Hey guys! Sorry it's been a bit. Somehow, I have managed to become nocturnal, which means I'm awake from 6 at night till 8 in the morning. So everything is kinda screwy, but I've managed to write this, so yeah!

This chapter was really hard to write, so enjoy!

Chapter 8

John had thought that Sherlock might be rested enough after being in the hospital for so long, but by the time they had hailed a cab, Sherlock was sound asleep, drooling on John's coat.

Realizing that he was probably still worn out from the seizure, he decided to let him sleep, but would have to wake him up when they got home. As John watched the buildings blur together, he became engrossed in his thoughts.

My life has turned into some sort of story. Why do I do all of this? I go from taking care of a child in a grown man's body to a child with a serious condition. Why didn't I make Sherlock go with Mycroft? They have been through this before. Sighing, John closed his eyes for a moment. But then they snapped open.

Because Sherlock wanted to stay with me, and I can't say no to him.

Going over all the thoughts and feelings that he had had and realizing what was happening, he looked down at the boy sleeping beside him.

Bloody hell, I have a crush on Sherlock bloody Holmes. Of course it has to be the most unfeeling man in all of London.

Looking out the window, he noticed they were about to pass the Chinese restaurant.

Our food is probably still waiting there.

"Um, excuse me. Can you drop us off here, please? Cheers." John said as the cab slowed. Getting out, John turned and carefully picked Sherlock up and rested him on his hip. John heard a small whine before he felt Sherlock's arms wrap around his neck. John couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

I have smiled at Sherlock a lot in the past few days, haven't I? John thought as he opened the door to the restaurant and walked up to the counter. He only had to wait a few moments before someone came out of the kitchen. "Hi, I'm here to pick up an order for Sherlock."

The guy smiled when he heard the name. "Yes, the famous detective! I haven't seen him in a while. How is he?"

John gave a small smile back. "He's fine. He's just taking a small holiday." John was reaching for the food when he saw the guy looking at the child in his arms curiously. He started to scramble for something to say. "Oh, this, this is my… nephew, William. He's, uumm, staying with me and Sherlock for a bit." He said, a little flustered.

The guy was still staring at Sherlock, and looked like he wanted to say something, but fortunately kept quiet.

John payed for the food and left the restaurant in a hurry, sighing in relief when they were out.

I guess we need to be a little more careful, especially since Sherlock basically looks the exact same, only in a smaller size.

Making it to 221B, he struggled to get his keys while holding the food and Sherlock. Suddenly, John heard someone talking behind the door as it opened.

"Finally. Where have you two been? I have been back for ages, and you…" Startled, John looked up to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway, gaping at the sleeping child he was holding.

Shit.

It took John (and Sherlock, once he had woken up) 20 minutes to explain what had happened, and he didn't know if she completely understood. What he did know was if he didn't get Mrs. Hudson away from Sherlock in the next 30 seconds, Sherlock was going to bite her hand off. John didn't know whether to keep on watching in amusement or to actually help.

"I could just hug you forever!" Mrs. Hudson said as she seemed to squeeze the life out of Sherlock.

For the record, Sherlock hadn't said anything so far. But if the look in his eyes meant anything, that wasn't going to last much longer.

John cleared his throat. "Uh, Mrs Hudson, I think that…"

"And look how skinny you are! No four year old should be this skinny!" Mrs. Hudson said, poking Sherlock's side.

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "I'm five."

Mrs. Hudson tutted. "You're so small, too. Don't worry, I am going to have you fattened up by the time this is all over."

John saw his chance. "Why don't you start right now?" Looking at the clock, he realized he needed to give Sherlock his meds soon, and he doubted Sherlock would want to do it in front of Mrs. Hudson. "We have chinese food for dinner, but I'm sure we would love some biscuits, wouldn't we Sherlock?" He ignored the glare that Sherlock shot at him.

"Oh, wonderful!" Mrs. Hudson said, clasping her hands together. "What kind? Chocolate chip? Ooohh! How about some bourbons?"

"Surprise us. We need to start eating so…"

"Oh yes, of course! I need to get started right away." Mrs. Hudson said, walking towards the door.

"Yes, I'm sure they are going to be delicious, okay, cheers." John shut the door before Mrs. Hudson could say anything else.

"I don't want bisthcuitsth." Sherlock said annoyingly. He tried to straighten out his clothes, but they seemed to be permanently wrinkled. Huffing, he sat down in his chair. John held back a laugh when Sherlock started to unconsciously swing his legs

"Did you want her to keep squeezing your cheeks?" John asked, grabbing the food. Realizing that it was stone cold, he placed some of it on plates and put them in the microwave.

"No." Sherlock grumbled, rubbing his cheeks.

"Okay then." John said laughing. John put some water on , then grabbed some napkins and set the table. He then grabbed his coat and took out the bag the hospital had given him. Taking out the pills, he shook out two and placed them on Sherlock's napkin.

