Sensory Stimulation Side-Effects

"What are we doing here, John? I don't understand why we came in the first place," Sherlock muttered, tugging his coat close to him. There were people, too many people, and why in the-

"Because Sarah wanted you to come with me. You know, I actually think that she likes you."

"I don't like her; I don't want to like her, I don't want to be here," Sherlock fired back under his breath, eyes darting around the lobby of the hall. There were people milling about- at least two adulterers, one unmarried mother who never saw her child's father, five, no, six teenagers that weren't interested in the show at all, three foreigners, one illegal immigrant, two people with partial hearing loss, one child wandering around, mother hadn't even noticed the kid was gone-

"Just shut up and deal with it, Sherlock. It's an hour and a half, two hour play. You can survive."

Sherlock took a deep breath. The treats table on the right side of the lobby was filled with several different types of treats- brownies, cooked too long and burnt, cookies that were deformed and had been dropped on the floor, cupcakes, looked normal, but probably had a hair or three entangled in the icing, punch that had a ladle that someone had sipped from before putting back in the bowl-

"Sorry, the lines are atrocious." Sarah's voice broke Sherlock's analyzation of the treats table. He glanced back at the female doctor that John had so recently become enamoured with. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about her- she was stupid, she knew even less than John when it came to the medical field, she went to bed early and John stayed up late, how could they be compatible at all when it came-

"Oh, yeah, no problem," John said. Sherlock watched as John's fingers sought Sarah's, an almost immediate reflex that happened whenever he was with her. "Shall we get something to eat?"

Sherlock frowned at the suggestion, frowning even more when Sarah agreed. How did they not notice...? One could smell the lingering scent of burnt food as it were. Not to mention the overpowering cologne that someone had sprayed, making every clean air molecule in the lobby reek of something in between body odour and body spray, not a good combination.

Sherlock took a shallow breath, ghosting after John and Sarah to the treat table just as John picked up a cookie.

"Jo-" Sherlock started, but he cut himself off before the word was finished.

Nonetheless, John paused and looked at him, frowning. "What?" His eyes were annoyed, most likely thinking that Sherlock was about to complain again, although there was the slightest bit of confusion, most likely because he had stopped in the middle of a word.

"I wouldn't," Sherlock said shortly, nodding at the cookies slightly.

John rolled his eyes. "I know you wouldn't; you don't eat. Ever." John popped the cookie in his mouth. Sherlock felt remotely sick. He watched the pair for a second longer before turning away, looking back to the crowd.

The teenagers were talking about drugs, none too quietly. Something about morphine and oxycontin. He resisted the urge to make sure that his nicotine patch was still firmly stuck to his arm. An abnormally large man standing near the stairs was sweating profusively and talking, in an obnoxiously loud voice, about politics. It was clear that he had no idea what he was talking about. Nearby, two women were talking about their lazy husbands only caring about rugby and not wanting to give them any attention.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, surprising himself since he hadn't had the recollection of closing them. He met John's gaze, keeping his face impassive.

"You okay? You're... quiet."

The lights in the lobby flickered off, flickered on, off and on again, distracting the conversation.

"Oh, the show's about to start," Sarah stated, beaming up at John. It took the war veteran a moment to return to his usual, soft smile, designed just for her. Sherlock took the moment to turn away, heading for the stairs.

Six stairs into the auditorium. Three sections within the auditorium, ten seats on each row, width-wise, twelve length-wise, so, roughly one-hundred-and-twenty seat in one section. One twenty multiplied by three, three-hundred-and-sixty seats just in the downstairs of the audit-

Sherlock flinched imperceptibly closer to John when someone brushed up against his arm, smelling of cigarette smoke.

"Sherlock, seriously, what's wrong?" John asked, stopping in the middle of the aisle to their seats.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied curtly, slinking forward and through the crowd of people. Stopping in the middle of the aisle just ended with more people crowding them, pushing, shoving, being loud, being obnoxious and annoying.

His head was pounding with the intensity of the action around him by the time that he sank into his seat. There was too much to look at, too much to hear and too much to observe. And that was the oddest thing of all- he didn't want to observe anything else. He wanted to press his hands over his ears and disappear through the bottom of the seat. That was unlikely. Not only unlikely, but impossible.

Also, impossible to ignore everything.

