John sprinted over to his friend's side and Mycroft did the same. The doctor lightly shook Sherlock, trying to get the detective to wake up. He got no reaction and checked Sherlock's pulse. It was weak. He sighs, ordering the older Holmes to help him put Sherlock on the couch. John drapes a blanket over his thin body, feeling his forehead.
High fever and low blood pressure. Sherlock needed food and bad! Mycroft leaves, saying he's no use and he'll come back later. The ex-soldier makes a note to yell at the government official later, but not now. His main concern was Sherlock. John sighs, running a hand through his hair.
"Jesus, Sher, why did you do this?" He mutters, shaking his head.
Sherlock wakes up a few hours later, exhausted and weak. John forces him to eat and he hates it. He's too weak to fight or yell back in protest, so he eats the disgusting brown liquid anyway. After a harsh stare down with his friend and holding back his gags, the curly haired man finishes. He wants to sleep, but John forces him to shower. He does so, not really enjoying it. The detective finishes and then gets dressed, finding a grumpy doctor waiting for him. He sits on the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest. He was so tired. John touches Sherlock's arm and he looks up into those blue eyes. They were sad, angry, upset, and full of regret. The taller man swallows, feeling bad.
"I'm sorry, John." He whispers into his shirt.
"For?"
"For hurting you." Sherlock answers in a small voice. He really did feel bad. John pulls him into a gentle embrace and Sherlock wraps his small fingers around John's jumper. He smells the jam and cologne, smiling. It was nice to smell something familiar and know it's real. That it is really there. It wasn't an illusion it was real. Everything was and it felt nice.
John allowed Sherlock to sleep on the couch, considering he had a high fever and would need taking care of. Sherlock mostly sleeps, moaning and sweating in his sleep. The blond haired man watches over him, keeping him safe from the monsters and demons inside his hallucinating brain. It was a long night for the both of them.
"Why don't you eat?" John asked Sherlock the next week over breakfast. Sherlock look sup from his experiment, shrugging. "No, no, don't even. Seriously, I want to know why." The taller man sighs, almost annoyed.
"Why does it even matter to you whether I eat or not?" Sherlock snaps, shooting a glare at John. He was hiding his fear and vulnerability behind that glare. He just hoped John didn't notice.
"Because you're my friend and I'm concerned for your health." John answers simply and Sherlock rolls his eyes. He had to act like he was fine and his old self so John would stop pestering him with these questions he didn't want to answer. It was the only way.
"Do you really want to know?" He asks, slightly scared of the answer.
"Yes, of course I do!"
"Because I- I…..", Sherlock sighs, running a hand through his messy curls."BecauseIhatemybody." He jumbles out all in one sentence. John raises an eyebrow.
"What did you just say?"
"Because I hate my body." Sherlock whispers flatly, staring at the ground. John stands up, grabbing his wrist and Sherlock looks up at him with a confused look.
"Come one, follow me." John says, but he still doesn't move. "You trust me, don't you?" The taller man nods and John smiles. He leads him into the bathroom and they stand in front of the mirror. John scoots Sherlock close to it, standing behind him. Sherlock feels his soft hands on his shoulders and it feels nice.
"Look at yourself and tell me what you see." He states and Sherlock sighs with boredom. "Just do it." Sherlock looks up, feeling awkward.
"I see a man. He's skinny, actually way too skinny for comfort. He has messy black hair and cold eyes. He wishes his eyes weren't so cold and mean. The man is tired and ugly, he has too many scars. His skin use to be perfect, but now he looks like an ugly monster. That's what he is though: an ugly monster. Behind him is another man. A great man. One of the greatest he's ever met actually."
John smiles gently, standing up a little taller.
"Now I'm going to say what I see." The ex-soldier says, looking at his friend in the mirror. "I see a tall, lean man. He's much taller than me, but it makes him seem more intimidating." Sherlock laughs a bit at this. "This man has blue eyes that look like two crystals. He also has thick, black curls that are the coolest things ever. He's also very smart, funny, and my best friend." Sherlock smiles, standing up a bit taller. He turns and pulls John into a tight embrace. The ex-soldier doesn't object, falling into the kind gesture. He feels his hair becoming slightly damp and smiles.
Why? Because Sherlock Holmes was crying tears of joy, not pain this time.