Lesson in Friendship 8 - Vulnerability

Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

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Thanks to all the great and kind readers who take their time to read my stories and leave kudos or a comment for me.

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Chapter 34

Wednesday

Half an hour later John's mobile rang. Sherlock's playing had intensified and he felt like watching a desperately crying child without being able to provide comfort or protect it.

He felt the need to go down there and hug Sherlock but that would probably be the worst thing he could do.

He picked up the phone.

"John?" Mrs Hudson asked, "Where are you?"

Her voice was trembling a bit.

"In my room, upstairs."

"I… Can you hear him?"

"Yes, of course, I know, it sounds dreadful."

"Shouldn't we do something?… I mean I tried, but he kicked the door close in my face without speaking to me."

"Shit, are you okay? I mean did the door hit you?"

"No, no, I was still outside in the hall… but… this is so sad. I can't stand it. Can't you do something?"

"Er… to be honest I think he needs to get this out of his system, it would do him good to vent until he's finished, maybe then I can try to pick up the pieces, but right now I'd prefer not to interfere."

"Oh, dear… he's hurting, isn't he?"

"Well, yeah, but don't tell him… and don't pity him."

"I won't, I won't… but…"

"How about you get out of the house for a bit?"

"What if… the neighbours…"

"I'll deal with them, just get some peace and quiet, we don't know how long this might take. I'll watch him."

"Okay, I wish I could do something…"

"You can't. He wouldn't let you."

"I wanted to play bridge tonight, anyway. Good luck, dear."

"Ta. See you," John hung up and blew out air slowly.

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The ominous sounds continued for the next two and a bit awful hours, uninterrupted and varying in intensity.

John's nerves were a bit raw when they finally slowed down.

He had fought his own emotions and desperation during those hours and the mood was heavy on him, too.

Trying to read and answer mails had passed the time, and he had called Mary.

The urge to comfort his former flatmate was like something burning inside him, he felt so helpless… it was difficult that he couldn't do anything, although - as a doctor - he of course knew the feeling.

When the sounds finally first calmed and then stopped altogether John waited another half hour before he carefully tiptoed down the stairs.

The sight that greeted him was more chaotic than he had expected.

He stopped in the open door, hand on the doorknob.

The light was dim and only the standard lamp next to the armchairs was providing a bit of illumination.

Evidence pictures from the case that had been neatly pinned to the wall were hanging awry and several were damaged on the floor, as were papers and other stuff that was usually on the shelves.

There were also pillows on the floor and the room looked as if it had ransacked, though John was sure Sherlock had thrown or kicked things and made the chaos himself in his frustration.

The detective was sitting on the couch now, leaned sideways against the backrest, his back to John. One foot was on the ground and one leg folded under him. His head was also leaning sideways against the backrest.

He looked as if he had collapsed there after working himself into exhaustion.

John picked up some pillows and then rounded the coffee table to see his face.

Sherlock didn't react to his presence and the doctor switched on the standard lamp under the smiley, then sat down on the table next to the exhausted man.

Sherlock's eyes were closed but his breathing was laboured. He had the violin in his lab, the scroll leaned against his left shoulder, and was a bit curled around it, as if protecting it - her. The hand with the bow hung loosely down his side, the tip of the stick touched the ground limply.

John took in that picture.

Both, the violin and Sherlock looked spent and damaged… hurt even.

One chord was torn and the hairs of the bow were frazzled… Sherlock's own hair was a mess, too. His blue dressing gown now showed two lacerations on the front; a long fine bloody streak on the side of Sherlock's face made John frown.

"Sherlock?" he whispered.

He was not sure how to proceed. This was unknown territory and felt delicate.

Gently, he reached for Sherlock's hand… the one holding the bow.

Then he carefully pried open the other man's fingers and took the thing from him. He had it in the wrong hand, his left, usually he held it with his right.

The detective didn't resist but he was not limp at all.

John leaned forward to get a glimpse at Sherlock's face, which was hidden by the lowered head and his messy hair.

"Sherlock… I want you to lie down," he told him and slowly started guiding his shoulders backwards.

Sherlock didn't resist the movement and leaned back, taking the violin with him by his right wrapped around her neck.

He seemed not to care what was happening to his transport, he was just passive.

John fetched a blanket.

"I want to put the violin on the table, okay?"

When John gently lifted the detective's hand that held her to his chest, he met a short moment of resistance, but then the other man let go.

Sherlock felt warm.

With great care the doctor placed the instrument in the case on the dinner table, then covered Sherlock with the blanket and sat down again.

He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's wrist to feel his pulse once more. The beat was thready and the exhausted man still hadn't reacted to the touch.

John took the hand in his and stretched out the violinist's fingers, with his own flat hand, they followed with more resistance than he liked and when he let them go they also took longer to curl back than they should.

Had Sherlock damaged his right hand during his time away? Why hadn't he seen this before? Sherlock was so damn good at hiding things.

The doctor took a closer look and very slowly uncurled and carefully examined both hands and every single digit. Two of the smaller bones had bumps that indicated they had been broken recently, but over five months ago. They where healing well, but John could feel a general stiffness in both hands.

