Lessons in Friendship 7 – Needing something

Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

So this is the last chapter, the story unintentionally became a bit longer than originally planned. Hope you liked it.

RL background: I managed to get a Campylobacter-infection when I had just started senior high school / sixth form. I got a nice dress down by the doctor (when after four days I finally was dragged there) for not showing up earlier. I did not tell him I feared to be misunderstood once more and therefore didn't consider it. I fetched it because I warmed up something in the microwave that contained contaminated eggs. Since it was the first microwave my family owned (and we had it only for a few months) I didn't know it heated the food up to a temperature that was ideal for bacteria multiplying instead of killing them. Well, now I know better.

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Thank you so much for your support, reviews and feedback :).

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Chapter 18

Day 5 – Tuesday, lunchtime

"Sherlock, you haven't eaten for days, you need some nourishment!"

"Isn't there some kind of intravenous fluid to do that?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes.

"Nope, stomach tube, maybe… but I wouldn't recommend that one," John said with a bit of mischief in his voice.

"Chances are high I'd probably follow your recommendation."

"So, you'll eat like a normal person, easy things for your stomach," the doctor stated, "Open that dressing gown," John stood next to the couch, with the intention to examine Sherlock once more.

His flatmate followed his orders like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Was he doing this to irritate John?

"But chewing is disgusting."

John's mouth fell open. He had definitely never heard that before.

Was that the reason Sherlock refused to eat so often or was it just now because of the illness?

Or was it a joke? This whole conversation had a silly undertone from the start.

"I can make some soup, or mashed potatoes, you won't have to chew those, would also fit the description 'easy on your stomach'."

Sherlock pulled a childish face.

"The idea of food or even smelling it is making me… nauseous."

"I know. That's perfectly normal in your condition, and the reason why I only ate cold toast and simple sandwiches for the past days. I knew you'd throw up as soon as you'd smell food."

"You did that?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Why did you do that?"

"I just told you."

"That's very nice of you, isn't it?"

"That was the idea, glad you understand."

"Can you make some microwave popcorn - salted - later?"

"What?"

"You heard me, didn't you…?" Sherlock murmured, a bit irritated.

"Yes, you want popcorn later. Does it have to be microwave popcorn? I could make some fresh one more easily, we have dried corn. I'd have to go to Tesco to get some for the microwave. Besides fresh tastes better."

"I know, I usually prefer fresh, too. But the odd taste the instant stuff has is exactly what my… something is… asking for?"

"There have been quite an awful lot of 'unknown somethings' ghosting through your mind and our conversations here in the past few days."

The detective frowned, not understanding the hint about how much uncharted territory they had come into contact with during Sherlock's sickness.

"And… you know, popcorn is not exactly what would be considered a 'light meal' after days of puking," John continued.

"What?"

"I want to say it could be too much for your stomach and you might throw it up again if you assault your body with things it can't handle."

"Why is it telling me it wants it then, if it can't?"

"You know the answer to that, so why are you asking me?"

"No, my brain is kind of messed up. Whenever I feel I start thinking straight again a wisp of something comes by and turns six to seven thoughts in totally different directions than they were heading before."

"Something?" John smiled.

Sherlock looked irritated, "My thoughts get indentations and then I get unnerved and I don't understand what I was thinking… and the connection between my thoughts and the databases is stuttering… When will this end?" he wined.

"Your thoughts get buckles?… Really?" John smiled at him once more, "You're sick, Sherlock. This is normal. Your body and mind are exhausted and wired, nothing to worry about."

"It's disgusting. My mind feels like it wants to throw up, too, but neither I nor it have a clue how to do that."

This left John helpless, because he couldn't even guess what emotions Sherlock was describing right now, or if it was a simple perception.

"Besides, if it makes me sick, maybe my body will learn not to ask for something that is stupid in this state in the future."

"Sherlock, it doesn't work that way. Your body is not a stubborn self-contained entity."

The moment he had said it he wondered if that exactly was Sherlock's problem with his 'transport', that it was an entity he wasn't really fond of or wanted to be connected to. He needed to keep that bit of information under surveillance.

"It probably doesn't even need salted popcorn. There probably is something in there your body needs right now, maybe just plain and simple salt. And your body knows that, so you have a craving for a thing that is rich with what you need. Your stomach is talking to your brain, even if you try to deny it… and it is communicating needs… so listen to it, but do it with care."

