Chemical Disaster {JOHNLOCK}

Memory Loss

    "Can you hear me?" a distant voice asked, a great amount of worry carried in their tone.

      Sherlock tried to nod his head, but found that he had no strength left to do so. He felt a hard slap across his face. His eyelids fluttered open, but everything he saw was cloudy and indistinct. He saw someone hovering above him, then felt hands roll him over into a recovery position.

    "Can you hear me? If you don't answer I'm going to call for an ambulance."

Sherlock tried to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse whimper. His breathing was uneven and he felt dizzy.

"Okay. I'm not going to call." John said in a reassuring voice. "Breathe."

Sherlock's breaths came out in gasps.

"Dr. Watson, is everything alright?" someone asked from behind.

John turned around and stepped aside just in time to hide Sherlock's body.

"Yes. Yes, everything is fine."

"See you tomorrow then. Have a nice evening!" his co-worker said before he left.

John eyed Sherlock's body on the floor, drugged and barley conscious. This is going to be a marvelous evening, he thought to himself.

*

    That night John stayed awake watching Sherlock until his breathing steadied. His eyes rested on the detective for so long that a scan of Sherlock's features had been engraved in his mind.

John was woken up by rays of sunlight that glimmered through the curtains hung by the window, floating in the air and caressed by the wind. He stood up abruptly, suddenly reminded of Sherlock's presence.

Sherlock's eyes were half opened and he looked distinctly confused. He glanced over at John which only made him more astonished.

   "How...Where... No. Obviously I'm in your office because I came by my own will. If I were to resist you, you wouldn't be able to force me in here because of your wounded shoulder."

   "How—"

    "That's hardly the point. Clearly you weren't planning to spend the night here either, otherwise you would have closed the window. The real question is, why would I visit you and why did you stay with me even though you were supposed to go home."

John opened his mouth to explain, only to be interrupted by Sherlock. "Don't. Your fatigue is more prominent than usual, which suggests that you barley slept. It means that you had to stay awake for something. I don't remember a single second of yesterday evening , so I must have been— " Sherlock's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Why did I not see it?! You massaged your shoulder twice in five minutes, but you never did during the appointment. You must have hurt it again by carrying something heavy, me, in this case, since I don't recall walking up the stairs." Sherlock shut his eyes as all the details clicked in to form an explanation, one that he absolutely despised. "The window. Of course. How could I've been so stupid?! I was drugged. I needed fresh air, that's why you opened the window."

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief.

"Okay. Let me process this. You lost your memory because of an overdose, but you just told me exactly what happened by simply examining my window, my face, and my shoulder."

"Yes," Sherlock said placidly, as if all he did was entirely normal, which was, for him.

"Impressive."

"I was expecting you to focus on the drug part, but a little appreciation for my deductions is nice as well."

"Yes, we will talk about that, but for now let's just appreciate the fact that you have lost none of your intelligence because of the drugs, and get you some breakfast." John said, putting his coat on. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Actually, I don't eat breakfast."

    "But you just went through a blackout! I might not be a paramedic, but I as someone who has basic medical knowledge —and honestly even common sense would be enough— your need to eat."

    "But I'm not hungry. Why would I eat if I'm not hungry?" Sherlock asked. For a second, John thought about arguing with him, but instead he said:

   "Whatever. I'm not your mother."

   "Indeed," Sherlock said very seriously.

As John went out to buy some for himself, he added Sherlock Holmes does not eat breakfast to his list of strange things about the detective. He was quite certain this list would be an unusually long one.