Hello Lovelies, I'm on a roll with this fic. Also, this one is the shortest, but I'll put up the next chapter soon
Reviews are welcome.
Peace&Love
Just for clarification,
John has three parts to his gifts.
1. He can hear thoughts of people in London, usually for about a two miles radius. It's annoying and terribly like white noise. However, whenever he is around Sherlock the white noise stops. He doesn't know why, he thinks of Sherlock as his own silencer or pair of headphones.
2. If John concentrates he can actually hear an individual's thoughts. He rarely does this because he doesn't want to invade in the privacy of others. He has to be in the direct eye line of the person to read their thoughts usually, unless on certain occasions. Sherlock is the only person who he hears without trying. He can hear Sherlock if his generally in the vicinity, regardless of walls. He hasn't tested how far his distance with Sherlock is.
3. The most powerful part of John's gift is the tactile method. When he touches or someone touches his bare skin, he is able to delve into others memories. They come in thoughts and images. He was able to help comatose patients in his early years by finding the darkness they were in and talking him through it to make them wake. When he connects with another person, he feels slight discomfort and unpleasant feelings. It's tolerable but it's always present. Connections are tricky for John, when he is connected with someone, their minds are connected, so if the link is broken before John is prepared, dire consequences happen. He passes out, gets nosebleeds, dizzy, etc. Sherlock is, so far, the only person who is able to touch him without painful connection breaks or the general discomfort. Sherlock is also able to turn off his thoughts when he touches John, unbeknownst to both of them.
John mastered his skills, this allowed him to enter people's thoughts without them knowing and keep his face and physical features in check to not give away what he is doing.
John and Sherlock stare at each other, face to face in the middle of the hospital room. Sherlock's hands are flexing in excitement. The doctor is blocking out Sherlock's thoughts on purpose. The telepath doesn't want to know what the taller man in front of him is thinking. He turns his head away slowly, breaking the eye contact for the first time in several minutes.
"Are you listening?" Sherlock asks out loud as John slowly paces around the room, he stress evident.
"No, I'm not." John remarks nonchalantly. The detective lets out a huff of annoyance.
"You can turn it off?" Sherlock asks, genuinely surprised, I guess telepathy is out of the realm of the World's Only Consulting Detective.
"Well, that's not quite how it works." John sighs and walks over to the bed, sitting down on it. His mind races, sadness overwhelming him. Any second now, the detective is going to announce how much of a freak John is and kick him out. John will have no choice but to go back to being an invalid and probably live a very boring life with only the surgery for company.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock questions, deducing John's tense form. "Are you listening now?" Sherlock adds seconds later, hopefulness in his voice.
"No. I just-I'm thinking about what I need to pack." John mutters quietly, not looking at the detective.
Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "You are not leaving." Sherlock commands and then seconds later adds, "Unless you want to."
John stares up at Sherlock, his eyes refusing the meet the doctor. John sighs.
"No, I want to stay," John says hurriedly, "but I...just...do you want to live..with a freak like me." John mutters, calling himself a freak out loud for the first time in years. Right now, it's the truth, it's how he feels under the scrutiny of the detective.
"You are not a freak." The younger man states straightforwardly. John stares up at Sherlock and sees the vulnerable eyes, the anxiety and the doubt. Sherlock really wants John to stay.
"Are you sure, living with someone who can...know what you are thinking?" John pauses slightly, afraid to call out the elephant in the room.
"Can you hear me all the time?" Sherlock rebuttals with a smirk.
"No, that's not really how it works." John remarks.
"I don't want you to go." Sherlock states bluntly, the detective sits down in a hospital chair opposite the doctor. John stares in shock at the genius's declaration, it is the closet thing to a confession of caring that John has ever gotten or will ever get and he can't help but smile.
Sherlock smiles back and continues talking, now that John is at ease.
"Tell me how it works?" The genius asks, tentatively, but John notices the sudden excitement and enthusiasm in Sherlock's voice. "Please."
John scowls lightly, Sherlock knew how to get his way.
"Git," John mutters smiling, shifting to sit with his back against the elevated bed frame.
The door opens just as John thinks about telling his story. A nurse walks in, interrupting John's line of thought. They both stare at the brunette nurse who smiles as she enters the room, holding a clip board. Sherlock huffs impatiently and slouches dramatically in his chair.
"How are you Mr. Watson?" The nurse asks,
"Doctor." The detective mumbles in annoyance.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson." She adjusts, still smiling, unfazed by the six foot form of a sulking detective, who is actually behaving. "I'm Emily." She adds checking his vitals, very careful not to touch the doctor, she checks the IV and writes down notes on her clipboard.
"I'm fine thank you, Emily. Do you know when I can leave?" John asks hopeful, slightly confused at how the nurse was doing her job without touching him.
