Illness of a sociopath

Chapter two

Hey, sorry about how repetitive the last chapter was, I am trying to work on my writing skills so I hope you like this chapter more.

Flashback.

Sherlock's pov

Dizzy, far too dizzy. I fell, hitting my head on the kitchen floor and shattering my experiment around me. Oh dear, Mrs Hudson will be mad. And I think I got blood on the floor, either from my hand or my head, or both. I could lie here for a bit, john shouldn't be home for a good half hour yet. I think I will just lay here, the floor is nice and cold. Lovely. Peace at last.

Ten minutes later

No I want to go back to sleep. John always says don't go to sleep if you have had a fall. Where is john, oh yes, work I forgot. Ok time to move, maybe there is only so much cold I can take. Just to the sofa. Sofas are squishy. My head is really starting to kill now. One foot after another, I collapse back onto the ground with a large thump. Nope I think I will crawl.

I don't make it to the sofa, just to johns chair, it more squidgy than squishy though.

Twenty minutes later.

John's pov

"Sherlock I'm bac..." I step in to collapse in my chair after a stupid day at work, Sarah was flirting with ma all day, and the patients are getting stupider. "Sherlock, get out of my chair, there are two seats for a reason." I quickly spot a small gash next to Sherlock's temple and an even larger one on his hand, there is also blood oozing out from his leg. What the bloody hell has he done? "Sherlock are you alright?"

"Yesss immm finnne." Sherlock slurred

"When did you last eat?" we had finished the case the day before so he should have eaten.

"Mmph case, dunno."

"Did you eat today?"

"Nope" Sherlock replied popping the p.

End of flash back. (Flash back to be continued I couldn't stand to end it there)

Sherlock's pov

Why did john care, illness should only last a day "go away?"

"No. you need help for once, I'm not missing this opportunity. Either you let me help or I phone Anderson." Why did he always bring that annoying man into conversations? Rather reluctantly I agree to stand up and allow john to half carry me to my bedroom, the procedure was increasingly difficult considering john is much shorter than me, at times I felt as though I was carrying him.

"I'm going to grab some tea."

"fine." I snuffled, head buried in the pillows surrounding me.

John's pov

I hummed to myself whilst stirring tea for Sherlock, I added two spoonful of sugar and I slipped in some sleeping pills, the man seems to have a phobia of sleep, anything to calm the surprisingly stupid detective down. It was a cold afternoon and winter was starting to settle its self in, one could hear the torrential rain batter down onto London city, causing teenagers to scream and anyone over the age of nineteen to walk with a briefcase covering their head whilst tutting and complaining about Brittan. Sherlock has either been with me, at the yard or standing over a decomposing corpse, I'm not surprised he is ill. He hasn't been out for "fresh air" in weeks now.

I hand over the mug to Sherlock, "how are you feeling now?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock then subsided into a coughing fit. Giving his minimal temper tantrum even less of an effect. "I'm just cold." I should have asked him if he wanted me to grab him a blanket or something, I was wearing my thick cream knit jumper and I still felt the chill go straight through me. I told Sherlock not to shoot through the heating controls. "Most people don't vomit and faint when cold." I mumbled leaving the room for something to cover my flat mate with.

Sherlock looked so helpless I found it hard not to laugh, he had a wet flannel on his head so poorly squeezed out that water was beginning to trickle into his eye, causing him to twitch his head every now and again. The detective also had a large mixing bowl on top of the mound of blankets I had thrown over him, just in case his insides want to make a revisit again. Good thing he reminded me, I don't think just his dressing gown would have stopped any of the cold going straight through him.

*ring ring

"I can get it." Sherlock sprang up from his seat.

"No you can't, I will." I hastily replied shoving him back onto the bed.

Sherlock's pov.

In the kitchen I heard john on the phone to Lestrade... "no Sherlock can't come out... no I don't care... no I think he has a bug... no you can't talk to him... ok, send us the file but he is NOT going out."

"Hey, it was just Mary." John declared strolling back into my rom.

"Don't lie."

"I wasn't."

"Yes you were."

"No I... uhhh never mind. You can't go on a case." What does john know about my health? This transport was inflicted upon is useless. Curls are just a star of how pathetic it is, always flying into my face and hair always in my mouth. God I hate being human. I stand up brushing of a rather angry John Watson and my dizziness. Ah shirt, that's another thing about humans, they all feel the need to express the emotions in clothing. That's why I always where a suit, never give away your true emotion. I grab hold of my purple button down shirt and slide it on, grab my scarf and coat and leave the house to Johns yells. I hail a cab and all I can think of is a new case, hopefully this one won't be a waste of time. But they always are, well most of them.