Chapter 2: I'm Not Allowing It

~Thanks guys for reviewing I'm glad someone, like me, was sick of everything bad happening to Sherlock. I hope you all continue enjoying/secretly hating this story. I personally enjoy more of Martin Freeman's personality in John, so voila.~

"John. John. JOHN HAMISH WATS- Oh you're awake."

John opened one eye. Sherlock. Wait…

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock visibly sighed in relief "John I thought you were-" He was cut off, as John launched off the bed, tackling Sherlock to the ground.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! DO YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME? Oh yes, lets jump off a building and make John suffer through your funeral and then only come back after I wrote on my blog that I WAS DYING!" John spat out.

"Shh-"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Shh John, I don't want everyone knowing I'm still alive-"

"OH, SO IT'S STILL A SECRET?"

"Yes, as long as you don't tell anyone-"

"SWEAR TO GOD."

John realized the idiot turn this conversation had ended and stopped, glaring at Sherlock through the red pain-mist covering his eyes.

"John, do you feel okay?" Sherlock was looking at him in concern.

John walked over to the window and pulled the curtain shut.

"Too much god-damn light. I'm making tea."

"I can get it if you want?"

"Hell no, Mr-Oh-The-Sugar-Might-Be-Drugged,-Lets-Put-It-In-John's-Tea."

"There was a lot of sarcasm in that sentence."

"There was supposed to be."

John walked out to the kitchen, head still reeling from the weird night he'd had, and the MRI from two days ago. He reached for the tea, and brushed a cold, bony hand, where he promptly jumped and swore.

"Sorry… but I really can do it for you."

John grumbled in assent and went and sat down in his armchair. He pulled out his laptop to look at his blog comments.

Oh Christ mate, that's horrible news. You'll get better, we all know it- Mike Stamford.

Oh my god John, you aren't dying on me don't you dare! We will fight and you will live.- Molly Hooper.

John, I:m ur sister. Why cant u pick up the godamn fone and call me?- Harry

John sighed and logged off. Predictable. He jumped at the sound of a tea tray being put next to him. Cautiously, he reached for the tea cup and took a sip.

"No sugar right? Or was it no milk? I'm sorry John I can't remem-"

"It's perfect."

Sherlock relaxed and carefully sat on the chair opposite John. John noticed with a start, that Sherlock's right hand was trembling.

You're not haunted by the war, Dr Watson. You miss it.

"What happened to you?"

Sherlock looked up in confusion. John decided he'd impress the smarmy dick.

"Tremor in your right hand, clearly, some distress has only recently happened. There are some scars on your neck, and a new big one under your hairline, it appears you've grown that ridiculous mop longer to hide it, hoping no one would notice. Maybe you've visited your mother?

You walk and sit down gingerly, obviously favouring your back, and since you aren't leaning back in your chair I'd guess that there are surface wounds, such as whip marks, or tell-tale signs of an obvious beating, which (as we have just observed from your right hand) happened very recently- if I could see them I'd have a better idea, but I will suggest- 2-3 weeks ago?"

Sherlock was staring at John, confusion evident.

"Someone had to continue your stupid bloody business didn't they?"

Sherlock stood up and took off his jacket, then proceeded to unbutton his shirt.

He turned, and John saw whip marks (John: 1, Sherlock: 0) on the younger mans back. But where John had guess-imated 2-3 weeks, these were fresh. Couldn't have happened more than 3 or 4 days ago.

"Five days ago," Sherlock said softly, like he knew what John was thinking. (Dammit. John: 1, Sherlock: 1)

"Very good John, but not 2-3 weeks, and I didn't grow my hair out to fool my mother- I did it to fool you." Sherlock chuckled quietly to himself as he slowly dressed himself again. (John: 1, Sherlock: 2).

"Like I said, someone had to do it. And that someone spent a long time walking around this place trying to think like you, before poor Mrs Hudson came up to visit, and in 1 minute flat I deduced she had had a fight with her sister about her cocaineproblem and was seeing two different men."

"Really? Well, she's dumped one- and it's marijuana, not cocaine."

John frowned; he'd missed those. (John 1, Sherlock: 4).

"Ex-opium addict John, I had background knowledge. But, all-in-all John, you've done very well."

Sherlock was looking at him carefully again. "When?"

"Last week."

Sherlock frowned and began pacing. "But your headaches started before that?"

"Yes- two months before."

Sherlock turned, fury written on his face. "And you didn't think there was something WRONG with that?!"

John laughed quietly. "Yes."

"Then… why?"

"Sherlock… I didn't care."

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