Forwards We Must Go

Chapter 4

Day 33

"What did the doctors say? Because you must have taken me to the hospital at some point no?" Sherlock inquired over his toast and coffee. He was very calm today; He took lots of what John had to say at face value. John found it odd but at least Sherlock would get up. He had spent the last week lying bed every day and refusing to get up, to eat, and every day was the same, he said the same things. Over and over, they would tumble from his mouth like a well-rehearsed script.

"They didn't know why your mind does it. They think it's a sort of coping mechanism for the traumatic things that happened when you came back," John said. "They didn't get to finish all the tests because you backed out. If you want to go back in, we can, but it's up to you. We know what's important, that you lose all your short term memories every time you sleep," He finished. There was no reaction from Sherlock. He stared into his coffee. It was only when John reached out to touch Sherlock's arm across the table that Sherlock looked up at him.

"How long?" He asked.

"What?" John asked back. His hand withdrew to his side of the oddly clean table.

"How long have I been like this?" Sherlock clarified.

"A little bit more than a month," John said quietly.

"Ah."

"Yeah, we aren't sure if it's permanent…"

"Oh, of course it's permanent." Sherlock tutted. He left his half eaten toast on the plate and made his way to the living room, to his chair. John swallowed as he watched Sherlock hobble, try as Sherlock might he winced each and every time that his foot came into contact with the floor. The week he had spent in bed had not helped his range of motion. What he needed was physical therapy. Perhaps he could convince Sherlock to go to some for a few weeks. He thought about bringing it up but Sherlock was preoccupied with the cane propped up against his chair.

Long and slender, the matte black cane was about five and a half feet long with a silver steel tipped end. The top of the cane hosted a simplistic stainless steel orb, it's base wrapped around the top of the metal. Despite the size of the orb, the cane was perfectly balanced were one to hold it in the middle of its length, and it was surprisingly light. A small engraving upon the underside of the orb told of its owner: Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock tested it out by making his way back to the kitchen to stand in front of his old flatmate.

"It arrived in the mail yesterday evening. I don't know when you ordered it, but you must've," John told him.

"I didn't order it." Sherlock stated.

"How can you be so sure?" John asked.

"Because. I'd never consider such a thing." Sherlock said quietly.

"Mycroft then." John stated. Sherlock looked up at John oddly. John was preoccupied with putting some jam on his toast finally. Sherlock wondered what was off about John. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't place it.

"Speaking of, have you two been talking?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious to see what his brother had been up to.

"No." John stated.

"Not at all?" Sherlock asked.

"Not since the day you fell." John said into his coffee. Sherlock wasn't sure how touchy of a subject the fall would be, especially now. John knew a lot more of what had happened since that day than Sherlock himself did. The pair lapsed into a heavy silence, neither wanting to broach the subject but still acknowledging its presence. Perhaps they'd already spoken on the matter, and maybe it'd just been avoided like the plague.

Only John knew, and lately it seemed to Sherlock, with his short term memory, that John had decidedly closed down. He'd shut himself away from the emotions, and the process of getting over it. He'd been in denial, Sherlock realized. He was doing something that was eerily similar to what Sherlock had done since before he'd met John. He was cold; without emotions. The only thing that differed was that John wasn't nearly as clever as Sherlock had been.

John looked up from his coffee suddenly and spoke. "You should start a video diary. Leave yourself an explanation so that I don't have to battle with you every bloody morning just to get you to believe me."

"Are you leaving or something?" Sherlock asked hesitantly; he was afraid of the answer.

"No, no. God, no. Not for good, I just have to leave the city in a week for the weekend, and I've been trying to brainstorm ideas on how that's going to work." John said quietly.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked.

"A funeral." John responded. Then he promptly went to get dressed and left. He mumbled something about doing the shopping on his way out the door. Sherlock spent the rest of the morning trying to play the violin and becoming frustrated when it failed to sooth his racing mind.

Day 35

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he leaped from his bed only to be shocked to tread on the hot conversion unit of a laptop power cord. Very tense and unsure, his eyes followed the cord to his open laptop set on his bedside table. There was a sticky note on the top right hand corner that read: Play Me. Sherlock followed the instructions after only a moment, realizing the handwriting was his own.

The screen glowed in the dark room and Sherlock found he had to sit down or risk falling down, because his right leg seemed to be in poor condition. The message that Sherlock himself had recorded just the previous day went through what had happened and that John would be leaving town in a few days, but other than that, he should be around. The last thing that the Sherlock on the screen did was remind Sherlock that his cane was propped up against the other side of his bedside table.

Sherlock plucked the cane from where it was propped and proceeded to examine it as best as he could in the dark room. Eventually deciding to trust it all, he used it to make his way to the kitchen. A single cup of coffee sat on the counter with a note set against the mug. It told Sherlock that it was the way he liked it and that Mrs. Hudson had taken the time to make it for him. Sherlock smiled to himself and sipped it silently as he made his way to his chair to sit until John woke up.