Chapter 7

Thank you all so much for your reviews it really means so much to me! Please keep them coming I really want to know what you think and that you are reading this. Thank you!

Disclaimer

I still own nothing!

John knelt by Sherlock's side ensuring his head was protect by the coats on the ground as he fitted violently. He hated being so useless but as a doctor he knew there was nothing he could do to help him other than ensuring he fitted as safely as possible until he regained consciousness.

He was growing steadily concerned as the fit lasted several minutes and showed no signs of stopping. Concerned etched his tired features as he helplessly watched his friend who s harsh breathing accompanied the violent seizing of his body. He didn't know if Sherlock could hear him but he spoke to him anyway, even if it was to give him a selfish sense of actually being able to do something to help.

"It's alright Sherlock, everything's fine, i'm here," he soothed. He hated himself for saying this as he knew how much Sherlock would hate being patronised by him but he didn't know what else to say. He was there for him and did want to help him, no matter how much Sherlock fought against it.

He was feeling for his mobile to call an ambulance when at last the fitting slowly stopped. He moved closer to Sherlock "It's okay, i'm just moving you into a better position," he said gently moving Sherlock into the recovery position. He didn't think even if he was awake enough he would be coherent enough to comprehend what was being said to him. John told him what he was doing as he did it anyway. It didn't feel right not to tell Sherlock everything that he was doing.

He knelt by Sherlock's side talking calmly to him trying to help him come round more. "Sherlock? Are you alright, can you hear me?" he asked calmly trying not to let panic enter his voice as he got no reaction. He was a doctor, an army doctor he had been trained to distance himself from whatever horror was going on around him to do what needed done. He also knew that Sherlock's symptoms coincided with an epileptic fit but somehow it was harder to keep his professionalism where Sherlock was involved but never had it been more imperative that he did.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he heard slight incoherent sounds coming from him. "It's okay, do you know where you are?" John asked gently thinking that he was starting to come round. "Shit," he cursed as Sherlock gagged and vomited. He moved quickly to ensure he wouldn't choke on it. "It's okay," he uttered again hating how empty and repetitive his words sounded.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly blinking to bring his surroundings back into focus. He struggled to try and make the thick fog in his brain lift so he could think. What had happened to him? What was going on? Why wouldn't that voice stop talking, so he could think?

He was on the floor in a strange building...he hurt all over, his mind felt fuzzy, his mouth tasted dry and awful...he had taken a fit...where...was anyone there...yes they kept talking...he knew that voice, he had to place it. He had to think, he had to get back in control. He tried to sit up but his body still felt strange and foreign to him.

"Just stay still just now Sherlock, take a moment," the voice said in what he could tell was a forced calm tone. He had no idea how long he had taken but the fog in his mind was starting to lift but not fast enough for his liking. John! It was John that was here with him. He vaguely remembered lots of flashing lights and lots of people talking at once. He had to get off this floor and he had to get back in control.

He moved slowly to try and et to a stand fighting against the heavy dizzy feeling in his head and the lead feeling that had taken over his reluctant to coordinate body as he tried to get to a stand.

John moved quickly to help Sherlock up he could see how unsteady he was as he hadn't quite gained full control of his body but Sherlock kept trying to bat his hands away, frustration building in his tired features as his aim failed to aim true.

"Sherlock stop fighting me and let me help you," John said in a cross between his 'doctor voice' and unmasked concern for his friend.

Sherlock tried to argue with him but it was taking far more energy and concentration than he currently possessed to do both. The desire to get off the floor outweighed his displeasure at accepting help. Sherlock made to get to a stand with John's help but the doctor shook his head at him. "Not quite yet, lets just see how you are sitting first. How do you feel? Do you remember what happened?" John asked slipping into full 'doctor mode.'

Sherlock tried to block out John's persistent questions. He was already feeling embarrassed about what happened. He just needed to get off this floor and get back to his work. "I know what happened. Now can you please help me off this floor so we can get out of here," he said. Each word required great concentration to ensure it came out correctly and to ensure he didn't slur his words as he knew he was prone to do after a seizure.

John looked at him a moment before nodding and helped Sherlock off the floor and guided him towards a nearby chair. "John, we need to go!" Sherlock said sharply he did not want to be fussed over.

"We will in a minute but it would be stupid to move before you are ready. You often remind everyone how much smarter you are then everyone else so do yourself a favour and prove it," John said near pushing him into the chair. Sherlock tried to fight against him but his body still wasn't cooperating so it was easier to just sit.

"Just for a moment until you stop this nonsense, accept that I am fine and we can go," Sherlock said forcing his eyes to stay open as he forced his brain to focus on each word he spoke. He sometimes wondered if this is how it was inside 'ordinary people's' minds.

John was pleased to see him sitting and to see he was starting to become more coherent. He still had a lot of questions for him but now wasn't the time.

Sherlock was working hard to keep his eyes open against the sickening pounding in his head that wasn't helping his already unsettled stomach and the strong urge to sleep. He frowned slightly as the smell of vomit reached his nostrils he hated how his body betrayed him. He took a few deep breaths to help combat the nausea and headache. There was nothing to be gained from continuing to sit here, it was a waste of time. He couldn't summon the energy to tell John exactly why his plan was stupid so he simply told him he was ready to go home.

