AN: Credit for the characters goes to Catie501 for this chapter. Thank you!
Sherlock hates taking the tube, if anything; he always tries his best to avoid it. There are always too many people, too many voices, too many smells, too many things to observe, it all jumps out at him. He never takes the tube if he can. He prefers taking a cab, so much more secluded, the only people in a cab in himself and the driver, occasionally John. He would much rather be taking a cab right now, but John insisted on taking the tube, it's cheaper than a cab and they really do need to stop wasting their money on cabs.
They are currently one hour and thirty-six minutes away from Baker Street by foot because of a case a client had given him, which is why John insisted on taking the tube.
"No, Sherlock! I am not wasting another bloody fifty pounds on a cab home! We need to stop wasting our money; the tube is much cheaper so we are taking it!" Before Sherlock could protest, John had grabbed the sleeve of his coat and dragged him to getting the train.
Sherlock sits on the seat, looking around at the people surrounding him, they had managed to catch it during rush hour, one of the worst times possible, as if it isn't bad enough taking the tube, they had to take it during rush hour! Sherlock looks around, trains are impossibly noisy and overly bright, his eyes are already beginning to hurt and the sounds are ringing in his ears. The man sitting next to him is drunk, he's going to pass out at any moment, his husband walked out on him and he lost a job that morning, of course the appropriate response is to get drunk! Everything all gets better through drinking. Sherlock scowls to himself and moves onto the next person, University student returning home during half-term, spends quite a bit of time awake at night instead of sleeping, judging by the book in his hand it's because of the work he needs to do, only has one younger sibling, parents divorced a while ago, and he has no intention of staying on the course for much longer.
Sherlock breathes an annoyed sigh and looks down at his watch; they still have another forty-three minutes on this godforsaken thing. As he lowers his hand back down, he notices the tremble in it; he needs to get off this train! Now! Except the next stop is another five minutes away and there isn't much chance of John listening to him.
"It's okay, Honey, I'll leave... leave my husband for sure tonight." Sherlock hears some woman falter.
It's quite obvious to him they have no intention of leaving their husband for their new boyfriend; he's briefly reminded of Anderson and Lestrade.
"It's okay, Sweetheart, if you have work to do..." Sherlock hears some other woman say.
She doesn't quite believe that her partner has work tonight; more believes him to be spending the night down at the pub. Sherlock looks around and immediately regrets it; everything is just jumping out at him! The voices are growing louder, the lights are growing brighter even though that is preposterous, his head is starting to hurt. That woman steals extra money from cash register every night after work, that man is anxious about recently becoming a father, that young boy is failing a class and is unsure of how to tell his parents, that woman is six weeks pregnant but is unsure on whether or not she wants to keep it, that one is having an affair with three other people, that one works at a farm, that one works as a bank manager, that one is a doctor, that one suspect they're about to get laid off work, that one is in a rush to get home to their children.
"I'll be home soon, Nigel."
"I'm on the train; I'll be there in ten minutes, Kerri."
"No, I'm not lying to you."
"I love you, not her."
"Don't drive your mum up the wall, Sammie."
Then there are the smells. One likes horseback riding, they have three dogs, they have two cats, one has a newborn baby, one works in an office, that man smells strongly of cologne, that girl has strongly overdone her perfume, that one is wearing three different kinds of Lynx, she's wearing four different kinds of Charlie and two different perfumes, that one was vomited on before entering the train. Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Everything is jumping out at him, all the observations, all the deductions, everything! And look, John has another date tomorrow. Let's hope he doesn't bring her home again, last time was a disaster and it wasn't necessarily his fault! It was more John's than his own. He had nodded at her, given her a fake grin and then returned to his violin, it wasn't his fault John forced him to have an actual conversation with her. It's not like John will be staying when he finds the right person, he'll move out and abandon his friend, they all do!
