Anote: Inspired by lyricalsinger's current sick fic

Chapter 18-

They had been inseparable since the incident. To be out of sight of each other for only a few moments, felt like something sharp slicing against John's chest. He suspected that Sherlock felt about the same, as the recovering detective took to relentlessly tracking his movements around the room with his eyes.

Moriarty.

How could one man turn their lives upside down like this?

Fortunately though, they had a slightly tipsy D.I to fuss with, and it was a most welcome distraction to the residents of Baker Street.

Between the two of them, they managed to get the older man up the stairs and into a quick shower. Settling the man in one of Sherlock's faded sweats, Lestrade was well on his way to dreamland in Sherlock's comfortable bed when he suddenly woke up, and grabbed hold of said owner's front with a ferocious strength that surprised the flat mates.

'He's a bad person,' the man whispered, 'bad. Do you hear me?'

Sherlock exchanged a tense glance with John. In his mind's eye he could remember the look of utter revulsion on James' face, every time John's name was mentioned. He had no doubt that the man would push John infront of a moving train, if the opportunity presented itself.

'I know,' he murmured reassuringly.

'Don't leave the flat!' the Inspector warned him almost desperately, before his eyes rolled up and he was snoring. Sherlock stared at the man impassively for a long moment, before covering him carefully with a blanket.

Working in tandem the two flat mates then perched an emergency plastic bucket at the man's side just in case, and closed all the bedroom curtains as tightly as they could. Quietly they retreated back into the sitting room, leaving the door open so they could come quickly if the man did take sick in the middle of the night.

In the meantime, John had his hands on his hips staring at the floor, seemingly oblivious to his flat mate hovering around uncertainly.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Sherlock asked automatically.

The doctor looked at him and his eyes, normally so warm and full of affection when directed towards him, were bleak and cold.

I will take that as a no.

A sudden shriek of outrage grabbed their attention, and they hurried to their sitting room window to investigate.

'Would you put that light out?!' Mrs Hudson bellowed to the officers in the street, 'It's shining right into my bedroom! I am old lady, damn it! I have rights!'

A crash echoed down the street as the beleaguered lady pitched one of prized bins into the road, to emphasise her point.

Lights were reluctantly shut off and silence duly reigned.

The sudden re-appearance of Moriarty had made New Scotland Yard come alive, and all the related ABC agencies had quickly jumped in the fray to capture their slice of the pie. Those who were not camped out in front Baker Street, had seized a number of the football fans who had been outside the pub, to question them. However, while a third of of those questioned, did remember seeing Sherlock and another man leaning against the pub, more than ninety percent of them were prepared to swear on a stack of bibles, that the man in question was the footballer, Lionel Messi.

Indeed, Mycroft had to intervene to spring Sherlock from a lengthy round of overnight interrogation.

However, now that John had gotten over his initial horror at what had happen, he was in total agreement with Mycroft's point of view. If there was one criminal that they didn't have to worry was coming for Sherlock, it was Moriarty. In Sherlock's current state of amnesia, it would be like a big game hunter visiting a zoo for his next kill. Still, in the past, their criminal nemesis had proven to be "so changeable" and it was best not to let their guard down.

A few of Mycroft's men saw the duo peeking through the curtains and they waved in greeting.

John raised one hand to thank them for their service, but as he stepped back he crashed right into Sherlock, who was standing directly behind him, observing the street over the top of his head. For a moment they danced around on the spot, trying not fall over.

'Eeeyow! Gods, you are heavier than you look!'

'Steady on Sherlock, back off a bit. Why are you standing over me?'

It took a few seconds to get all their limbs untangled.

'Are you ready to shower?' John then unexpectedly wanted to know, looking up at him.

Again?

He had bathed twice already for the day.

Sherlock sniffed himself cautiously. 'I think I am good.'

'It will help you relax,' the other man pressed, 'here, let me help you.'

