Skinny Love: A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter Five

"I'm beyond repair, let me be. And give me back my broken parts." ~'Be OK' by Ingrid Michaelson

John

John stared at the number, rubbing the edge of Dan's business card with his thumb. He took a deep breath and tried to settle the nervous butterflies in his stomach.

Twenty hours until Sherlock's treatment begins. John didn't know why he felt this. Maybe it was the idea of spending twenty hours with his unstable flatmate. Or maybe he was just so bloody empathetic that Sherlock's emotions were now his.

"John... JOHN!" Sherlock burst into the sitting room. "There's been a murder! Locked doors, no witnesses, no murder weapons." He motioned to him frantically. "Come along, John!"

John almost agreed. He nearly grinned at the giddy look on Sherlock's face. The detective was pulsing with excitement and curiosity. God, how John wanted to say yes.

But then reality came crashing down on top of him.

"No, we can't," John said firmly, looking down at the business card. "It's not the time for murders."

Sherlock was already pulling on his trench coat. "Fine, I'll go alone," He replied flippantly.

"You aren't going anywhere," John replied, glaring at the detective.

"So you want to investigate?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow, "Not to be rude, but I'm the only consulting detective in this flat."

"You really don't get it, do you?" John asked incredulously. "You aren't healthy enough to go running after criminals!"

"Says who?" Sherlock snapped.

"Says Dan. He says no strenuous exercise until you're at an acceptable weight."

"That's ridiculous! Does he expect me to give up my job because I'm thin?"

"It's not just physical, Sherlock!" John argued wearily, "Your body is sick. Your mind is sick. This is all of you!"

Sherlock stiffened. "Are you saying this is all my fault?"

"Ya, I am," John blurted. "And the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can get over this."

The sea in Sherlock's eyes roared. "THIS ISN'T MY FAULT!" He hollered.

"Then who's is it, huh?" John demanded.

"I don't know!" Sherlock growled.

 "Well, it can't be mine," John seethed. "I didn't tell you to be a skinny, stubborn arse."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "John, quit it!" He warned.

John couldn't stop the accusations from spilling out of his mouth. "Then what do you think, Sherlock? Who's at fault this time?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Sherlock bellowed, then turned and raced into the bathroom.

The slam of the door caused John to fall back in shock. He had stepped over the line.

"Sherlock, please-" But John's voice was drowned out by the sound of the running water. He couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I know you aren't taking a shower in there," John walked up to the bathroom door and knocked. No answer. He considered breaking in so he could apologize face-to-face, but he thought better of it. If Sherlock really was taking a shower, that would make for an extremely awkward moment.

So John sat down next to the door and began to knock.

Sherlock

The water cascaded over him as it seeped into his clothes and chilled his skin. He could feel the water flatten his curls and trickle off his chin.

He hated this. This feeling of utter cluelessness. There were some things in life he had no knowledge about. Yet those were irrelevant topics like politics and the solar system. But this was a life-or-death situation.

He wasn't really scared of death; it seemed so silly that he never considered it a possibility. He will someday die in a thrilling, fantastic criminal case, not in the hands of some juvenile eating disorder.

"Anorexia Nervosa". He even hated the name. It was another label stuck onto his heavy forehead, next to "freak" and "psychopath". His head was getting so heavy with these labels, he could hardly tell who he was anymore.

John could see the label; Sherlock could see the pain and confusion in his eyes. Sherlock didn't want this to be a handicap. He didn't want to be nursed back to health by a bloody clinician. He wanted to go back to crime scenes and clever remarks.

What's wrong with me? Sherlock wondered, Why the hell does this have to happen to me?

He could hear knocking through the watery drumming in his ears.

The knocks were not normal. There were sharp knocks, then some long pauses in between. It was morse code.

... --- .-. .-. -.--

Sherlock translated it in a matter of seconds:
SORRY

Sherlock stepped out of the shower and wrapped his soaked body in a towel. He knelt next to the door and held up a pale fist to the wood.

--- -.-
OK

He heard a frustrated sigh from the other side of the door. Suddenly, an explosion of knocks sounded from the other side. Sherlock struggled to decipher that much code.

Sherlock tapped back:
 .-- .... .- -
WHAT

John proceeded again, slowly.
- ..- .-. -.
TURN
--- ..-. ..-.
OFF
- ....
TH

"OH!" Sherlock exclaimed aloud, then ran over to shut off the shower.

"Thank you," John's muffled voice said. "Look, I am really sorry."

"John..."

"Let me finish," He continued. "I don't know what came over me. I was being a selfish bastard, and I didn't think about your feelings."

"Remind you of anyone?" Sherlock said, and he heard John chuckle.

"Sherlock, I... I want you to know that I'm here for you," The doctor continued, his voice becoming dreadfully quiet. "If you want me to, I'll come to every therapy session and supervised meal. I will do whatever it takes to help you get better."

"Really?" Sherlock felt himself tear up, but forced the sentiment  back down. 

"Promise," John said, a hint of a smile in his voice. "We're a team remember? The consulting detective and his trusty blogger. Nothing's changed."

"Thank you," Sherlock managed to say. "I... really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," John laughed. "So, can you open the door?"

Sherlock grabbed the door handle and opened it to face his best friend

"Thanks-" John did a double-take. "You showered with your clothes on?!"

"Yup," Sherlock replied, trying not to show how uncomfortable his wet clothes felt.

John blinked, then cracked a smile. "You're so strange."

"You're just getting that now?" Sherlock joked, just so he could hear John laugh again.

****************

Sherlock felt her long, cool finger rest on his lips.

"Shh, William," Katherine whispered. "Don't freak out."

"What are you still doing here?" Sherlock hissed, sitting up in his bed. "Don't you have to go home?"

"I have a few hours," She smiled slyly. The moonlight cast a dark shadow across her pale face, and her brown eyes glistened. "How about we play the bed game?"

"No thanks, I'm tired," Sherlock grumbled, burying himself under the covers.

He felt a soft hand slide through his curls and tickle his cheek.

"C'mon, William," Katherine purred. "Just a quickie. Maybe I'll even let you win."

"SHERLOCK!" The delicate hands suddenly changed shape, and they began tugging on his hair. "SHERLOCK, WAKE UP!"

Sherlock opened his eyes with a start, his heart skipping a beat when he saw John kneeling beside him.

"Wh-When did I fall out of bed?" Sherlock gasped, attempting to free himself from the tangle of sheets.

"A few minutes ago," John said softly, his face full of concern. "Are you alright?

"Yes, I'm fine," Sherlock lied.

"Okay," John nodded warily and helped Sherlock to his feet. "You might as well get up now. We have to go to the clinic in an hour."

"I'll be right there," Sherlock said, and watched John's back as he left the room.

John

Sherlock had yelled her name in his sleep.

Who was Katherine?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I'M BA-ACK!! ^-^ I apologize for being a lazy butt and taking so long to update. Blame my higher education... what a bunch of useless jargon. Exams...*hiss*.

Anywho, I hope you enjoyed! 

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Till we meet again! *salutes* ~Meg

P.s. Who do you think Katherine is? I'd love to know! ;)