"Are you sure?" John asked carefully.

"Yes," he said as John scooped up the jackets from the floor then pulled out his phone to call a taxi.

"221B Baker Street please," John said as he and Sherlock got into the back on the taxi. Sherlock had reached over to take his coat and laid it across his knee. He could not stand the idea of John carrying his coat for him like he was a child. He forced himself to keep his eyes open during the ride home.

"Stop staring at me," he said forcing the exhaustion from his voice as he felt John's eyes on him.

John suppressed a sigh and looked out the window. He could understand Sherlock of all people did not want to be fussed over but he also had to accept that he was going to look out for him, it was what friends did and it was about time that Sherlock Holmes learned that.

He forced himself to move when he noticed the taxi had stopped outside their flat. He wasn't sure if John had paid or not and he was not about to make an idiot of himself by attempting to pay for a taxi twice.

He made himself get out the taxi not even sure where John was. He hurt all over as he took a few shaky attempts to get his key in the lock inwardly and perhaps outwardly cursing his body. He gasped slightly as his stomach rebelled again from travelling and he vomited over the street outside his flat. He finally made his way slowly up the stairs every part of his body hurt. John came up the stairs wordlessly behind him making sure he was ready to catch him if he stumbled on the stairs.

When they got into the flat he instinctively wanted to help Sherlock but he knew he had to see what worked best for Sherlock to do after a seizure.

Sherlock dumped his coat onto his chair and headed to his room shutting the door behind him ignoring John's calling after him. He fumbled slightly with his clothes to get them off and managed with great effort to get into his night things and climb under the sheets. He really wanted to lie on the couch like he usually did after a fit but he couldn't stand the idea of John fussing over him. He really needed a drink of water and some painkillers but he couldn't summon the energy to see if he had anything in his room and couldn't face going into the living room and seeing John right now. He shut his eyes falling asleep, the type of sleep he only achieved after a fit. He hated how tired his epilepsy was currently making him, he was wasting so much valuable time but right now he was too tired to care.

John knew Sherlock well enough to know that he clearly wanted to be left alone. He slipped quietly into his room a while later to check on him and to leave a large glass of water and some painkillers by his bed, slipping back out to let him sleep.

He sat in the living room watching television and reading and if he was really honest listening out for Sherlock. As it got later in the evening he wondered if he should wake him to ensure he took his nightly dose of tablets, especially after taking a seizure it was vital that he took them. He gave it another hour but as Sherlock still showed no signs of waking he went into the room again. He gently shook Sherlock's shoulder to try and waken him. "Sherlock," he said as he shook his shoulder but got no response. "Sherlock, I know you are tired but I need you to waken up for me" he said in a louder and firmer voice.

It took a while before Sherlock began to stir he mumbled incoherently. He wished that voice would stop talking so loudly he wanted to sleep! It took a moment for him to realise it was John. What was he doing? Why was he in his room waking him up? "What do you want?" he snapped wincing involuntary at the agony in his head and body but thankfully his mind was starting to become more clear. He was embarrassed to be seen this weak he sat up quickly reaching for the glass of water John had left by his bed and took a long drink from it. He also wanted to take the painkillers but didn't want to be seen any weaker than he already did. "We can talk next door just give me a moment," Sherlock said getting up and quickly pulling his dressing gown on. He strode purposely towards the living room leaving John no choice but to follow in his wake before he could explain what he had wanted.

Sherlock looked expectantly at John as he sat on the couch. "I eh, no I was just waking you so you could take your night tablets, that was all," he explained.

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked he wasn't good at dealing with people caring about him.

"It's important Sherlock you know that," John said.

"Why do you care? It doesn't make a difference to you if I take them or not," Sherlock pointed out.

"That's where you are wrong," John stated.

"How?" Sherlock demanded, he didn't like it when people said he was wrong.

"For the last time Sherlock because you are my friend. I understand that you don't want to be fussed over and that is fine but you need to accept that I care about you and worry about you and that I will look out for your interests. You can't argue against it Sherlock because it is what friends do, it's what you did for me," John reminded him.

Sherlock looked at him and nodded slowly "thank you," he said quietly to him before taking his tablets and the painkillers. It may not look like much, or anything to most people but John knew that was Sherlock's way of allowing him slightly closer to him.

"John, one last thing," he said before John went to bed.

"Yeah?" John asked turning back round to face him.

"You got my coat dirty. I wont be able to wear it tomorrow now sometimes you really need to think your actions through," he said with a slight smirk though part of him was slightly irrationally annoyed about his coat.

John laughed slightly. "Maybe I should have just let you hit your head," he said teasingly.

"Night John," Sherlock said laughing slightly with him.

"Night Sherlock," he said sightly vowing to himself that he would by force if necessary ensure that Sherlock took better care of himself.

Sherlock lay on the couch after John went to bed. As sleep washed over him again it was accompanied by the worry of what would happen if his epilepsy did get worse and harder to control. He wouldn't be able to work as he did at the moment. Sherlock needed his work, he could not function without it and could not stand the idea of anything that posed a serious threat to it, especially something that was as maddeningly out of his control as this was.