His stomach churns horribly; he can't wait to get off this train. Sherlock closes his eyes and leans his head back; hopefully his mind won't heighten his hearing. The pounding in his head starts to grow, everything is still jumping out at him, through the images in his mind instead. He just wants it all to stop. The train is starting to slow; hopefully they will lose a bunch of passengers and not gain more. Sherlock inhales sharply at the pain, it clearly has no intention of stopping, but it's still another forty-two minutes away from the closest stop to Baker Street. He hears the mad rush of footsteps as people get on and off the train, the sudden flurry of voices, each of them sounding like the bang of a gun in his mind and he doesn't quite stop his groan. Once the train starts moving again, he opens his eyes, the sting of train lights is not unexpected, but the sudden sharp pain of agony is and he bites back a gasp. The drunk man is still sat beside him but he isn't conscious, the carriage they're in appears to have gained new people, lost others, and doesn't contain as many as before but it certainly is louder. He looks towards John who is happily talking to some woman beside him.
"John," He says, "can we get off at the next stop?"
John doesn't respond, so Sherlock tries again.
"John, we are getting off at the next stop!" Sherlock demands.
John looks towards him, "Sherlock, we've still got another forty minutes; we are not getting off at the next stop."
"Yes we are." Sherlock replies, "We can get a cab home."
"No, Sherlock, we are not!" John replies angrily, "We have wasted too much money taking cabs over London and need to start saving!"
The train jolts side to side and Sherlock has to resist the urge to vomit everywhere.
"Are you okay?" John asks concerned, noticing the colour drain from Sherlock's face.
"Too bright, too noisy, too many people, John." Sherlock mumbles, looking to the floor so that he doesn't vomit on John.
"Sherlock, look at me." John says softly.
Sherlock slowly turns his head and that's when the dizziness starts, it's hard to look at John when John won't stop moving, he can feel his eyes moving up before coming back down to centre.
John looks at Sherlock closely, "Fine. We can get off at the next stop and get a cab, but this is the only time, Sherlock!"
Sherlock looks away from John and closes his eyes as he waits for the dizziness to pass. He hopes this time it won't last long, he did hope it wouldn't appear at all but apparently not. He breathes heavily through his nose, one part of his mind slowly becoming consumed by pain and the other half making observations on the voices he can hear.
"I'm sorry, Dominic, I didn't mean to miss parents evening. Did Daddy go?" Liar, she wanted her husband to go.
"Yes, I did remember to pick up the potatoes for dinner tonight." Oh, how domestic.
"I promise, I won't... break up with you soon." Of course, she won't break up with him soon, no, but she does intend to break up with him.
"I have a doctor's appointment at ten tomorrow." Yes, you have the early stages of pneumonia. Stay away from me.
"We're just going to the pub for a few drinks; I'll be back before eleven." After having sex with some random woman there.
"My job has just been a little stressful today, Honey. I'll make it up to you on the weekend." What a way to avoid telling someone you just got fired.
"I'm not ready to have children yet." But you are three weeks pregnant.
Sherlock groans softly and resist the urge to put his hands over his ears. The voices and his mind are just so loud! He feels John's hand rest on his arm, the other man trying to comfort him; it brings him away from his thoughts.
"Two more minutes, Sherlock." John whispers in his ear.
Sherlock nods slightly. His head sends another wave of agony and his stomach churns horribly once more. He opens his eyes slowly; he can't exactly walk out and get a taxi with his eyes closed. The light stinging his eyes is expected, but it doesn't stop them from hurting any less, the voices grow quieter as his other sense comes back. He feels sweat trickle down the side of his face and raises a trembling hand to wipe it away. The train jerks back and forth, Sherlock bites down on his lip to stop the vomit from coming up.
Once the train slows down, Sherlock stands with John by his side, he ignores the dizziness and that he almost gagged as he stood. Once the train stops, Sherlock immediately sets forth to get away from all the people and to get a cab. If possible, the noise outside is louder and the lights are far brighter, Sherlock doubts people have ever heard of having a quiet conversation and the electricians have never heard of toning it down when they were picking how bright the lights are. He can hear John calling him, but he doesn't stop his fast pace on walking away. Sherlock forces himself to stop focusing on the pain, the sounds, the brightness, the dizziness, the nausea, and forces himself to focus on the experiment he's been working on. It isn't an effective distraction as he walks past a man with their screaming child.
"Sherlock!" John calls.
Sherlock stops and turns to face John. Once John finally reaches him, Sherlock turns around and continues towards the exit. He raises a hand to shield his eyes from the offending sunlight, breathing heavily through the onslaught of pain, and searches for a cab.
"No, I'll do it." John says from standing beside him.
