Chapter 1- April 2012

Sherlock was at his microscope when It first happened, It was a day that would reply in Sherlock's and John's minds for as long as they lived. Sherlock had been adjusting the slide on his microscope, he was analyzing the effects of honey and cyanide on dog dander.

When suddenly his left arm went numb, it had been happening gradually throughout the day but it went completely numb at that exact moment and it began to twitch in a frenzy. Sherlock, in his shock, dropped a test tube he had been holding in the hand of the effected arm. The strong glass shattered when it hit the kitchen tile and Sherlock barely noticed it.

John ran in moments later, at hearing the sound of the glass break. He found Sherlock on his knees clutching his left arm, that was twitching quite oddly. He was sitting in a pile of broken glass. Many explanations raced through John's mind when he saw his friend's condition. Localized seizures, muscle weakness, spasms, to name a few. John was Sherlock's side in an instant.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

John hissed, the worry adding an edge to his voice. It was as if John's voice had awakened him from his stunned state as Sherlock blinked and stood up.

"Yes, John. I'm quite alright."

He whispered, sounding slightly dazed and John wasn't convinced. He raised an eyebrow slightly and touched Sherlock's forehead, as if testing for a fever. Then his brow furrowed as he found none.

"Your sure?"

He asked and Sherlock nodded, as he left the room. Leaving John staring after him, still very much concerned. But eventually John let it slip his mind and he brushed it off as nothing.

2 weeks later

It was two weeks later before something similar happened again. Sherlock and John had been at a crime scene with Lestrade and his crew, Sherlock had finished telling Lestrade everything about the crime that had been just committed. (She was killed by her son who was still bitter over the divorce with his father, obviously.)

He pulled out his phone and began to type, John looked confused at this. He watched Sherlock's usually limber, precise long fingers, slip and slide over the keys like he was just a toddler, struggling to walk.

Lestrade noticed this as well and he chose not to comment on it. But John wasn't Lestrade.

"Sher? Are you alright?"

He asked, gently resting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock shrugged the hand off his shoulder, and tossed the phone at John in frustration. He stormed out of the room, pushing past John and Lestrade. Bounding down the stairs as he usually did and out the door, ignoring Anderson and Sally who just stared after him, confused.

John hurriedly followed after his flatmate and friend. He found Sherlock outside hailing a taxi, John sprinted over to him to narrowly jump into the cab after his friend. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge his presence, just stared out the window sullenly. John decided to act then.

"Sherlock? What was that about? And you better tell me."

John asked, turning Sherlock's shoulders to meet him in the eyes. Sherlock just stared at him defiantly, saying nothing as John sighed once again. Letting Sherlock go as the taxi drove towards Baker Street.

3 days later

Sherlock sat quietly on the doctor's examination table, hands on his lap as the doctor came in. Sherlock had snuck away from the flat while John was at A and E and went to St. Bart's hospital to finally find out why his transport was betraying him. The doctor was a stout man of older age with graying hair and a kind grandfatherly look to him. But the man wasn't smiling now as he looked at Sherlock, sadly.

"Mr. Holmes, we've gotten your test results in. You have what's known as ALS or Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis."

The older man sighed resignedly, looking at his chart. Sherlock leaned forwards on the table.

"Well what does that mean?!"

He snapped, angry at not knowing and having to ask for help. The doctor's voice went monotone as he answered Sherlock.

"It means your brain will stop sending signals to certain muscles at a time, without being used the muscles will weaken and die."

The doctor said flatly and Sherlock frowned in shock.

"So your saying soon, I won't be able to move, then I won't be able to breathe properly, then I won't be able to breathe at all?"

He whispered, softly as the doctor nodded, resting a hand on Sherlock's knee.

"How long?"

Sherlock hissed, gripping the table edges so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"It's gradual, so two or three years at most."

The doctor sighed and he looked at Sherlock with sympathy.

"Look young man, it's not that ba-"

"The brain! Will any harm come to the brain?!"

Sherlock interrupted instantly, frantically. And the doctor looked at him with the upmost seriousness in his lined eyes and Sherlock could see why this man had become a doctor.

"The brain remains untouched."