JohnLock - One-shot [English]

Hanahaki disease

Idea from one of my lectors : Evan_Fnaf

Hanahaki disease is a fictional illness, often used in boyslove fiction. It's when someone falls in love with someone else, but their love isn't returned. As a result, they end up with flowers growing in their lungs. Eventually, the disease can kill him, as the plants end up suffocating him. However, if his love is returned, the disease disappears. He can also have the plants surgically removed, but in this case he will lose the ability to love.

There are different variants of this disease, but this is the one I'm going to use.

Enjoy your reading!

o0o0o0o

It all started with a cough.

Probably just a cold, John thought. After all, he had the excellent idea of jumping from London Bridge into the Thames, when temperatures outside had rarely exceeded 10°C for a week.

Sherlock had also been coughing. The detective had even caught such a cold that he had been forced to stay in bed for several days. Obviously, he didn't like his doctor's treatment, and he let John know by being even more obnoxious than usual.

Whether by force of habit or simple miracle, John had managed to convince him not to leave his bed for three days in a row. However, as soon as the fever had subsided, Sherlock had taken advantage of his friend's absence to run away and go back to investigating.

John had learned of this from a phone call from Lestrade, who had found himself with a very angry detective in prison. After explaining to him that 'even if the Chief Superintendent is the biggest idiot the Earth has ever borne, in direct competition with Anderson, that's no reason to insult him, and all the village idiots in his family tree', John had been able to take his flatmate home.

Sherlock, for his part, had noticed his friend's cough. So he asked for more honey in his tea, and then switched cups. Obviously, he wasn't going to tell John that he was worried about him, or that he wanted him to take care of his health.

But John's coughing fits did not abate. Spring arrived, and the weather warmed up as slowly as a sloth, but the temperature was now almost 15°C. And John was still coughing. 

The detective also noticed something strange. When John started coughing, he increasingly isolated himself. When the dark-haired man had tried to follow him, he had noticed that John systematically locked himself in one room of the house.

With May fast approaching, Sherlock had had enough. In the middle of the night, a coughing fit was so violent that it woke up the dark-haired man, who rushed to the upstairs bedroom. He turned on the bedroom light to find the doctor curled up in a ball on the floor.

-John, John !

-Don't-

But he didn't have time to finish his sentence, choking again. Sherlock took the convulsing body against him. As he lifted his chin to help him breathe, he saw something between the pale lips.

A green leaf was sticking out. Sherlock pulled on it, forcing the mouth to open wide. There, at the back of the throat, the first roots were already visible. Another coughing fit, and this time a fully formed rose landed on the ground.

-John, John... Why didn't you tell me...

But the doctor had already collapsed from exhaustion. Sherlock took him in his arms and put him back to bed to collect the flowers and leaves that had been scattered everywhere. His heart sank when he saw the roses... Mature shoots. The last stage of the disease.