Chapter Text
Sherlock, followed by John, entered Lestrade’s office looking for cases. His irritating attitude had Greg seeing red.
“You will receive no more cases from me, and I’ll see that you receive none from your brother. You have crossed the line for the last time. I won’t stand for you continuing to treat your brother like he is nothing,” Lestrade yelled at Sherlock. “And you’re no better, Watson. As far as I’m concerned, neither of you will have any association with Mycroft nor me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Sherlock smirked. “Without me, you’ll have a file cabinet full of unsolved crimes. I’ve been keeping it almost empty for the last seven years since I returned from the dead,” he bragged. Then realize what Greg had said about his brother. “And what do you have to say about my brother’s cases.”
John tried to silence him with a hand on his arm, but he shook it off. “You can’t speak for him. Remember he hates leg work. That’s the reason he always depends on me when there is that type of situation.”
“The reason I can speak for him is that we’re together now. He didn’t want you to know as he was afraid that you’d try to sabotage our relationship.”
Sherlock glared at Greg, “You don’t know him as well as you think you do. He’d never let you or anyone else make his decisions for him. I think you might be the one in for a surprise.”
Dismissing them before looking down on the file he was reading when they came in. As he pointed to the door, Greg commented. “Let’s wait and see who's right about this.”
The two men left silently until reaching the outside then Sherlock turned to John shocked, “They’re together? You knew?”
“Greg let it slip one night at the pub but asked me not to tell you,” John explained.
There was a look of betrayal on Sherlock’s face before he turned walking away at a fast pace. John knew he hurt his roommate by keeping it a secret and that Sherlock would refuse to discuss it with him. It was better to let him sulk for a while before addressing it. Allowing Sherlock to leave without following him, John headed toward the closest pub hoping his roommate would forgive him for keeping the secret.
…………………………………………………
The first week Sherlock just laid around the flat with his fingertips under his chin, organizing his mind palace in his rattiest bathrobe and old pajama pants.
Deciding that his friend wasn’t eating enough to sustain him, John called out as he stopped at the flat after work. “I brought some fish and chips for dinner.”
“Not hungry. Take dinner home to your wife. I’m sure she will be happy you brought her dinner. I’m trying to decide what to do so that Graham will give me cases.”
“He was furious this time. I believe he meant it.” John looked up from his plate, “You’re not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?”
Sherlock opened his eyes, “Me, do something stupid. Give me a little credit, will you? Besides, there’s been nothing above a three yet. He’ll call when he needs me because his department of idiots is unable to understand even the simplest of clues.”
“Not helping the situation talking like that Sherlock. He’s livid about the stunt. Perhaps we did go a little too far.”
“You thought it was a great idea at the time. Are you blaming it on me now? If I remember correctly, you suggested the scheme.”
“No, Sherlock, you suggested the clowns. I’m just afraid we didn’t think it through all the way.”
Sherlock dismissively flicked his hand, turning to his side, “Go home John. Mary’s waiting for you.”
++
Week two had the detective checking his phone frequently. He tried to contact his brother but was informed Mycroft was out of the country. Calls to Lestrade when unanswered.
When John arrived after his shift, he tried to encourage him to eat after finding uneaten sandwiches and soups that he and Mrs. Hudson had delivered to the detective, “Mrs. Hudson made some of your favorite biscuits.”
“Not interested,” Sherlock said, indicating the biscuits. “Thinking. I assume my brother and Lestrade are ignoring me. But I’ll get their attention one way or another.”
“Sherlock, we talked about this. Just give them a little time. Besides, Mycroft does travel out of the country frequently, and maybe he really isn’t here.”
“Pffff, even when he is traveling or attending meetings, he always makes time to stick his big nose into my business.”
Trying to engage Sherlock in something besides brooding, “Was anything over a five in the paper or email that caught your fancy?”
“No, and that’s not the point. They're ignoring me.” He complained once more dismissively. Waving his hand, he turned to his side. “Look John. I don’t need you or Mycroft to keep me busy. I’m fine waiting for them to realize that they need me. I’m fine by myself, and sure your wife and child can keep you busy, go home to them.”
