Waiter in a suit - A Johnlock

13. We danced?

NOTE: I still have to edit this chapter a bit, so sorry for spelling mistakes. I just don't feel like doing it now. I have exams next week, and i'm kinda shocked about the episode lmao. I can't function. AFTER ALMOST 24 HOURS. I AM STILL NOT OVER IT. And I am so mad on John.

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John emerged Sherlock's bedroom. He found the staircase and ascended the stairs, approaching a wooden door. John pushed the door opened and entered a rather dusty room. He turned on the lights and was surprised to see laboratory equipment spreaded around the bedroom. John scrunched his nose, curious about the material standing in the room. He strolled to the corner of the room, where he found test tubes in different colours. He assumed that some of them were blood. Others were green, brown and a dark orange colour. John frowned, finding this kinda weird. But Sherlock told John before that he liked experimenting.

John then walked over to a little coolbox. He startled at what he saw. There were organs lying in the box. John slammed the box closed with a gasp, not wanting to take a closer look to know if it was an animal organ or a human organ. He decided to just sleep, because he wouldn't be able to sleep, if he found more creepy things.

John pulled out his trousers and shirt, left over with his white t-shirt and pants. He didn't want to sleep in his clothes, because they stink. They smelled like cigarettes and alcohol. He was planning to pull on his clothes tomorrow morning. Not wanting to meet Sherlock when he was half naked again.

He slipped under the covers and fell asleep rather fast, feeling content to be there. Also a bit concerned about Sherlock. But that didn't stop him from falling asleep.

**

John moaned as he woke up the next morning. He yawned very loudly, forgetting that he fell asleep in Sherlock's house, until his eyes made contact with the unfamiliar grey walls. He grinned, sitting upright and stretched his arms. He stood up, heading to the window where he had laid his clothes. He reluctantly pulled them on, feeling disgusted. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand palm and began making his way to the living room. Where hopefully Sherlock was sitting already. And indeed Sherlock was present already. But he wasn't sitting. Sherlock was perched on the sofa, on his stomach. John smiled at the way Sherlock was lying there. He slowly stepped forwards but stopped as soon Sherlock spoke up.

"Good morning." He mumbled on the sofa.

"Morning." John replied, scanning the living room as in finding a place to sit. He saw an armchair across from where Sherlock was lying. He sat himself down. "How are you feeling?" John asked softly, trailing his hands over the armrest, feeling comfortable in the armchair.

"I feel nauseous." Sherlock mumbled onto the sofa, still not facing John. " And my head. It feels as though someone's hit me with a hammer. Every time I move nor speak, it aches." He informed, his voice croaking here and then. John really felt pity for Sherlock, this was all his fault.

"Did you take something for your headache?" John asked calmly, not wanting to talk too loud for Sherlock's head.

"No I don't use medication." Sherlock muttered.

"It can ease the pain." John assured, staring at the wall, frowning at the bullet holes.

"It-

"Oh wait. It slows you down?" John said sarcastic, looking back at Sherlock. Sherlock cringed as John's voice hammered into his fragile ears. He turned his head, staring at John with a soft smile. Dark lines were encircling his eyes, his curly hair looking distinctly dishevelled.