"Come on, Sherlock, you need to eat." John said, as he took the food out of the microwave.

A few minutes later, they were eating in silence. Sherlock had taken the pills dry when they had sat down, and now was eating his food slowly, taking occasionally sips of tea. Finally, John couldn't take it any longer.

"So, when Mycroft and I were talking, he told me why he thought you are the way you are."

Sherlock's fork froze for a second, then he kept on eating. He didn't say anything, so John went back to his food.

"I assthume that he blamed the condition." Sherlock said quietly.

John looked up to see Sherlock looking back. He hadn't really expected an answer, he had just said the first thing that had come to mind. He realized that he would have to tread lightly if he wanted to get anything out of Sherlock.

"He said a lot of things." John said, trying his best to look casual. "But Mycroft talks too much." John heard Sherlock scoff, but didn't look from his plate. "So why don't you tell me?" John finally looked up to meet Sherlock's gaze. "What made you you?"

Sherlock just stared at John for awhile. It became unnerving, so John looked away and continued eating, figuring he had asked too much. But his head snapped back up when Sherlock started to talk in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I call mysthelf a high functioning sthocthiopath becausthe that'sth what I want people to sthee. I want people to sthee me asth detached, asth having shallow emotionsth. Becausthe then, they won't know that I sthee and heaw and feel evewything. I sthee how people look at me. I heaw the namesth. Psthychopath. Fweak. I know that Sthally and Andewson believe that we will one day be sthtanding over a muwder of my own cweation. And while I am sthtimulated by a complex crime scthene, I would never physthically hurt anothew being to impwessth othewsth. Gwoing up the way I did made me wealize that it'sth easthier to go along with how humanity alweady stheesth you than to twy and change theiw mindsth. Befowe you, the only people that cawed about me wewe (were) my landlady and my employer. That alone should pwove that I am incapable of making fwiendsth. And I sthupposthe you could blame that on my condition. Having no fwiendsth asth a child doesthn't give one the chancthe to obstherve how to make them. One might sthay that Mycwoft wasth my fwiend, but he mostht likely felt an obligation. Thewe wasth Wedbeard, my stheizure dog, but sthince animalsth cannot hold conversthation, I wouldn't call him a fwiend, either. My parwentsth only cawed (cared) about me enough to keep me from embawassthing them. Stho can I blame my condition for the way I am? No. I think the only thing I can accusthe my condition of isth making me sthee what the world isth weally like fwom the outsthide." Then Sherlock took a sip of tea before looking back down at his plate.

John was now openly gaping at Sherlock. He had never seen Sherlock be so open before. He can still see the emotions crossing Sherlock's face as he ate. Not knowing how to respond, John kept on eating. The only sounds for the next few minutes were forks hitting plates and tea being drunk. Finally John put down his fork..

"Well, um, thank you. For telling me." And he meant it.

After they had finished dinner, John cleaned the dishes while Sherlock… John wasn't sure what Sherlock was doing, but after what had happened at the table, he felt like Sherlock deserved space. But as he finished up, he realized that he had some things that he wanted to get off his mind. So after he was done, he went into the living room to see Sherlock looking at something on John's laptop. When John looked over Sherlock's shoulder, he saw that he was looking at emails from potential clients.

"Please don't tell me you're answering any of those." John asked while sitting down in his chair. "Justht the onesth I can stholve ovew email." Sherlock said as he continued typing.

"I guess that's better than nothing." John looked at Sherlock for a moment before speaking again. "Okay, so I have all these thoughts that I want to say to you, but I need you not to interrupt me or call me an idiot."

Sherlock glanced at John with a look of amusement on his face. "What if what you sthay isth idiotic?"

John just glared at him. "Keep it to yourself." He then took a deep breath. "I am not like your parents. And I thank the universe everyday that I'm not like Mycroft." Sherlock made some nondescript sound. "I don't have to be here. I could have had Mycroft take you. I mean, he knows exactly what to do if you were to have a seizure."

"John, you do know you awe a doctow, wight?"

John ignored him. "But I care about you. And if I didn't stay with now, how could I stay with you every other day? And just so you know, I've always known you weren't a sociopath, so you don't have to be a certain way with me. Whoever you is, I'll accept it."

A pregnant pause followed, and again John felt like he had said too much.

"That wasth not idiotic." Sherlock said, looking at John for a second before going back to the laptop.

John smiled, knowing that was Sherlock's way of saying thank you. And if it wasn't, he was going to pretend like it was.

Thanks for reading!

Okay, I have two things to say:

1) I sorry if Sherlock is OOC, but that's how I imagine Sherlock in this story. So I'm sorry if some people don't like that.

2) I am thinking of writing another AU story. So be on the look out ;)

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