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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This story was originally completed in March 2016 but I am currently doing an overhaul, and it resulted in a different chapter arrangement and quantity.

Therefore now there are new chapters.

If you are a follower or have read this story completely before, there will probably be not much new about it than improvised grammar and better spelling.

Sorry.

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If you just are just starting to read this:

This won't make a lot of sense because this is the second part of a two part story. You need to read the first part first, which can be found in my profile under the title 'Lessons in Friendship 8 – Vulnerability'.

The first part is about John slowly finding out about the traumatic things that have happened to Sherlock in his time away. Meanwhile Sherlock's issues worsen and a new case adds to the problems with flashbacks and distress.

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For those who don't want to read the first part:

Here is a short summary (don't read if you plan to actually read the story because it will spoil it – seriously!)

Short summary of the first story: The story starts about a week after the events of 'The Empty Hearse'. Sherlock's health and mind is affected by his time away and John's reaction to his return.

John slowly figures out what had happened in Serbia and after being totally shocked by what he learns is now doing his best to help Sherlock recover.

Simultaneously they are trying to solve a case, which in the beginning was meant to be a good distraction for the detective from his own problems, but the case facts are dark and Sherlock is repeatedly surprised badly by the memories that haunt him.

John has stayed over at 221b for two weeks since Mary is away for further education. Sherlock struggles hard with his own weakness and suffered panic and distress, he also has a hard time opening up to John again but they are beginning to manage. John even guides Sherlock through restoring the damaged mind palace, his own experience with PTSD helping him understanding what Sherlock is going through.

I recommend you read the first part of the story to really know what's happening, because I am really bad at summarizing things.

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Chapter 35

Thursday

Sherlock entered the kitchen through the hallway door and placed a grocery bag on the table.

The doctor looked up at him and tried to sound casual when he asked "Fancy some tea?" Sherlock looked away and returned to the hall to hang up his coat. John had caught a glimpse of his face and Sherlock still looked awful. His eyes were swollen and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days, but at least he was clean shaven and dressed in his suit.

"Yes," the detective answered, it was barely more than a breath.

When John entered the living room with the tea, the detective had changed into his pyjamas and a dressing gown and sat on the couch with the violin in his lap.

Several pieces of equipment and some tools were spread on the table, together with what looked like new strings and a bundle of new hairs for the bow. But the funniest thing was a miniature vice, a comb and something that looked like an antique alcohol lamp.

John put the mug down in front of Sherlock and sat on the nearest chair to watch him.

The detective gently and slowly started to install the new chord, John could see now that the obstruction due to the stiff hands was quite profound when it came to fine motor skills necessary for this task.

"What?" Sherlock asked and John realised he might be staring.

"Er, nothing, I've just… never seen you do this. What is that?"

He pointed towards an object Sherlock had just picked up from the table. Partially to end the heavy silence and partially to show Sherlock he was neither angry nor staring at his hands.

"Fine tuner."

John continued to ask, and listened to Sherlock's explanations while the other man finished stringing and tuning the chords.

Then he put the violin away and started unpacking the new bundle of hair for the bow.

It took quite some time and it was a lot of work to remove the old horsehair and prepare the new bundle. Looked more like an operation than a repair.

The fact that Sherlock's fingers weren't up to the delicate work was making it hard to watch. But the musician was patient and although some tasks needed five or six tries he managed most of it.

John wondered if asking him if he could help would be good but then decided this was a ritual Sherlock needed to do alone.

It was like a healing ritual, taking care of the instrument.

A tiny object at the top of the bow held the bundle of hair in place, and it needed to be pressed into a space made for it. When Sherlock tried to push it and the hairs in, he dropped it twice, then tried with tweezers, and dropped the tweezers three times.

When John looked at his face it showed resignation, but he tried again, but the tweezers fell again.

Sherlock closed his eyes, he seemed to be waiting for a better idea how to do this, but then it turned into irritation and… shame?

John didn't dare to say anything.

Sherlock didn't move for several seconds, was just pressing his lips together into a line and John was sure he was trying to control his frustration. Then suddenly his eyes jerked open and he held out the small wooden square to John.

"You're a surgeon; you are skilled to assist with this. Put that in there."

John was so perplexed he needed a moment to blink.

"Today, if convenient."

The doctor chuckled.