"The doctor should come up within the hour to talk to you." Emily states, her grin almost blinding and becoming slightly annoying to John. With a last nod, she leaves the room and shuts the door.
"Finally!" Sherlock yells, "You were going to start." The detective adds, glaring at the closed door and sitting up straight once again, the genius's enthusiasm returning.
"Hang on," John speaks, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. "Why wasn't she touching me?" The doctor inquires, still staring at the door the nurse exited through. Her job would have been easier and faster if she had touched him. Surely the staff doesn't know. Do they?
"John."
John's head snaps back to the younger man. "Just because you push your thoughts at me, doesn't mean you don't have to talk." John snaps, confused and annoyed.
"I beg to differ." Sherlock responds haughtily, unfazed by John's biting tone.
"I told them not to touch you." The detective speaks simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and to the detective it probably was.
"What? Wait...Why?" The doctor questions, rambling.
"You reacted badly to touch, you did in the alleyway and when the nurses would touch you." Sherlock says looking at John. John nods distantly. "You had multiple episodes. The doctors didn't know what to think." Sherlock remarks.
"Idiots." John chuckles.
"Well, they aren't necessarily equip to deal with...this." John says gesturing to his brain. Sherlock nods.
"A brain specialist came in and touched you. You freaked out, they had to sedate you." Sherlock says, looking away from John. An image of himself writhing and screaming filled his mind. Sherlock witnessed this episode, John can feel the worry, distress, and panic radiate from the image.
"I'm sorry," John mumbles quietly,
"It was that man who did it." Sherlock spits out with disgust. "After that, nobody was allowed to touch you."
"How did you manage that?" John questions curiously.
"Turns out Mycroft has hospital acquaintances. A threat from him and the nurses complied rather quickly." Sherlock answers with his brows knit, as if the thought of Mycroft helping reeked.
"That must have hurt, to ask for help." John chuckles lightly. Sherlock shrugs.
"You are worth it."
John's cheek blush scarlet, an involuntary reaction. Two proclamations of caring in one day, it is a good day.
"Wait, was the specialist balding?" John asks suddenly remembering the murder.
"Yes. He was having an affair and his wife recently left him." Sherlock shrugs complacently, a slight smile on his face. John raises an eyebrow in the detective's direction. "Oh come, you should be used to it by now."
John snorts. "Hmph, martial problems to the extreme. He murdered his wife... Or his mistress. Whichever one is the brunette." Sherlock's eyes widen.
"The mistress, there is always something." Sherlock mutters.
"Wait, how do you know? Did you read his mind? What was it like? How did you do it?" Sherlock asks his eyes wide, practically bouncing up and down in excitement.
"Calm down." John scolds, holding his hands up in defense.
"John." Sherlock whines in his head.
The door opens and a doctor walks in. John recognises him from the man he saw graduate while unconscious.
"Hello Doctor, I'm Dr. Marsh." John nods and smiles. Sherlock flails back and sighs theatrically, his arms jutted out and legs straight. He looks ridiculous, but John chooses to ignore the petulant man-child.
"When can I go home?" John questions immediately, ignoring formalities.
"Dr. Watson, you've been unconscious for a day and there is no excuse or reason for it." Dr. Marsh explains plainly.
"There is nothing wrong with me, Doctor." John remarks. "No external damage, abrasions, lacerations or internal bleeding. The nosebleed was extravagant, yes, but not uncommon for me." The doctor prattles, he just wants to go home to his tea and his own bed.
"Dull."
"Still, none of it explains the fact that you were unconscious and remained unconscious." The portly man in front of him says confidently.
John sighs and glances over at Sherlock. The detective is staring at the ceiling, completely bored with the conversation.
"And I'm sure you've run MRIs and cat scans and they found nothing." John continues, this time more firmly. Dr. Marsh nods, his face already defeated. "This isn't a rarity for me, and it's something I'm used to." John adds looking into Dr. Marsh's eyes. "There is nothing to worry about and I'm sure you could use the bed."
The portly man sighs in resignation.
T"I'll get the discharge papers." Dr. Marsh remarks.
"Thank you doctor." John states as the man leaves the room.
"Jesus."
"John will do just fine." The telepath says chuckling.
"That's not fair." Sherlock snorts, not moving from his dramatic pose. John glances at the detective and then lets his eyes dart lazily around the room, the pair of them resting in a comfortable silence.
"Am I ever going to find out?" Sherlock asks after several minutes, he takes slow and lazy movements and eventually sits up in his chair. "Or are you just going to make me guess?"
"You never guess." John says in mock appall.
Sherlock huffs and keeps his thoughts quiet.
"I'll tell you, once we are back at the flat." John smiles. "I want to leave."
Sherlock beams back at him.
"You know, I really am glad you are all right, John." Sherlock states sheepishly.
The doctor nods pleasantly. "Me too, Sherlock. Me too."