Then he continued examining his flatmate in a more over all way. He rested the back of his own hand against Sherlock's cheek, it felt like a light fever and Sherlock's face was quite pale, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than before… even his bones were looking sharper, but that was probably because he was so thin at the moment.

Sherlock's expression was an emotionless mask, not showing anything. He was not asleep but not present either, or he was just surrendering to the doctor's administrations.

John decided to provide company and wait what would happen; he headed towards the kitchen.

He prepared a toast and fresh tea which he ate leaning against his armchair with the plate in his hand. His diet had definitely worsened in the past two weeks.

Half of his toast was gone when he heard Sherlock's breathing change to the slower and deeper breaths of sleep.

He relaxed a bit, this was good, not pleasant but hopefully a step in the right direction, a step towards Sherlock's old self.

After he had finished his improvised meal he texted Mrs Hudson and told her not to come up when she came home because Sherlock was asleep.

Half an hour later he retreated into his own room with his laptop and phone.

He left the door wide open and went to bed himself.

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Thursday

When John woke in the morning it was almost eleven o'clock. He wondered briefly why his alarm hadn't woken him earlier.

Still a bit dazed by sleep he sat up and listened, the flat was quiet, suspiciously quiet.

He hurried out of the bed and headed down the stairs, pulling a jumper over his head in the process.

The living room was a mess, the same state it had been in last night, and Sherlock wasn't there.

"Sherlock?"

John headed towards the detective's bedroom, the door was wide open but there was no one in there, too.

Shit.

John ran down the stairs.

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Here," came her voice from the laundry area, two seconds later she appeared in the door.

"Have you seen Sherlock?"

"I heard him come down the stairs, but I was still in my nighty, it was before nine. When I reached the hall to greet him he was already gone."

"Great!"

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," John headed up the stairs again and she followed him.

The doctor fetched his mobile and wrote a text.

'Where are you? JW'

"Uh!" Mrs Hudson made a strained noise when she saw the mess in the room.

"What has he done?"

"It wasn't like this when you tried to speak to him last night?"

"No!… Oh, Sherlock…"

She started to pick things up from the floor and put them back where they belonged.

John decided he needed a coffee while he waited for an answer.

When the water was boiling and Sherlock hadn't answered John started to get nervous.

'If you don't tell me where you are within three minutes. I will ring Mycroft! JW'

John had barely enough time to get the coffee started when his phone broadcasted the arrival of a text.

'Purchasing.'

What choice of word was that? Why didn't he say shopping? Was he doing something illegal? Sherlock never went to stores… Well, he had last week in fact, and he had of course before when he needed something, but this was odd.

'Where? JW'

'Stop asking for thr obvious. Shop od course.'

John rolled his eyes. He felt deliberately misunderstood… and typos, no wonder Sherlock tried not to text, it must be an insult to his intellect to live with the fact that his texts weren't perfect.

But why wasn't he even trying to correct them?

John sat down at the dinner table, a bit unsure what to do.

After a moment he decided to just wait for the man to return and read the paper.

Mrs Hudson was still fetching stuff from the ground.

"You don't have to do this. Give it a rest and leave the mess for Sherlock. Sit with me for a moment. We need to talk about some things."

She made a huffing noise, as if saying 'good luck with that' but said nothing.

When she had sat down and John had fetched some toast, jam and coffee, he carefully explained the situation to her and why they needed to keep an eye on the detective and how.

He didn't give her any details, but when she asked - and she asked a lot, and even the 'right' questions - John answered truthfully but tried to soften the whole thing a bit.

Nevertheless she had tears in her eyes when she understood what had happened during the past week.

John asked her to keep an eye on the detective in the upcoming week when he had to go to work and instructed her to call him immediately how to act should Sherlock have something like a panic attack or was behaving strange. She agreed and then obviously needed to do something to keep herself busy and started to clean up again. John had finished his breakfast and helped her with it.

The violin was now in the open case on the coffee table and he picked her up.

The torn chord was gone. The bow was also on the table, the ripped hair a mess around it. The violin itself looked fine. No harm done. No scores or cracks, she looked like always.

His phone chirped and he put her back into the case.

'Need milk? Back im 20.'

Well, that was actually kind.

A bit confused John stood up and checked the fridge.

'Yes, milk, toast and sugar would be nice. Thank you. JW' He texted back.

Mrs Hudson had gone back to her laundry and he had roughly cleaned up the living room when John heard the front door unlock.

The former army doctor went to the kitchen to put the kettle on once more, deciding that making a scene about the fright Sherlock's absence had given him was not the right option after last night.

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A/N:

The next chapter is online!

I divided the story into two parts, this chapter was actually the last one of the first part and the next chapter is in a new story, which is online!

Just go to my profile and select the story 'Define vulnerability'. It will neatly continue where this one stopped.

So, I'd love to have you with me for the second part, too

What's ahead: more mind palace sessions, acts of friendship, healing and dealing with it all ahead… and the solving of the case, of course!

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If you liked this story up to this point please leave some feedback/ a review - constructive criticism welcome!

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Thank you so much, this means a lot to me.