John took the tiny piece of wood and moved over to do the procedure, he was in awe about the trust he was given.

But he did no more than what Sherlock told him, still not wanting to take over a too much active role in this.

Sherlock needed some confirmation that he was capable after all, his own state was getting to him enough. Everything that proved he was capable or showed he doing good was desperately needed.

Since the case was progressing extremely slow and John feared this was perceived as fails by the detective, he assumed it was really putting a strain on Sherlock's patience that his transport was malfunctioning, too. The doctor returned to his former place at the other side of the table.

Sherlock managed the rest almost on his own, using the tweezers and it seemed his fingers were less stiff after the lengthy task was done.

Two hours later the detective stored the bow away and picked up a black rubber object that looked like a large bulky comb with only five large fingers and placed it over the strings of the violin.

"What's that?"

"Mute."

"What?… Why didn't you use that before, especially at nighttimes?"

"I did. But the old one was not as potent as this one will be… And I used it for an experiment a while ago… it's broken. Nevertheless, its effect is not as profound as one might hope, at least my parents where disappointed when I started to learn the violin."

John smiled at him, although the information was delivered in a completely dry tone.

"So you've been shopping violin equipment?"

"Obviously. Music store… nice one."

"You've been at the music store for over two hours?"

"Yes. It's a large store with a variety of…"

"You've been nowhere else?"

"Grocery store… Are you finished interrogating me?"

"Sorry. I was worried. Please just leave a note next time."

"Oh, right," Sherlock agreed and stored the violin in her case without playing.

"You are not playing? Trying out the new stuff?"

"No… Try not to ask the obvious so much, would you? It's exhausting," Sherlock informed him, but his inflexion was without spite. He fetched his tea, which must be cold by now, he sipped it without reacting to that inconvenience.

"Can we use your car again tonight?"

"Now you're asking the obvious… I mean sure… It won't go anywhere without me… or are you're trying to practise manners again?" John wanted to know in a slightly mocking tone and smiled at him again.

"Yes," the other man simply answered, then moved to the dinner table, booted his laptop and started typing in silence.

John hesitated a moment before he returned to the kitchen to do some more cleaning up.

The doctor in him decided that he needed to find out a bit more about last night. So, when they sat in the car later, observing the flat in the middle of the night, he asked.

"Sherlock, tell me about the violin."

They had already talked about the case, all kind of nonsense (like Anderson's new look) and run out of small talk topics.

"What about the violin?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want to know from you, so tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Hey, it's me… I want to know why you haven't played any of the lovely pieces you usually play. I assume you haven't played before I stayed over, either… and I want to know why it…" He stopped himself in the last moment before saying 'freaked you out' "…why it stressed you when I touched her some days ago."

"It's okay for you to touch her… and I just didn't feel like playing."

"I don't believe you," John stated plainly, in a calm and kind voice.

Sherlock's posture screamed 'uneasy' and tense, even more than he already was these days.

"Stop nagging me with this nonsense, I need to think!"

Now, that was definitely a virtual door in John's face. Sherlock had opened up about so much recently but this was clearly a very massive door or a very sore spot.

John decided to do some more careful prodding nevertheless.

"Was it something I did?" John asked carefully, now wondering for the first time if it had something to do with him. It was absurd, but he had to start somewhere.

Sherlock continued to stare out of the window into the dark. Either he was ignoring him or that was a 'yes'.

John frowned.

"Whatever I did, I am sorry," he said.

That got Sherlock's attention and when he looked sideways briefly John could see the distress and something more accrue in his eyes.

Shit, he had done something wrong. It hadn't occurred to him, he had just asked that because it was the most likely to get a response, blaming the wrong person.

"Shut up," Sherlock's voice had a warning undertone and he fumbled for his mobile immediately, maybe to appear busy.

Frowning, John considered again if provoking him with this to find out what was actually wrong was a good idea.

Could it really be related to something he had done? What had he done? Sherlock would have told him it was nonsense if it wasn't his fault.

With his mouth slightly open in speechless shock about this insight, John reached for Sherlock's mobile and slowly blocked the screen with his fingers.

"Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk, let me work."

"What did I do, Sherlock?"

The detective let the phone sink and John flinched back when he saw the clenched jaw and the boiling anger in Sherlock's eyes.

"Nothing!" The detective hissed between clenched teeth.