Sherlock is soon in the cab, his eyes closed as he rests his head against the cool glass of the cab window.
"This is the only time, Sherlock." John whispers. He reaches out a hand, but falters slightly remembering the time Sherlock was touch sensitive and flinched away from the tiniest touch.
The taxi ride isn't as long as expected but it is quieter than expected, if you ignore Sherlock's quiet groans and whimpers. Not a word was uttered between John and Sherlock. Once the cab stopped, Sherlock quickly opened the door and went to enter the flat, leaving john to pay for the fare, which isn't a surprise.
Sherlock groans softly and curses his transport for being like this; his hands are trembling so much it's hard to get the key into the lock. He manages it just before John climbs out of the taxi, leaving him to take the key out and close the doors. Sherlock climbs up the stairs slower than his normal pace; he's not too sure what he's going to do once he reaches the flat. He knows at some point, he's going to vomit, he doesn't want to lie in bed and rest but he knows John will make sure he does, he has a case to work on, why would he be lying in bed? Sherlock runs a hand through his hair and enters 221B; he turns towards the couch, but quickly turns away and heads towards the bathroom. He makes it as far as the kitchen sink. Vomit flies out of Sherlock's mouth, coating the draining board and the sink, a small portion dribbling down the cupboard just below the sink. Despite only eating toast earlier that day, vomit continues to fly out of his mouth and land in the sink. A hand lands on his back, it makes small circling motions, a soft voice is in his ear. Sweat covers his forehead and above his lip, as soon as he's done vomiting and is certain he isn't going to vomit once more, Sherlock turns the tap on, watches as the vomit slides down and uses a cloth to wipe down his face.
"Come on, Sherlock." John murmurs in Sherlock's ear.
A hand is now touching his arm, steering him away from the kitchen, leading him towards his bedroom. John's going to make him rest; he doesn't want to rest, not yet anyway.
"But the case, John." Sherlock mumbles.
"Can wait." John replies.
"But, John, the case can't wait."
It doesn't work, by now John has led Sherlock to the bedroom and has shut the curtains in the room, blocking out the afternoon sun. Sherlock bites back a moan as his head sends more agonising waves of pain; John returns and helps him remove his suit jacket.
"You need to rest, Sherlock." John says as he places the jacket onto the hanger on the door. "Is this because we took the tube?"
"Too many people, too many noises, too much of everything, John." Sherlock replies quietly as he slides his feet out of his shoes.
John nods, slowly comprehending what Sherlock just said, "So, all those people caused you to make all those observations and all that information overloaded your brain and caused this?"
Sherlock sits down on his bed and nods slightly.
"Does this always happen?"
"Rush hour, John." Sherlock points out closing his eyes.
John rests a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gently lowers him onto the bed to lie down. Sherlock flinches from pain as his head comes to rest on his pillow.
There's a dip in the mattress and Sherlock feels himself slowly being moved, from the pillow to John's lap. Sherlock slowly brings his legs towards him, letting out a small moan as his stomach protests at the movement. He feels fingers softly thread through his hair before they started to add pressure to his skull. He lets out a moan as the pressure makes the pain grow, he wants it to stop, John doesn't hurt him! Why is John hurting him? The pressure grows and then the fingers are rubbing small circles, he relaxes under the touch, the motion helping to soothe him. His mind quietens, no longer screaming at him about the pain, and he's tired, so very, very tired. The pain lessens, ever so slightly, but it's better than before.
"Go to sleep, Sherlock." John whispers.
"But the case, John." Sherlock protests weakly.
"It can wait a little longer." John replies.
Sherlock doesn't respond, he moves his head towards John's fingers, relishing in the way the touch lessens the pain.
John watches Sherlock closely, waiting for the moment his friend finally falls asleep. Once he sees Sherlock's features relax even more, he stops with his fingers and leans back against the headboard. He looks down at Sherlock, hating the way the younger man flinches slightly in his sleep. He hates seeing Sherlock in pain, especially over something that he can't help with. Migraines don't have a cure to them, most sufferers are recommended taking medication for the pain and even then it's not guaranteed it will work, and because of Sherlock's resistance to many pain killers, it's hard to find the right one that will work without causing negative side-effects or causing him to overdose. If a migraine is what Sherlock gets for being smart, he'd rather they happen to him.
