Rules on the Fridge [A BBC Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction] (Completed)

That Shines On Me

TRIGGER WARNING: Further self-harm content in italics and hints at it throughout this part.

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♪ The Problem is, Whenever We Talk, I Fall in Love Over and Over Again ♪

Holmes did not play the violin that night. He sat outside of John's room listening to him toss and turn and breathe heavily at constant intervals. Holmes knew that he often suffered from night terrors after a long day – increasingly so after Holmes' incident.

If he became overly stressed he slept restlessly – his mind unable to relax as his body did. Holmes often thought of going in to wake him, but he didn't. He just sat outside, listening to his panicked breath and his waking moments after he'd sat up as he calmed himself down, laying back to try once more.

Holmes wasn't sure what had happened to John earlier that evening – he'd gone pale as he watched Holmes pace, and denied feeling ill. Holmes wasn't quite sure what had happened – there was nothing shocking happening so it couldn't've been that. He wasn't easily scared – the last time he'd seen John so pale was when he'd woken up in the hospital – John had blended in with the overly-clean white walls of the hospital. Holmes could hardly see him with his blurry vision when he woke, and that in itself told him everything. But not this time.

Holmes eventually went to his room, realizing if he fell asleep outside of John's room and didn't wake before John it might cause awkward conversation. So he lay in his bed, still faintly hearing the sudden creak of John's bed when he awoke every now and again.

Holmes hardly got any sleep – maybe two hours. He couldn't sleep any further when he heard John finally give in and get up just before six, heading to the shower.

Holmes got up and sat in the lounge, his feet outstretched onto the low table – he was in a rather uncomfortable position, but he was thinking, so he didn't notice. He was thinking over John – it was the only time he had to do so. Once John was out of the washroom he'd ask about the case and what he'd come up with. Of course, he'd come up with plenty before John had gone to bed and was saving it for this morning to spill out.

But, why had John gone pale like that? There was no feasible explanation – he wasn't getting sick or he'd have only gotten up this morning to be sick at the toilet – but he was clearly freshening up. Holmes just couldn't wrap his head around it – it was something he was never quite perfect with; human emotion. He himself couldn't mimic it perfectly – and that was purely because he didn't know it well enough. He could cry, he could stutter, but he couldn't feel. At least, not to that extent. Not like John could.

He felt for John, though. He felt happy around John – even when John was getting after him for breaking the fridge rules. He felt sad for John when he was tossing and turning and he couldn't do anything to help – well, he could, but he wouldn't because he didn't want John to know he cared. It was a weakness – nothing more.

Caring was not an advantage – it was just a way for people to get to you. And for Holmes, that's all people wanted to do; get to him. There was nothing that would please others more than to find out he was human after all.

♫ ♫ ♫

John came out of the washroom and slumped into his chair, his shirt clinging to his damp skin and his shoulders being dripped upon by his hair. Holmes frowned and stood, pacing as he had been the night previous.

"I've decided this man is a thinker." Holmes said, making John snort.

"Not the word I would use." John said, raising his eyebrows at him.