By the morning, John's blood sugar was down to 11.2, a number that John seemed relatively pleased with.
"I feel a lot better," he told Sherlock.
Sherlock had to admit, he looked a lot better. Less pale and exhausted.
He watched John go through the same routine he had the night before. This time it was accompanied by an insulin shot to his stomach before eating.
"It's one of the best spots," he explained to Sherlock, who was watching with fascination. "I can't use one site too often, or it won't absorb as well."
Sherlock nodded, soaking it all in.
John ate his breakfast like normal, but Sherlock kept watching him. John wasn't sure for what, because it wasn't like the insulin would announce its entrance with a flag or sign.
Perhaps he was taking mental notes for an experiment.
They went off to the appointment Sarah had set up.
The endocrinologist was a lovely man by the name of Doctor Edwards. He'd been treating patients as long as Sherlock had been living, and was the sort of man that demanded respect, simply on the basis of his knowledge. Sherlock was impressed.
He smiled as he read the charts Sarah had sent over, and continued to smile as John recounted the story.
"It's novel to have a patient as knowledgeable as you, Doctor Watson."
"John, please."
He nodded.
"And Mr Holmes?"
"Sherlock."
He nodded again.
"This will be a time filled with an enormous amount of changes, and even though you're aware of them, it won't be as easy as you are anticipating. It's going to be exhausting and annoying, and sometimes you're just going to want to throw in the towel. But you can't."
John nodded seriously while Sherlock frowned. What sort of things are going to happen?
"I see that Doctor Sawyer set you up with a tentative dosage schedule. How's that been working so far?"
Sherlock listened patiently as the pair of doctors talked for hours, going through things like diet, exercise, lifestyle, and illness. He stored all the information away in a newly constructed room next to John's space in his mind palace. He may have had to do some renovations, but he hardly needed to know when Mycroft's birthday was. This was by far more important.
Finally they were allowed to go, John with another stack of pamphlets and notes about diet and dosages, and Sherlock with a head too full of new information to comprehend much else at the moment. He needed time to sit down and regroup, which was why it took him so long to register that John was speaking to him.
"Sherlock!" John said exasperatedly, like he was repeating it for the tenth time, which was entirely possible.
"John," he replied.
"You're not listening. I said we should go get some lunch."
Sherlock glanced at his watch. It was indeed time for lunch. John needed to eat. And it wasn't a need to eat that could be ignored, because from everything he'd heard yesterday as well as today, John needed to maintain a fairly regular schedule to keep his blood sugar levels from fluctuating.
"Right. Where to?"
John shrugged.
"Angelo's is always good. And nearby."
Sherlock nodded, beckoning a taxi and given the driver the address. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked John once they were seated.
John laughed openly.
Sherlock was perplexed.
"Oh, don't be like that," John teased, noting the look on Sherlock's face. "It's just really amusing to me this sudden change in character. You're concerned. It's kind of nice."
"Of course I'm concerned," Sherlock huffed. "You are an important part of my work."
He finished the sentence there, but they both knew it wasn't complete.
And life... their minds both finished for them. Because it was true.
The rest of the cab ride was silent.
They were seated immediately, yet another perk of everyone owing Sherlock favours.
"Diet coke please Angelo," John told him.
"Tea," Sherlock muttered.
The man nodded and walked away.
Sherlock scrutinized John as he tested, finally holding the meter up for Sherlock to see. 6.9.
Sherlock grinned. "Almost normal!" he declared.
John smirked. "Yes, thank you for informing me. I really wasn't aware."
Sherlock only smirked back as Angelo returned to take their order.
Sherlock watched John carefully calculate the average number of carbohydrates in a dish that size, and inject the according amount of insulin.
"Is there a formula for that?" Sherlock asked.
John blinked at him. "Were you listening at all this morning?"
Sherlock scrolled through his memories, but couldn't find anything that looked mathematical.
"Yes," he said defensively. "I could recite the bit about importance of tight control and the history of the treatment."
John shook his head, his mouth full of pasta. "Don't wanna hear it," he mumbled.
"I couldn't memorize it all, John," he defended. "Don't be absurd."
John only shrugged and inhaled noodles like there was no tomorrow.
Sherlock was displeased when his hand was swatted away from John's plate to prevent him from stealing some noodles.
"Not until I get the hang of this," he threatened. "With my luck, and this soon, I would have taken too much insulin and would have a hypoglycemic episode."
Sherlock sighed dramatically, but relented, agreeing that it wasn't a good idea.