Sherlock groans, screams fill John's mind. John freezes when he hears them, it's been a little over a month since that situation, and John still hears them the way one would if they were witnessing it happening. He had never wanted to hurt someone so much in his entire life until that moment, shining a light into someone's eyes while they're suffering a migraine is a very effective way to torture someone for information. John only wishes he was able to stop it. John breathes out heavily through his nose and forces himself to focus on the present and not the past.
He looks back down at Sherlock, the man was still pale, sweating and trembling, he wonders how long this one will last, most of Sherlock's migraines last for a day before becoming a simple headache with added irritableness. He sees Sherlock flinch again; apparently Sherlock can't escape the pain even when asleep. He gently runs his hands through Sherlock's curls once more.
John feels his stomach grumble, carefully lifting Sherlock's head with his hands, he slowly slides his legs out from under Sherlock and carefully stands up, being sure not to wake the sleeping man. He looks down at Sherlock before leaving to start some dinner. Maybe he can convince Sherlock to eat once he wakes, assuming he isn't nauseous that is, he knows Sherlock's regularly nauseous, but not all the time.
John isn't surprised when the living room light is randomly switched off just over two hours later; it only means that Sherlock must have woken up. John looks up from his laptop and squints as he tries to see through the darkness. He can barely make out Sherlock's trembling form walking unsteadily through the living room.
"You should be in bed, Sherlock." John says sternly as he stands up.
"Don' wan' to be." Sherlock replies.
"You need to rest." John says walking over to Sherlock.
"I don't care. You should be in bed." John repeats. He places a hand on Sherlock's shoulder feeling the soft blanket over them and noticing that Sherlock's trembling has only grown worse since it started. Sherlock shrugs it off and continues walking past him. John watches him walk away unsteadily; he starts to walk towards Sherlock but stops when he notices that he's walking towards the couch. "What's wrong with your bedroom?"
"Smells horrible." Sherlock mumbles as settles down on the couch, carefully lowering his head onto the cushions.
"Did you make it to the bin this time?"
"Yes." Sherlock answers as he rolls over, his back away from John.
John breathes a sigh of relief, at least Sherlock made it to the bin, it's horrible getting vomit or bile out of the carpet, sheets, or duvet.
"These migraines are really frequent, Sherlock." John says, walking towards his laptop to close the lid.
"So?" Sherlock says, his voice muffled by the cushions.
"You might need to see a doctor."
"Do no'." Sherlock replies, now curling in on himself.
"I'm only saying you might have to, Sherlock." John replies now walking towards Sherlock.
"You're my doctor." Sherlock replies.
John sighs, "Has your pain gotten worse?" He asks.
"Clearly." Sherlock says, shifting the blanket around.
"Do you want to try something new?" John asks, "Mrs. Hudson did suggest trying green tea."
Sherlock hummed a response and waved a hand dismissively. John lowers his head, out of options on what to try, he isn't just going to leave Sherlock in pain, he's going to need to do something.
"We're running out of options here, Sherlock, you shouldn't be in so much pain because of a migraine."
Sherlock groans, "Leave me 'lone, John."
John sighs and moves to sit beside Sherlock. He rests a hand on Sherlock's arm and rubs it soothingly. Sherlock only buries his face into the cushions as a response.
"Just be sure to eat in the morning. You know I have an interview tomorrow morning." John says, unsure if he's reminding himself or Sherlock. "We've got some beans and bread in the cupboards, be sure to have something to eat."
Sherlock hums his response. John rubs Sherlock's arm once more before going to leave, he takes his laptop with him as he wanders up towards his bedroom. He'll have to remove the bin from Sherlock's room before he goes to sleep.
AN: According to my friend on Skype, I project my migraine pains through Sherlock, I went through that horrendous migraine last week, Sherlock experiences the same thing AKA Chapter Nine, I experience one when going home, so does Sherlock AKA Chapter Three, and so forth. As my headaches are getting worse, I think Sherlock's might if I'm not too careful.
I'm sorry but chapter eight is just screaming to be mentioned. Had I not worked on the Sherlock on his own chapter, it would have had a follow up.
I hope you enjoyed this. Have a nice day :)
~Steffii