Chemical Disaster {JOHNLOCK}

Talk

"So, explain yourself," John said, taking a bite of his toast covered with beans.

Sherlock remained silent.

"Holmes?"

"Huh?" he looked up to stare at John with his confused blue eyes. John dropped his gaze, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with Sherlock's excruciatingly beautiful eyes.

"I asked you to explain why you came to my office, why you wouldn't let me call for an ambulance, and most importantly why you were drugged!"

"Because you're part of the only people I know other than the police, and I don't want to go to them because that would suggest that I need their protection, but I don't. So after they drugged me—"

"Wait a minute, somebody else drugged you?!"

"Of course I was drugged by someone else! Besides, I don't overdose when I do it myself," Sherlock said, not understanding why the doctor would think otherwise.

"And I was supposed to know that."

" Yes. When I came here I was in a hurry, you should have noticed by the way I kept banging at the door. Why would I be in a rush to see you if I drugged myself?"

     "Because I am your therapist?" John suggested.

     Sherlock smirked, "And here I was, thinking that psychologists were better at understanding people. Dr. Watson, I hope you didn't really believe I would visit you merely for entertainment. I only did so because it was absolutely necessary and unless I were to be mistaken, a matter of life and death, in fact."

     "I'm going to ignore how insulting this sounded," John murmured to himself, but not a thing ever escaped a detective's ears.

     "Excellent decision. As I said before, feelings are undesirable distractions. Focus on facts." Sherlock said approvingly.

     "Speaking about the facts, do go on with your explanations."

     "Right. I don't know who or how yet, but I was drugged. Fortunately I was able to figure something was wrong before I was knocked out, so I immediately went to your office, as I assumed they wanted me unconscious for a reason, so I could only conclude that I was in some sort of danger. You might wonder why I didn't go to my brother. The reason behind this is he would have made such a big deal out of it, and you must know that I despise unneeded attention, which is also why I opposed to you calling for an ambulance."

   John shook his head, laughing, " You're saying adequate medical treatment is unneeded attention?"

"You'd be surprised how much it is, having other people explore your body." Sherlock said, his voice deep, sending shivers down John's spine. He looked up, only to find the detective's eyes already on him.

"Haven't had much experience, really." John murmured, his gaze glued to the ground, avoiding Sherlock's.

"Funny."

"I'm sorry, what is?"

"Oh nothing. I simply assumed you stayed at a woman's place the night before." John arched an eyebrow. Sherlock responded with his deductions, "Your hair. It smells like feminine hair products. Your socks. White ruffled socks are typically worn by women. You did a remarkable job hiding them under your trousers, though. These two things would suggest that it was a spontaneous plan, otherwise you would have brought your own toiletries and extra clothes. And your hairstyle is different, probably to impress your date. Of course, it could've been pure coincidence, however, another detail confirmed my theory: the bruise on your earlobe. You concealed it with your hair, and I would've had no way figuring it out, until you bent down to tie you shoelaces. A strand of hair fell into your eyes, so you tugged it behind you ear, revealing the bruise as you did so." Sherlock paused and waited for the doctor's reaction.

   John burst into laughter.

   "You are quite observant, but I must say you are partially wrong. I did stay at a woman's house, but we did not 'explore each other's body', since it was my sister. We actually planned this in advance. I simply forgot to prepare an extra pair of socks. As for the hair products, I did bring my own, but my sister wanted me to use hers. She insisted on curling my hair before I get a haircut, and claimed that her shampoo would protect it form any burns. Unfortunately, the protection was limited to my hair. During the process, she accidentally burned my earlobe, which is why I now have a bruise. She used a hot metal object, but I can't recall its name."

    "Curling iron."

    "Yes. That must be it, but we're not here to discuss my everyday life. You are in serious danger. This time they drugged you, it didn't work. Who knows what they're going to do next?"

"Well they want me alive, if not they would've killed me already, since they have the ability to break into my flat to drug my coffee. All they had to do is increase the dosage."

"I feel so reassured. Wait. How do you know it was the coffee?"

"That's all I had yesterday."

"But you didn't have breakfast either this morning! Jesus! Do you ever eat?"

"I'm not quite sure whether or not Jesus eats," Sherlock dead-panned.

  "To be honest, me neither," John replied, and they both broke into a fit of laughter. "But seriously, do you not eat?"

"Not unless it's absolutely indispensable."

"Which is?"

"Oh it varies. When I'm working on a case I never eat. For the rest of the time, every other day." When Sherlock saw John frown, he quickly added, "Sometimes every day."

"So for you, eating every is out of the ordinary?"

"Yes."

"Well," John sighed, " I think we can add eating disorder to the list of things we will be working on."

Sherlock shifted in his seat. John looked up and offered a warm smile.

"It's okay. For now, our number one preoccupation is your safety. You cannot go back to Montague Street."

Sherlock's head snapped up. "How did you—"

"It's written on your patient file. Now listen. You're a brilliant detective right?"

Sherlock smirked, "The best."

"How long do you think it will take before you solve this mystery?"

"Not long."

"Excellent! Why don't you stay at my place until you've solved the case, it should be more tranquil there. I heard you despise unneeded attention."

Sherlock lifted his head to the exact angle at which the sun rays shone through the room, planting his illuminated eyes into John's. The doctor couldn't decide whether it was his bewitching eyes —a mix of blue, green and grey— or his deep, breathtaking voice that made him believe the detective when he said:

"Oh doctor, you're going to regret having even suggested this idea."