like that, would they? Another hint.

How should he react to that offer now?

He was puzzled.

"Oh, I wasn't aware… What do I do then?"

"Take it if you like… or otherwise tell me you're not interested?" John explained.

Quite logical, but he was still confused abut the offer itself.

"And how do I take it?"

Was that teasing? Had John changed his mind? People did that.

Was John asking him? Expecting he'd say 'no'? People did that, too… but John was not the kind of person who did such things… No, especially after helping him in the last few days.

Mrs Hudson had said he had taken care of him, playing nurse - not the nicest of jobs.

"Maybe opening up and answering my following questions honestly would be a step in the right direction… You know, showing a bit of trust…"

Sherlock had not expected that one… what will he ask? Was it wise to do this?

"Why aren't you able to call for help?"

Absurd question, he wasn't sure what it meant. He had no answer.

And he had called for help last night… severely. But maybe that didn't count, it wasn't the result of a conscious choice; his autopilot had started a self-preservation-routine without consulting him.

Had John understood that?

Was John able to see when he was on autopilot?

The path of thoughts resulted in him feeling naked.

"So, to anatomise my behaviour is considered an offer of friendship?"

John explained the difference between 'discussing behaviour as deduction' and 'opening up to a friend'… the motives were supposed to show the difference.

Sherlock tried to put into words why he considered asking for help a waste of time… There was no point, no matter how specific and accurate he had made requests for help in the past, the results were always gravely frustrating.

When John wanted examples he tried to explain the dynamics.

"It was the same when you saw doctors in your youth, wasn't it?"

Where did John get that idea?

How had he made that deduction?

Was it a deduction?… not entirely.

The topic of his childhood doctors had passed by him at least once during…?

Had he dreamt about them?… Before, he had been sure it was just a nightmare.

Why did John know what he had dreamt about?

Had he talked in his sleep?

The subject was kind of stressful, yes… He felt embarrassed.

He didn't really want to tell John, but the doctor seemed to know already, so it didn't matter.

And he offered friendship, that hadn't happened often to him before. The man seemed to be a good person, he had never used any personal information against him yet… Mrs Hudson also thought he should open up. She was usually a reliable source for social interaction.

Since when were those decisions made in reconciliation?

Oh god, he wished the questions would shut down.

"Yes."

He had said it, but it felt 'not good'.

"Do you trust my skills as a doctor?"

Of course he did. Why was John doubting it? He thought he had made that quite clear from their first case.

"Then why do you send me away?"

What had the one thing to do with the other?

"You fear to get worse by being misunderstood?"

John jumped between topics, exertive.

Something in his perception shifted… He felt cold.

Did he really fear that?

No, he knew… since when…?

Since he was a child.

Traction somewhere… getting worse fast.

He realised his insides were cramping.

God, not that again… He was supposed to be over with that.

A hot wave rushed over his skin.

Suddenly John was next to him and touched his forehead. The hand felt odd - he dared to inspect the feeling of the touch a bit more - and stabilising, not as bad as he had expected.

"What is it? Are you gonna be sick again?"

Probably.

John helped him up, vertigo hit him, hard.

Before he knew what was really happening he was retching again.

Oh, good, the toilet had been there in time.

He felt shaky and even more tired.

When was this gonna stop?

Wrong, it had stopped, why was it back?

The coffee.

John had opted against it because he knew it would come back up.

He was an idiot.

He should really stop himself sometimes and just trust John with the translation of what his transport needed.

But it had tasted so good.

And caused John to be encumbered with him vomiting again, that was probably not very friendship-like.

His skin felt bad, wet and cold with sweat, every air movement exaggerated.

John was still there… kind and offering help, although he just had been rude to him.

"Thank… thank you for abstaining from expressing that you told me so… And for not deriding me because… I didn't listen to you," Sherlock tried to apologise while he also tried to breathe properly.

"You were right, coffee was a stupid idea," he continued.

The doctor patiently explained to him why that was considered friendship.

Sherlock understood he had never really associated these things with friendship, but then he had to face the fact that he probably never had a real friend before.

John helped him back to the sofa, covered him with a blanket and explained to him why he wanted to care for a friend… and offer his medical knowledge to him, too.

Sherlock recognised that he had not dared to ask this from him, tried to explain why he didn't want to be a burden this way.

When he was really honest with himself he knew his social incompetence was already enough of a burden for most people… and he didn't want John to behave like most people.

John poked some more which left him feeling dissected… he answered, though it felt alarming to do so.

This inner conflict was exhausting.

He wanted to shed some trust.

Decision made.

Trying the concept 'friendship' might actually be the right choice… Had he thought he already was inside the concept when he introducing John as a friend?

According to what he had learned in the past three days it was not friendship what he had thought the word meant back then. Those new information were more complex and different to what had reckoned before… Or had it just needed more time to be defined as a friendship?

He'd need to examine this more closely. It was kind of interesting.

Were the rules and ideas John had about the term universal or just his personal view?

The concept was obviously different in different persons... The information he had about the subject seemed wrong when he compared them to John's. Or where they just from another mindset?… Had he learned them from people who had a totally different idea about the topic?

The symptoms John listed for a friendship differed profoundly from what he had learned in his youth.

He had wanted a friend when he was a child. He had pursued the idea until when he was at the U, during that time he had finally abandoned trying to make friends. There, he was told he wasn't able to have friends and that no one would want someone like him in their circle of friends.

That must mean those signs were common for other people.

What his fellow students had considered friendship was not even remotely what he wanted… Was the term really so wide in interpretation?

Probably… But John's definition felt… right. And Mrs Hudson seemed to agree with it. Mycroft would most likely not.

The only other person he might consider a friend was… Lestrade?

If 'not-being-taunted' and 'treated-fair' were hints for something that might become a friendship - a foundation of sorts, it was already there with the DI, and he had taken care of Sherlock in the past. Those were memories he tried to evade. Shameful ones, he was ashamed now, too.

Was the aftermath of shame - by being in need of help or having done something stupid - a factor for the assessment of the existence of friendship?

Had he made the mistake to think the foundation was the thing itself when he had called John a friend in Sebastian's presence?

It seemed to need a spoken invitation to start a friendship. Introducing John as a friend had obviously been the wrong way to ask.

It was probably beneficial that John was eager to explain human relationships to him, not being angry most of the time that he didn't get it. He definitely needed translation for that.

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Some time later John switched on the telly and handed Sherlock the remote, connected a new bag of electrolyte solution to the IV port.

He felt tired, the incommodious cold liquid sneaked up his arm and tasted stale… He hoped this whole feeling-under-the-weather-on-all-levels-of-existence-thing would be over soon. He really wanted to smoke a cigarette now… No chance John would give them to him. Maybe the patches?

He got lost before John found them.

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A/N:

I love to get feedback. Constructive criticism welcome.

Thank you for reading.