CREDIT BELONGS WHERE CREDIT IS DUE
Chapter 9
Why John!? Is the news really that terrible for both of us?
Much to Sherlock's relief, John did not limp to the seat by Sherlock's bed. Once seated, Sherlock eyed John once all over again hoping to deduce the exact reasons for this sudden change in behaviour. John remained silent only staring blankly at the whitewashed wall.
"His expression is sullen and avoiding eye contact. Not waiting to initiate the conversation. Hands clasped tightly together and deep in thought. The hand trembles still. That hand! Why!? I must find a cure for it. It has been cured before; surely it can be cured again."
"Sherlock", John began quietly using the tone he reserved for when speaking with patients concerning unhappy news.
"I have just returned from speaking with the doctors. It took far longer than expected. I'm pleased that you didn't do anything rash in my absence. He attempted to lighten the ambience, but Sherlock remained stoic in expression. If a tuning fork had been placed in the room, it would have droned deafeningly loud. How is your headache, improved?
"It is within a tolerable range, but I doubt that is of any significance compared to the news you are about to share. Don't beat around the bush, speak now...please. John. I must know. "Sherlock demanded in hushed tones, then closed his eyes and folded his arms across his abdomen waiting. Waiting with a dreadful feeling rising in his mind.
"Sherlock said "please". Sherlock rarely is polite to people, I am no exception. He surely isn't feeling 'tolerable'. I know I do not have that brilliant mind of Sherlock, however, I know he is lying to me. It is more likely that he has a severe headache, his form is rigid. Even with his eyes close, the slight movement of them make the term 'tolerable' less convincing. He rarely complains, but I do know he hasn't been feeling his best lately. Then, again he does his best to hide almost everything from me concerning his mental or physical health, that stubborn pride of his gets in the way far too much… I hope he takes the news well. I wish the doctors were wrong! He is far too young for this! He is no spring chicken, but this should not have even been a thought at least twenty years from now. Why him of all the human beings on earth!? The pompous fool has been dealt a horrible hand, how I wish I could trade mine with him. If only it were possible, I would do it in a heartbeat. He's my best friend. My only true friend. "
John did his best to deliver the poison as gently as could be expected.
Sherlock drew a sharp breath and remained expressionless. John wondered if there would be anything to be said that would appease the man. No, nothing at all would change the facts. The cold hard truth can be hidden beneath a mound of sweet and wonderful things, but that would not change the nature of the news.
"John. How long? I need to know. Time is very important to me now.", he said staring at the plain white ceiling.
"I don't know Sherlock. I wish I could give you an estimate. I truly don't know. I...I...am sorry Sherlock. Really. I am. Just recover your strength first, and then we'll climb this mountain together."
"I know John. I know. Go. Eat and rest. I will not go anywhere. I need to be in my Mind Palace."
Reluctantly John left the room and headed to the flat. He needed to tell dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She would not take the news as calmly as Sherlock had; he mentally braced himself for the flood of emotions that would come.
A-N: The next chapter will be longer to make up for this short one. I know many of you have asked what happened to Sherlock, it will be revealed soon enough. Be patient a little while longer my lovely readers! I want to make sure that my story is medically sound for the most part. I don't want to write something that is impossible from a medical standpoint. The coming chapter will explain more. Thank you for reading! As always comments are appreciated.
Xx