Sherlock sickfics!

Spectacles (Part 1)

      Before we began, this one is inspired by tea_and_sherlock's comment. Anyways, enjoy!

       Sherlock sat cross legged in his chair, reading a book. He already knew the ending, even though he was only on page twenty-six. It was obvious to him that Crowley and Aziraphale would save the world from the anti-Christ. He also knew they were incredibly gay for each other.

       The detective gave an exasperated sigh before changing positions on the chair, now hanging some-what up-side down.

He was incredibly, positively, exceptionally, bored.

John decided that they weren't making enough money to financially support John, his daughter, and Sherlock's "shenanigans" (whatever that was supposed to mean). So John has now resided to clocking in more hours at the clinic. This happening, left Sherlock even more bored and lonely, Rosie was at daycare, John at work, and now all Sherlock has is this god for saken book! He was even frustrated with the weather, it's been quite a difficult winter so far in London. And no murderer was willing to get themselves frostbitten for some blood, which Sherlock found strangely amusing.

 The ex-army doctor thought that maybe giving his flatmate a four-hundred page book would at least keep him occupied enough until he got home, that idea died quick or in a sense, worked exceptionally well.

The detective would have thrown the book away ages ago, mopping around and calling to no one, thinking maybe Ms.Hudson would hear his whining and come and at least give him tea. But, Sherlock had to prove something, even if he was the only one in the room. So, he kept reading.

To be blunt, he was having a difficult time reading the book. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, not even himself.

The words spinned, as if they were riding a carousel. And everything was all blurry like when you just wake up and the lights are turned on, and in general, difficult to understand. He's had this problem before, but usually he could still get through the book with more ease than the average person, but after a while he assumed, his eyes have gotten worse. He refused to admit it though, he still kept trying to trug through and finish the book just so when John walks in he can shove the read book up to him and show that he did indeed finish it, and didn't throw it away, like the army doctor said he would.

This is why when John walked through the door to see his flatmate laying diagonally across his chair, almost resembling a worm, with the book he gave his friend earlier, shoved up against the detectives face, and squinting at the page.

John had to hold in a laugh as he walked into the kitchen to put up some groceries he picked up on his way home.

"Sherlock what the hell are you doing" John said as he strutted, the bags of food slowing him some-what down.

"readin'" came the muffled reply, as the detective has positioned himself yet again, now cheek smooshed into the armrest of the chair, book inches away from his face.

"Oh, well I didn't know you were supposed to read like that."

"Well, you are. Obviously"

John had a plan, this was his only shot. 

The ex-army doctor knew that Sherlock has always had a problem reading. When there wasn't a case sometimes John would just make them both tea before sitting down in his chair, Sherlock either sitting in the chair across from him, or lounging on the couch, and the both would read. But every time they did this, John would sometimes look over at Sherlock, who would have the book quite close to his face, often squinting. And as the years past, the book scooted a little bit closer to Sherlock's face when he read.

John has tried to get his flatmate to go and get his eyes checked multiple times over the years, but his concern was pushed to the side by a "Of course I don't see glasses, are you blind, wait, wrong wording" and the frequent, "My eyes are fine, maybe you're the once who needs to get their eyes checked" or the silence when Sherlock just decided to be a prick and ignore him that day.

He felt for the detective, and he knew if he didn't at least get glasses, they would continue to worsen. So the detective would just have to suck it up and go get his eyes checked, or swear to god John will make him do it, which he knows that is something neither of the boys want.

To be continued...

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Thank you for reading, this isn't really a sick fic but I thought the idea was adorable. This will probably be two or three parts, which is exciting

But thank you guys for reading, and have a nice day.

Side not, thanks for 4k reads, I never thought something I wrote would get that many reads, so thanks a lot my friends!

                                                                    -Amanda