"Your face says something else. Talk to me, I want to know if I hurt you. I want this friendship to work again, and that means I need to know what I did wrong, come on."

Sherlock undid his seatbelt.

"Stay here! Stop running away!"

He gripped Sherlock's arm, not with force.

When he heard Sherlock's surprised gasp he let go immediately, not sure what it meant.

Sherlock threw the manila folder with the paper evidence through the gap between the seats and the papers flew through the interior of the car. There'd probably have been shards if they had been at 221b right now.

John frowned.

Sherlock was frustrated and angry! He had done dramatic things like this before, but John had never felt this sizzling agitation radiating off him. And the most dangerous thing was the absolutely emotionless mask on Sherlock's face.

Whenever his former flatmate had done things like this before he had displayed exaggerated mimics about something, and John couldn't remember an incident ever before when the detective had been really angry at him.

Sherlock didn't direct anger at him… he didn't vent like that. He expressed frustration or was unnerved, but not like this.

"I do not wish to talk," Sherlock pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sounding desperate now.

John carefully touched his upper right arm again.

The fact that Sherlock had not yet run away signalled something… He would have done that in the past.

"Tell me… please. I need to know if I hurt you… I don't want it to happen again."

The detective gulped and John saw the tension building, the other man was like a statue, staring blindly ahead.

Then he blinked and John saw something change… Sherlock gave up the fight.

"Bed, gun, violin," Sherlock whispered.

John closed his eyes.

Only minutes before he was just poking, trying to find out what was wrong, and now it was clear he was part of the problem, he was kind of shocked.

Distantly he had seen it coming, he had feared the fact that Sherlock knew about the event would come up again, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, horrified that the Sherlock had seen it.

And now this was involved in the problem? But what was it that hurt the other man so much about it?

On one hand he was ashamed to know others had seen him so shattered and broken in the weeks after the fall, in such a private moment, on the other hand still felt the shadows of the despair, the grief still so very present. It was his right to be angry about the breach of privacy, not Sherlock's.

But maybe this wasn't anger, Sherlock didn't do anger.

"Okay…" John needed a moment to steel himself for this topic.

"What is it? Are you angry I touched her, or that I was in your bed or what?" John whispered back.

"She witnessed…" Sherlock started, his tone agitated.

Shit, yes, she did… as did Sherlock, though a long time later… as did Mycroft, maybe even directly when it was happening… half the fucking world seemed to have seen that.

Where was the bloody point?

Was it because he had considered ending his hurt?

Sherlock had no right to criticise that, not after making John think he had taken his own life, making him witness it. He had no right to judge it, nor John's desperation and exhaustion.

John bit back a comment about that line of thoughts.

"…she was there and I wasn't," Sherlock finished the sentence, but now his tone was barely a whisper.

The meaning of this simple statement hit John like a brick wall. It changed the angle of viewing the problem immediately.

It made John's breath get stuck when within seconds he went through a whole pile of emotions.

First relief about not really having done something wrong.

Then shame because he had considered ending it all.

Then understanding that wasn't the problem right now.

Then sympathy for he knew how helpless Sherlock must have felt.

…and then surprise that Sherlock was feeling like this.

…and finally he felt loved in a very platonic but intense way.

They sat in silence for almost a minute, John fighting to regain his composure, glad Sherlock was still staring blindly through the windscreen.

"That…" he cleared his throat, "That harmed you?" he asked carefully.

Sherlock didn't answer, but there was no need, it was quite obvious.

This was the clearest sign of remorse Sherlock had shown about the whole affair yet, and there was so much hurt and regret pouring out of him right now, it affected John. He felt run down, not only by Sherlock's, but by his own emotions about that insight in his friend's sentiments.

He joined him staring out of the front window.

Although he was completely motionless, Sherlock's emotions were all over the place.

It took another minute before John managed to find words again. He decided not to comment on that and to redirect the topic.

"Her silence hurt me… Still hurts me… I miss her voice."

"I'm… sorry I wasn't there…" Sherlock admitted and returned to the issue.

"What?"

Sherlock was angry at himself for not being there?

"I'm sorry," Sherlock repeated.

"Okay," John didn't know what else to say, it had robbed him of his speech.

