John moved out of the way as he watched the detective walk out, eyes wide as if he didn't know where he was, which he probably didn't. He had a hand to his head and looked to be in pain. John figured that he was suffering from a headache. Hopefully it wasn't anything serious. He walked right past John and found himself in the kitchen, standing there. John sighed and followed after him.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay? Do you need something?"

Sherlock broke their staring and closed his eyes and winced as his hand pressed onto his head. John crossed his arms; maybe it was a headache veering on migraine. Sherlock has had them before but they were rare and they weren't as painful as a migraine usually is. But this time he looked to be in serious pain.

"Head…hurts…"

John's brows furrowed, and he moved to touch Sherlock, who pulled away from his impending touch almost instantly. John's hand remained in mid motion as he took in Sherlock's gesture. He supposed that while Sherlock was talking to John, he wasn't fully comfortable being there, and John could understand that. John started walked to the bathroom and retrieved the bottle of Aspirin that he bought just in case of an emergency and made his way back over to the ailing man. He popped the bottle open and then took two pills out from it.

"Here, for your headache."

Sherlock squinted at the two white tablets in John's hand and then took them and swallowed it in one swift motion.

"Why don't you go take a seat? I'll go ahead and make you a cuppa."

Sherlock gave John an unsure look but listened to him and sat down on his armchair. John watched him for a few extra minutes before he filled the kettle up with water. While it was boiling, he walked over to his chair and sat and stared intently at the man who looked so lost. At times it looked like he was trying to remember but then that spark in his eyes, the one that John loved so much, just vanished. He rested a hand under his elbow as he waited for Sherlock to say something, but apparently, there was nothing to be said. Sherlock can be such an introvert at times.

John was startled by the whistling of the kettle and quickly shot up to stop it, as it didn't help Sherlock's condition any. As John prepared the tea, just the way Sherlock liked it; he couldn't stop thinking about how long it would be until someone else found out about Sherlock's body. Mrs. Hudson was starting to get suspicious and would start snooping around pretty soon. He hasn't heard from Molly or Lestrade in a while, but he knew they would turn up eventually. John wouldn't even begin to think about what Mycroft was up to at his place, if he was anything like Sherlock, if not worse; then he would be conniving to do something that wasn't going to be beneficial to anybody but himself and his little brother, but more so him.

The tea was finally done and so John slowly brought it over to Sherlock, who took it without looking at John. The doctor wished that he would look at him the way he used to, before the accident. Sherlock stared at the reddish liquid for a while until he took a sip, and then continued staring.

"Is something wrong?"

"Is this…is this how I drink my tea? I mean all the time not just right now."

John felt his mouth slowly moving downward at the question but he had to get used to them because there was going to be a lot more where that came from.

"Yes, Sherlock, this is how you like your tea, with two sugars and a bit of cream."

Sherlock seemed to be focused on his tea and continued taking small sips out of it. John moved to drink his own tea and immediately spit it back into the cup, as he forgot that it grew cold after not being touched for so long. He wasn't in the mood for iced tea at the moment. He set the cup back down and then turned his focus right back to Sherlock, who seemed to be recovering from the headache he had earlier.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you have that headache earlier?"

"No reason."

John rolled his eyes.

"Are you sure? It looked like it was genuinely painful?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

John wanted to press him further but he realized that he wasn't as comfortable around John as he normally was, because this was a special situation. He just sat back in his chair and focused on the show that was on, which he didn't much care for.

"If I tell you, can you promise not to…overreact?"

John looked around and then slowly said, "Yes….?"

Sherlock set his tea cup down and then started to explain.

"Last night, while I was sleeping, I…dreamed something."

John was immediately interested in what the dream was he leaned forward and pressed his elbows on his thighs as he listened to Sherlock.

"What kind of dream?"

Sherlock looked like a child talking to his therapist for the first time. His head hung, and the arm that wasn't in the cast was moving about on his lap so he wouldn't have to gaze into John's eyes.

"It's hard to explain. All I saw were…flashes of….something."

John mentally sighed, as much as he hated therapy with Ella; he seemed to be in her position at the moment with his friend.

"Can you…explain these flashes?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"That's the thing, I can't. I only see…flashes."

A moment of silence passes before he speaks again.

"And then before I woke up, I thought I heard your voice, saying something to me."

John's eyebrow rose.

"What did "I" say, Sherlock?"

"I told you, I don't know!" He was getting impatient. John gave him a moment to cool off and then continue explaining.

"I could barely make out what you were saying, but you sounded so…sad…"

John couldn't believe this. Was Sherlock actually trying to remember, or was it just a subconscious attempt at a memory. Maybe Sherlock was only dreaming, and just confusing it with real life. John won't know, but he hoped to find out. The conversation quickly ended when Sherlock picked his tea back up and started sipping from it again.

"Is that why you got your headache?"

Sherlock didn't answer and John simply let him be and returned to the telly.