Strange, Sherlock thought detachedly. It appeared John had distinct stubble. No, he correctedly himself immediately, shifting his position from the window, allowing the moonlight to spill into the room where John Watson lay sleeping. John Watson had a beard.
Sherlock Holmes cocked his head, his thoughts spiralling out. John was a military man, which immediately meant that his neglect in presentation was notable. He had been trained to be crisp, concise and subordinate in his years of service, yet the sight before Sherlock denied all that.
In fact, now that the tall dark haired man took a closer look, various shocking differences had taken place in Dr. Watson over the past three years. His hair was long to the point of shabby and he slept in the fetal position. Note-- Sherlock considered-- the fetal position is a recovery position, usually used to deal with trauma because of it's close ties to the comfort found inside the womb. The blankets were tangled about Watson's figure, perhaps because of a recent nightmare, which would explain the gauges in the sheets, and the fistful of blankets John had grappled onto earlier.
John was asleep in his everyday attire, which was rumpled and miskept and appeared to be fraying in more than one place. The fact he still had his shoes on indicated the man had just collapsed straight onto the bed after a long day. A cellphone was held in John's other hand, which rested near his ear, as if he was waiting for a call from somewhere. Then again, Sherlock remarked, the cell phone appears to be off. This led to the next assumption that whatever call or text John had been expecting he had long given up on, and yet habit remained to keep the phone on him at all times. Sentimentality, perchance?
Sherlock brought his face closer to the window pane, becoming more than vaguely interested in the sight before him. His dark curls pressed up against the window, bright eyes taking in John's physical state.
The doctor appeared to have lost weight. No, a significant amount of weight, past the point of unhealthy. To top it off the skin that was visible around his neck had small almost imperceivable stretch marks. John had lost a lot of weight in a short space of time. His cheekbones were more prominent as a result, chin more defined. His fingernails had white blemishes scattering across them, indicating a calcium deficiency. Malnutrition could be seen in the man's skin as well. Trouble eating and sleeping. John had an almost breakable quality to him with his dark-circled eyes and sleep-glued lashes. Suffers from night terrors chronologically, periodically and only gets a few hours of sleep a night.
Another contributing factor as to why he had not changed out of his clothing? Sherlock turned back to the hand gripping the sheets and frowned. The muscles were spasming, fingers shaking. From cold? No. The man wasn't in control. Perhaps another wave of nightmares had set in. Intermittent tremors had returned. Last time Holmes had seen Watson they were all but gone.
Had stress brought them back? More likely anxiety. Sherlock caught sight of the cane propped up by the bed. Needs support to get up from bed and to even walk around the house. Psychosomatic limp has returned. Additional trauma incurred or reliving old trauma? Revoking previous memories of deeply distressing or disturbing experiences would explain signs of sleep deprivation and unhealthy weight loss. Debilitating nightmares would follow accordingly.
Could the be about the war again? No, something more recent. Appears to be showing symptoms of both early and late stages of shock which would augur something occured not long ago to cause such a distressed response. Judging by stretch marks on skin, weight lost, signs of sleep loss and state of the apartment, the traumatizing incident must've happened two years ago? No, three. Sherlock decided.
The window pane slid open and the consulting detective slipped into the room, finally having managed to pick the lock on the window, which was rusty from misuse. He landed softly on the carpet, which had acquired a thin, but impressive, layer of dust.
He mustn't let anyone come into the house anymore. Sherlock mused. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, bringing up the blankets and tucking them about John's thin figure. Holmes pursed his lips and then suddenly smiled. He had been unable to see from the window, but a violin lay tucked in John's bed, adjacent to him.
Sherlock reached for the instrument and began plucking slowly, a pizzicato melody that was unlike him. Shame John doesn't sleep with the bow, He thought gently, at the same time taking into account the fact that the violin was perhaps the only thing in the apartment that looked well-cared for. John had regularly tuned the violin, repaired it's strings and cleaned it's polish.
A splotch of water pooled on the surface of the violin, near the chin rest and Sherlock frowned, reaching to it and bringing a taste of it to his lips. Salty, he remarked, Such slightly brackish water would suggest tears, a mere drop of the saline, watery fluid secreted by lacrimal glands found between the surface of the eye and eyelid, produced as a result of intense emotion, usually grief, sadness and/or guilt.
Sherlock reached up to touch his cheek, his music fading away. He was crying. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd wept. He'd hardly considered the fact that he still had the ability to create them.
Sherlock stared down at John's dreaming figure, and put the violin on the bedside table. He climbed into the bed beside the doctor and wrapped his arms around the smaller man. John let out a soft mumured "Sherlock," but kept sleeping, his body responding to the warmth Sherlock's emananted and curling up against Holmes chest.
Sherlock knew why he was crying. Guilt, at the fact that it was his death, the incident that had taken away John's life. Sadness at the sight of his friend, companion and love, reduced to a sick man with a limp waiting for a call that wouldn't come. And grief at the fact that it had taken this long to see him once more.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered as he kissed the top of John's head. "I'm so sorry."