"I don't… know how to… do that."

John stared at him, "You don't know or you don't want to?"

"I….?" Sherlock looked lost and quite tired.

"Okay, just listen to me when I tell you, because I'm a doctor, I know such things… and I might be able to translate… I'll go to Tesco then. You need something else?"

John went over to the dining table and wrote down the shopping list on an old piece of paper.

"Eh… Cola."

Sherlock usually didn't go for soft drinks but John realised this might be another of his body's needs.

The sick man's eyes had closed and he looked as if close to sleep.

"Are you still in pain?"

"Hm, some morphine would be great," Sherlock muttered, already drifting.

"Nope, for this kind of pain morphine would be overkill. Besides, I can't just go and buy some. And if I could, I would not give it to you," John informed him in a voice that underlined this should be totally clear to him.

"I could…" Sherlock was half asleep and kind of malnourished so John decided that it didn't count as a real conversation.

"…But I won't, and I wouldn't give it to me either… But I'd find it funny if you wrote it on your shopping list."

Sherlock smiled slightly with closed eyes. It was not a faked smile.

"Was more of a joke… I imagined your shopping list on a piece of ripped paper with morphine in it and then you losing the sheet or someone seeing it lying on the conveyor belt and the look on that someone's face when he reads the list. Obviously not a funny joke... Bad one, sorry. You might want to replace it with… oh yeah, a 'yellow-pink 87,6 m long staircase carpet', might have the same effect."

"Not the same, this actually would be funny and nobody would look at me like I'm a junkie… or having a severely sick relative!… Sleep, mate," John rolled his eyes.

He took his jacket and wallet and headed for Tesco, at least Sherlock seemed to feel better.

The other man would feel the aftermath of this for at least another three to five days.

What made John wonder was the fact that Sherlock had endured his examination very compliant.

The past days had been not only hard on Sherlock in a way that being this sick would be on everybody, but mentally hard, too.

John saw it in Sherlock's posture that something had changed and something was not quite right, though he was not able to pinpoint it.

His flatmate had those phases where he didn't speak, he had learned there was not one reason, like 'he's thinking' for that, there were several 'not-talking-moods'.

And the one John had observed yesterday was new.

Often, Sherlock played the violin during a phase of not speaking, but this time he only stared at it. John had been sure he'd play as soon as he'd be able to stand upright again, but he didn't. It was almost as if he was self-denying it.

But the doctor knew Sherlock's paths of logic and feelings were different, no premature conclusions… He decided to step back and watch.

There had been many astounding things he had witnessed in the past days… many of them mechanisms built after being misunderstood and frustrated long ago. He'd watch out for those in the future, making sure he wouldn't be the cause for any of those surfacing because of him.

Sherlock needed someone who 'tuned in'… he had shown more trust in the past days than John had dared to hope for a week ago. The doctor had been granted touch and examinations, repeatedly… and Sherlock had asked him for help, those were large steps forward, in a good direction.

The whole thing hadn't been nice and had exhausted them both, but it seemed to have boosted Sherlock's trust in him and his will to open up a bit. This was at least one good thing coming from the whole mess.

Well, and the thing about friendship… that had been another eye-opener.

Why hadn't Sherlock understood before that he was offering friendship?… His explanations of the subject seemed to have been kind of new territory for Sherlock.

It had been hard for John to see how careful he was with this and how bad the experiences in his youth must have been. He had officially taken the offer and signalled he wanted this friendship.

The moment John had asked he hadn't been sure if he'd get an incisive remark for an answer.

Sherlock had asked ridiculous, clueless and innocent questions about the whole friendship-thing… it was almost painful to see him that lost and unconfident with that topic… and wonder how his past had been without people who were fond of him. Also, it was difficult to see him being sick and in pain. Several aspects of that were kind of disturbing.

Sherlock definitely had loads of feelings, but he seemed unable to connect them with the descriptions a normal person would use. His way to describe sensations and feelings was odd, maybe even uniquely honest, John hadn't decided yet.

It was not that Sherlock didn't want to describe something that was different for him, he had just made bad experiences with not been understood… The more he understood the man, the more interesting it got.

John had seen a whole new side of Sherlock… of his friend.

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A/N:

I'd love to get some feedback.