The doctor would have yanked his jersey right over his head, if he hadn't reached out and grabbed his wrist. There was something wild in John's eyes at his refusal to disrobe.

'He didn't hurt me, John,' Sherlock reassured him in sudden understanding. 'I swear to you that I am not hiding any injuries.'

'But...'

'He didn't hurt me,' Sherlock insisted again, starting to feel anxious himself as here was more evidence that James was a dangerous foe. What had Moriarty done to him in the past to make his normally steady flatmate such a wreck? 'We just talked.'

'Yeah?' John croaked out before he cleared his throat noisily. 'Did he ask you for anything?'

'He requested that I get better soon,' Sherlock deadpanned.

A small bubble of nervous laughter escaped John's lips before he could quiet it. With a little sigh, he took a few deep breaths to pull himself together as Sherlock rested both his hands on his shoulders in a most comforting gesture.

John gave him a sad smile.

This version of Sherlock was much more "touchy-feely" than his usual persona, encouraging the sharing of confidences and secrets.

'Jim enjoyed baiting you,' he confessed softly in a whisper, as if what he was saying was a terrible sinful secret. 'He liked leaving deadly puzzles for you to figure out, and he forced you to solve them. People were dying. He did bring out the best of you here...

John gently touched the other man's forehead with one finger.

'...but the worst in here.'

The doctor tapped his chest.

He felt Sherlock's hands spasm against his shoulders in concern.

'There was a moment when I thought...'

John's mind flashed back to their horrible argument in the sitting room, before he had stormed off to Sarah's. He had never felt so far away from Sherlock as he did that night. It was as though he was losing his best mate to Moriarty's sickening charisma, and all he could do was stand there and watch as Sherlock inched closer and closer to becoming the psychopath that everyone always accused him of being.

'I should shower,' the doctor muttered under his breath, and he made a unmistakable gesture with his hands indicating that the other man should follow, before realising what an odd request that was to put to one's male flatmate. John looked up with a stubborn expression, willingly Sherlock to understand that just this once, he would welcome his presence in the bath. 'Would you read to me?'

Sherlock strode passed him, entered the bathroom and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was pleased when John straightened noticeably, as though the heavy burden he was carrying on his back was lightened considerably by his easy obedience. Happily, the detective then whipped out his mobile and activated his browser to first find something good to read, and secondly to give John some privacy. But its not like the good doctor needed it as he leisurely stripped with all the nudity shyness of a man, who had lived in barracks for months at a time.

With a twitch of the curtains and twist of the shower handle, John stepped into a most welcome hot bath.

Without even fully thinking about though, Sherlock's fingers of their own accord re-checked John's blog for the fifth time, ever since he had found out about its existence. And like the other four times he had checked, the blog was temporarily suspended.

One or two hours may have been explainable, but not an entire day now! Considering what had happened tonight, he felt it was even more imperative for him to recover his memory, as soon as possible.

'I am not hearing any reading,' the ex- army captain complained. 'What are you doing out there?'

'John, did you put a block on your blog?'

Silence came from behind the curtain, and Sherlock tilted his head wondering if his partner was about to lie to him.

'Yeah, I did,' John admitted, 'don't be angry. Some of it is a bit gory. Molly told me you had some trouble in autopsy.'

The detective gave their rubber ducky printed shower curtain a hard stare, 'I am not made of glass, John! If it gets to be too much, I can switch it off!'

Sherlock shook his head. No wonder people thought they were a couple. Was he this overbearingly protective when he was in his right mind?

'One more night,' Sherlock warned, 'if my memory doesn't return by morning, you are unlocking this website so I can read it!'

'How about we read it together?' was the doctor's gentle compromise.

'Fine!' he snapped out with such characteristic heat that it made John grin.

Sherlock found a tourist website about England and began reading out loud, hoping the colourful descriptions of cliffs and beaches, and driving through the idyllic countrysides would ease the mind of his friend, as well as the hot water was hopefully soothing his muscles.