Author's Note: Hello and thank everyone for continuing to read this fic, kudos to everyone!
I own nothing.
Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open, his irises immediately latched onto me, pinning me in a piercing glare.
"Ah, he awakes," Vastra remarked needlessly.
"Oh god it's real!" the freshly conscious genius choked out, his words garbled and twisted.
"What? Yes it's real, now come to grips young man before I bring in the sedatives!" she exclaimed, offended by my friends insensitivity.
"God, Madame Vastra I'm so, so sorry about him. He prides himself on being a master of logic and really can't handle this right now," I explained apologetically.
"We understand, the brains of men these days are so puny and narrow I can hardly stand it," the green skinned woman chided.
"Oh yes, we have to live with Strax. He's one heck of a half-wit," Jenny commented, pulling a syringe from a nearby box.
"W-w-what are you doing with that?" Sherlock muttered fearfully, as Jenny approached his with the syringe.
"Don't worry, I developed the drug myself with some help from Pasteur, it will help you cope, it eases the activity in your cerebellum and lets you except information much easier, you'll only be out ten minutes," Jenny stated calmly, inserting the syringe into my flatmate's arm and pushing down the plunger.
"Uh-AH! What is that!? I can't think! Oh God…" Sherlock trailed off, grabbing Jenny's wrists, "My brain can't slow down, I need it fast, I need it, I need, I-I need-" and he slumped back into unconsciousness.
"Will he be okay? His brain isn't exactly average," I worried, glancing down at the dozing detective.
"Oh yes, it works fine on basically everyone we've tried it on, non-humans, well, that's a tale for another time," Vastra assured, removing the lacy gloves from her hands.
"Oh good, he really is a genius and he hates it when he can't think straight."
"It really is going to be alright, though…" Jenny started, casting me a concerned look.
"Though," I repeated cautiously.
"Has he had a history of, well, did he ever do, was he ever like, addicted to anything?" the alien woman inquired, standing up.
"Er, in Uni he did cocaine, and he has had a recent infatuation with anything nicotine related, but he's been clean for a month or so."
"Then the complications won't be too severe," Jenny confirmed, checking his pulse a last time.
"What complications!?" I demanded.
"The drug reacts negatively to large amounts of illicit substances, but since all remaining traces of cocaine and most of the nicotine has been filtered out, so he will just be a bit loopy upon awakening for about an hour," Vastra explained, pulling Jenny out of the tent along with her.
"Well goodbye then," I grumbled, returning my attention to my friend.
After about five minutes, I checked my watch, knowing that Sherlock should be waking up soon and apparently out of his mind.
Feeling the smallest bit empowered, I stared down at him knowing I wouldn't be scolded or scorned. I took in the sweet Cupid's bow of his lips. The long, thin, graceful turn of his nose. The feathery, silken locks of hair falling over his alabaster skin.
"John?" he croaked, shaking me from my reverie.
"Oh, er, yes Sherlock?"
"Staring, me, why?" he slurred, gray-green eyes rolling back in his head.
"I dunno'," I answered lamely.
"Wha'e'er, can I geh up?" Sherlock attempted to heave himself into a sitting position. When he failed and fell back onto the makeshift cot, he giggled. Sherlock. Holmes. Giggled. Like a freaking schoolgirl.
"Apparently not," I remarked, snaking my arm around his waist and heaving him to his feet.
"Whoa there, I'm fragile John. Don' break me," he curled his fingers round my shirt collar.
"I wouldn't dare," I replied, smirking.
"Good, good," he yawned widely, "Too bad Mary gotchya' first."
I rolled my eyes good naturedly.
"Wha' amuses you so my sweet blogger?" the detective queried, effectively making me blush.
"Just déjà vu I guess…" I trailed off, sad that I was indeed going to have to go through this charade again and somehow break it off for my wife.
"Hmm, I do no' ever recall a moment similar to this one shared be'ween us John."
"Well, you wouldn't," I snapped.
"Wha' are you hiding?"
"What? Nothing Sherlock."
"Okaay. John, I, wan' you to answer me one ques'ion 'ruthfully," he breathed, clinging to my bad shoulder for stability.
"What is it mate?"
"Do'ya love me?"
Yes this one is a bit short. Don't hate me for having a busy schedule.