+++
The third week Sherlock was pacing the flat, pulling at his hair yelling, “Bored.” His personal hygiene was deteriorating, not having showered or changed his clothes for almost a week.
John had tried calling Greg for a case for Sherlock, but the DI had repeated his previous statement. “No cases for that ass. He won’t receive any calls when we require help.”
“Look, Greg, he screwed up, but we’re talking about Sherlock here. He acts before he thinks.”
“And your excuse Doctor Watson? No cases now or later,” Greg yelled before hanging up.
When he had called Mycroft to ask for something for Sherlock, Anthea had promised to see her boss would receive the message but restated he was out of town. She specified that she would need to wait until he could receive notifications again as he was in blackout meetings. However, they hadn’t yet heard from Lestrade or Mycroft.
“Sherlock, sit down. You haven’t had any nourishment in three days. You need to eat and drink a bit before you pass out. Besides that, you smell. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a shower and shave. Letting yourself go isn’t helping. Afterward, you eat and tidy up look over the emails. I’m sure there’s something that might pique your interest.”
“Boring, boring, boring,” Sherlock screamed before throwing himself on the sofa. “I’m not hungry, and my hygiene is none of your concern.”
“But….
Sherlock stood, heading into his room where he slammed the door, “Mary’s waiting for you,” he yelled through the door. “Go irritate her.”
Knowing that he wouldn’t get his friend out of the room anytime soon, John called out, “I’m going home.”
++++
It was now week four without a case. After a fight with Mary over the time he was spending with Sherlock, John was packed a bag and left angry. He decided to spend a few days by Sherlock’s in the hope of preventing his partner from relapsing regardless of what Mary demanded.
However, the tension in the flat was deteriorating more than at home. John had it with both Mary and Sherlock’s attitudes. Mary demanded that he forget about Sherlock and stay with her. Sherlock spent the day laying on the sofa, facing to the back, sulking, and complaining of having naught to do. When the detective said there was no reason to live without cases, John exploded.
“ENOUGH! Don’t you ever say that again? Just get up and do something,” he yelled. “I am going to work. Don’t expect me back until late as I need some time away from your brooding. I planned to stop at the pub on the way home getting pissed.”
Sara invited John for an after-work lager or two when right before his shift ended. He jumped at the chance to spend time with someone comfortable with their life. Laughing and drinking with her helped him to calm down enough to return to his friend.
Entering the flat feeling slightly tipsy, John silently opened the door, hoping not to wake his partner if the man had at long last managed to fall asleep. Not turning on a light, he moved in the dark toward the loo. Before leaving the sitting room, he tripped over something lying on the floor. Flipping on the light, he found Sherlock lying there, blood surrounding his head.
“Sherlock,” he yelled as he fell to his knees to check his friend’s pulse. It was weak and irregular. Blood was slowly leaking from the upper left part of his head. Pressing a towel that he had hurriedly grabbed, he placed his friend’s head on his lap. He pulled out his phone, calling 999 while yelling for Mrs. Hudson.
She mumbled ‘not your housekeeper’ as she hurried up the stairs. Seeing the blood flowing from her tenant, her hands flew to her mouth. “Is he?
“He’s still breathing. I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson, could you direct the ambulance people upstairs?”
Looking around John, she saw a used needle laying a few feet from Sherlock and blood on the corner of the coffee table. “Oh, Sherlock, what did you do?”
Hearing the sirens, “Please Mrs. Hudson, the attendants should be here any moment.”
As she hurried down the stairs to let them in, John watched his friend’s chest rising and falling, “You fool. Look what you’ve done to yourself. Just do one thing for me right now, don’t die. I can’t go through that again.”
As the ambulance arrived, he heard them racing up the stairs. Giving them Sherlock’s information and assessment, he stepped back allowing them to take over the detective’s care.
“I’m coming with you,” he informed them. They didn’t argue, as they knew from answering multiple calls from this address that it would do no good to deny the request.