TEA AND SYMPATHY

John finally reached 221B and entered the hall as quiet as he could, he didn't want to attract the attention of Mrs. Hudson who seemed to have the ears of a bat. He shut the door and padded up the stairs. Once inside, he removed his shoes and then his coat which he hung on a hook near the door. He made his way into the kitchen and turned the kettle on.

He busied himself with preparing a plate of posh biscuits which Mrs. Hudson had clearly replenished in his absence. When the water was boiled he got out a tea pot and two mugs. He prepared the tea and put the plate of biscuits, the pot and the mugs on a tray.

He carried the tray into the hallway and stopped just before Sherlock's door. He tried to compose himself before walking through the door; he took a deep breath in and tried to flush the anger away in his exhale.

The first thing he was aware of was of someone leaning over Sherlock and he almost shouted in shock.

He blinked and realised that the body leaning over Sherlock lying in bed was in fact, Mrs Hudson. She lifted her head and John could see that there were tears in her eyes too. She made a silent nod towards Sherlock and John saw that Sherlock's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. He pushed open the door again and quietly Mrs Hudson went through the door and John followed her into the lounge.

He carried the tray and put it on the coffee table.

'Y-you got the biscuits then?' she muttered.

Mrs Hudson picked at her short nails and fiddled with her fingers, John thought this was the most agitated he'd ever seen her and in that one moment he saw how much Sherlock really meant to her. She was an old widow and he knew that with age most people started to respect what they could truly rely on in life. She kept herself busy with friends and social events but she loved Sherlock as a son and Sherlock looked up to her as a mother.

'Mrs Hudson'

'What is it John? What's wrong with him? He wouldn't tell me and I didn't want to push him in case.. in case…'

She trailed off and John reached for her hand, he held it gently in his and turned it over examining the lines running up and down like train tracks.

'He's got depression, it's a psychological illness.'

'Is it serious?' she said, her voice was only a slight whisper now.

'Yes. Very.'

She grasped his hand tightly and with a heavy, rasping breath the tears started to fall in waves.

'Oh, Sherlock'

John held onto her for a long time as she wept into his shoulder. He could have cried with her for hours too but he knew that he had to be strong for her and for Sherlock.

After a time, Mrs Hudson dried her tears and went down stairs to 'tidy herself up' but John knew that she just needed some time to deal with the grief on her own and he respected that. He heard her slippers shuffle down the stairs accompanied with occasion sniffs and mutters of 'oh dear'.

John lifted himself out of his seat and made his way over to Sherlock's room. He opened the door and Sherlock was in the same position as he had been twenty minutes ago when Mrs Hudson had been leaning over him. John approached the bed and sighed as his eyes traced over Sherlock's body and finally flickered to his face. His eyelids were flickering lightly.

'Sherlock' John said softly.

There was no answer.

'Sherlock, I know you're awake'

Sherlock didn't open his eyes but he spoke.

'How did you know John? I thought that was going rather well.'

John smiled, Sherlock seemed to be recovering from this phase at least, his curiosity was rising and the undertones of confidence were returning to his voice.

'I'm a doctor. I can tell when someone's awake and when they're not. Besides, I know when you're sleeping from that time we-errr... I mean you fell asleep on the errr… sofa…'

John blushed a deep crimson.

Sherlock's eyes flickered open in surprise, they hadn't talked about that since… ever. In fact, Sherlock never really precisely understood what had happened. He remembered falling asleep with John and coincidentally getting the best sleep he's had in a long time and then he woke up to see John staring at him from the other chair. Or was that a dream? No, he was sure that was real. Then John had blushed like he was doing now and had shuffled off into the kitchen pretending he hadn't been doing anything.

John looked up and embarrassment was spread across his face along with another emotion which Sherlock couldn't pinpoint in his haze.

'I errr… I-'

'Don't worry John'