And then another wave of emotions flooded his mind, it brought back how he had felt when he had been on Sherlock's bed, all the memories of the situation, and he realised the grief from back then was still very present, he was just speechless with the complexity and the sheer amount of different feelings.

He had not seen this coming.

So the detective was not angry at him, but at himself and she reminded him of his misjudgement?

John suddenly felt the need to apologise for considering the easy way out and for having her with him then.

When Sherlock was lost for words, too, John finally tried.

"I almost took the reason away that made you do everything you did… I'd understand if you were mad because I considered it. I was mad at you, too, you know, for choosing the easy way out… I was so very mad and angry and hurt, Sherlock… Why aren't you angry at me?"

John still had one hand on Sherlock's sleeve and felt how the other man started to tremble.

"I don't deserve to be granted anger," he mumbled.

"Er… Sherlock, anger is something you feel, not something you are allowed to have or are given permission to have."

What was this about? Had Sherlock just changed topics? This statement was a bit bizarre.

"Do you also think you don't deserve her comfort?"

Sherlock kept quiet.

"Are you punishing yourself by not playing her?"

Sherlock was starting to shiver now.

Shit….

"Easy… Hey, come on."

The doctor had been relieved that Sherlock seemed not to be angry at him, but this little fact made him wonder if he was but didn't understood it, yet.

Still kind of in shock? Sherlock angry at himself could be far worse than at John.

John needed to work this out later, right now it was necessary to change topics, this was not the right moment to head into more severe distress.

"You deserve her comfort, as did I when I had her keep me company. You are hurt enough, Sherlock, don't hurt yourself even more by denying you the few things that actually could help you feel better," John finished the subject.

He knew he should say more, should provide comfort and encourage Sherlock, help him understand it was not the right way. But he was stricken by this, his mind blank and overwhelmed. He needed to let this sink in. If he tried to fix this now, it would backfire.

"Close your coat, it's cold… Here…"

Showing he cared was something subtle he could do, so he did. He held out a bottle of isotonic drink he had bought at a petrol station before.

"You need some sugar."

"No, give me that stuff with caffeine," Sherlock demanded in a tone that did not fit the message at all. He sounded small and exhausted and it was more like a plea.

The doctor handed over the bottle of energy drink, at least it had added artificial vitamins and stuff.

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The rest of the night passed slowly and although John carefully tried to be as cheerful as possible and do light conversation about neutral topics, the atmosphere was leaden.

When dawn started to paint the sky grey Sherlock suggested John to sleep a bit because he planned to stay another four hours… or maybe the whole day.

John tried to argue but understood that the cloak of normal-day activity would be useful if the suspect tried to inspect her flat alone before bringing the victim back here.

But if he did, how would they recognise him?

But Sherlock was deaf to that argument and insisted to stay.

They moved the car several times and none of them managed to actually sleep.

At about ten in the morning, when John wondered how they could manage to do this for another twenty-four hours, Lestrade called.

"Yes?" Sherlock answered, "No… we don't need… yes… I'm not…No.… Fine."

His voice had become unnerved towards the last utterances. He hung up.

"What happened?" John wanted to know.

"The other case they have is almost solved and they now need to wait for results and interview the suspect. He and Donovan will do the surveillance until six o'clock so we can get some sleep."

"Oh, that's good."

"No, it's not. But I understand why I have to let them take over for a bit."

"Really?"

But Sherlock didn't elaborate, probably Greg had found a way to kick his ass when he tried to reject the offer for relieving them.

They waited and some time later Greg entered their car in the back to get an update.

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Half an hour later they were back in the flat and John convinced Sherlock that this was the right time to remove the stitches.

It was only a matter of a few seconds and after Sherlock obediently let him do his work John headed upstairs.

The doctor was really tired, he fell into his bed, totally spend, but to wired to sleep as he discovered soon.

He texted Mary and listened to Sherlock rummaging around in the kitchen, clinging beakers against each other and using the Bunsen burner, if the hissing noise was any indication. What the hell was he experimenting with? There was nothing from the case that needed testing or that he had taken home.

Some hours later John resurfaced from an odd dream and turned onto his other side trying to get back to sleep.

Sherlock was still making everyday common noises downstairs, at least what was common for him, now he seemed to be typing.

The silent rhythmic clattering of the laptop keys lulled John back into sleep.

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A/N:

Thank you for reading :)

I'd be delighted to hear what readers think about this.