Someone bumped into his knees as they walked past. Despite his best intentions, his breath escaped him in a heavy rush. He felt John's eyes on him again, but he didn't look up. Inactivity made his brain race out of control, pound wildly in anxiety. But sensory overload, sensory overload, made his head pound in a totally different way. Granted, it rarely happened to him, but he also made a point not to do anything that would trigger it- take the Tube, for instance. The Tube could be an overload point in the best of days, a walking migraine full of stupid-

He flinched at pressure on his arm. His eyes snapped open again and he looked at John, whom was exerting the pressure.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock gazed back at him for a moment, seeing the concern ripple across the doctor's face. Sherlock looked away.

"Sherlock, come on," John muttered, his hand turning to a grip that hauled Sherlock out of his seat.

"What?" Sherlock muttered, stumbling to get his balance.

"Sorry, Sarah, be right back," John said to Sarah as he inched into the aisle. Sherlock was infinitely grateful that they had the end seats.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, looking from John to Sherlock as the doctor all but pushed Sherlock into the aisle.

Sherlock placed his hands in his coat pockets, striding ahead and down the aisle. He vaguely heard John say "Yes, everything's fine, I just need to check something" before he stepped out of the auditorium.

The lobby had cleared remarkably, seeing as how most people had now flocked into the auditorium for the beginning of the play. Sherlock took the steps quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the auditorium and the stupid inhabiting it.

He heard John's footsteps behind him, quick and steady, determined. "Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't stop, striding ahead to the front doors and pushing them open, relishing in the momentary burst of cold air that assailed him. He stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"Sher- jeez, it's cold," John said, presumably as he got the blast of cold air. "Sherlock, hang on!"

Sherlock turned as John caught up with him. The doctor's face was concerned, eyes trying to assess what was wrong.

"What's wrong, Sherlock? Tell me what's going on." John stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "If this is just some ploy to get out of the performance-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted, pacing away. "It- There's too much. Too much to notice, too much to see, too much to hear and smell and deduce." He threw his hands up slightly. "There's too many people and too much stupid and my mind, my mind, notices everything. I can't un-notice something and I just can't ignore-"

"Okay, okay," John said quickly, cutting him off. "Take a deep breath. We're... We're here now. It's, we're outside, it's quiet. It's just me and you."

Sherlock took a deep breath, letting it out on an irritated groan. At least John was right. It was quiet. There was no one around. Just John, and Sherlock could handle John's type of stupid. He was fine.

"Sit down," John instructed, pointing out the bench that Sherlock had noticed on the way in.

"I don't want to."

"Sherlock," John started in his patronizing, doctor tone. "You're worked up. You need to sit down and relax, okay?"

"I don't need to relax." It was an immediate reflex, but he knew it wasn't true. He did need to relax. Really, he just needed a cigarette or someone to be murdered, because that would calm him down enough-

"Just sit down," John said.

Sherlock paced the few steps to the concrete bench, stiffly taking a seat. John sat down next to him, his eyes still concerned.

"You don't have to look at me like that," Sherlock said shortly. "I'm fine."

"Well, I've never seen you like that."

"I generally try to avoid sensory overload when I can."

"Sensory overload..." John echoed, shaking his head slightly. "You would suffer from that."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, breathing in the cool air and letting the silence of the night calm his mind. His headache was going away, mainly because there was nothing to analyze here, except maybe where the graffiti on the side wall had come from or who had tossed away the half-eaten hot dog...

John was obviously trying to be stealthy when he pulled out his phone, quietly tapping at the buttons. Sherlock didn't turn to look, but watched the screen as John tapped out a message. It was to Sarah. (Sorry about this, Sarah. Sherlock seems to be getting a touch of something. We're outside at the moment for some air.) By the time that John had pressed the send button, Sherlock had transferred his gaze to the stars beginning to twinkle in the sky.

They were silent for a few moments before John's phone chirped. Sherlock felt John flinch slightly, most likely from the sudden noise in the silence. Sherlock smirked slightly.

"You're supposed to have those things on vibrate in these types of places, aren't you?" he mused quietly, looking sideways at John.

"I forgot. Anyway, I'm not in there," John replied, tapping into the new message.

From his side glance, Sherlock caught the words. (Don't worry about me! Take him home!) His lips twitched slightly, towards something that might have been a sarcastic smile. He didn't let that surface, though, looking back at the sky.

Evidently, John didn't want to take that advice to heart. He followed Sherlock's gaze to the sky and, together, they sat in peaceful silence.

I had this brilliant idea for sensory overload, and I know people have this idea often, but I'm not sure if there's a lot of fluffy but not slashy stuff, so... xD It starts out so wild in Sherlock's mind and ends so calm, so... Yep. I like it. Hopefully you guys do, too! Thanks for reading!