Waiter in a suit - A Johnlock

12. Thank you John

       

Only two days guys!!! I am so hyped for the new season. I mean... John pinning Sherlock against the wall before knocking him out? The king is back? John wearing a flower in his hair? What's. going. On. And I kinda feel sad about Martin and Amanda their break up; The scenes in the new season will be so different now, knowing they just split up. Anyways! Above is a little video I made about the new season.

Enjoy this chapter (:

_

"Sherlock are you okay?" John asked as he rushed into the bedroom, turning on the light. Sherlock his hair was damp with sweat and his eyes were half closed. He was holding his arms around himself, a nauseous feeling overcoming him. He groaned once again. Sherlock held his mouth closed, attempting to keep the bile down, though it burned his throat greatly.

"Oh god do you have to..." John trailed off as Sherlock began nodding furiously. John's eyes widened as he frantically began searching something for Sherlock. He quickly took the trash can in his hands and handed it to Sherlock, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sherlock opened his mouth, coughing and nearly choking on his vomit. The smell of vomit filled the room. Sherlock tried to empty his entire contents of his stomach into the trash can, only to notice with a sick feeling that he had missed a bit, probably because he's still a bit intoxicated. He felt the warmth of his vomit on his purple shirt.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock murmured an apology, embarrassed as he finished. John sat at his side, supporting Sherlock. John didn't mind, he was used to vomit from his patients.

"Hey it's okay." John said warmly, comforting Sherlock as he was rubbing his back gently. Sherlock nodded stiffly, his face lowering again, opening his mouth again. He was aware that the trashcan was moved by another hand just under his mouth, unable to stop throwing up. It kept going. He felt like he would never stop, his throat was killing him, and every time he tried to take a breath he would puke again. He coughed into the bowl, acid stinging his throat and tongue. Sherlock's forehead was hot. The young doctor was worried about the other. He reached over and placed his palm on Sherlock's forehead, and cursed softly, feeling the heat radiating from his friend's forehead. This was extremely odd. John hoped that nobody spiked Sherlock's drinks with drugs.

Finally Sherlock had stopped. His breathing slowed down and his stomach began to settle. He turned his head, staring into John's concerned eyes.

"I feel horrible." He muttered. John nodded sadly, knowing that this was partly his fault. He took the trashcan out of Sherlock's hands and stood up, placing it on the floor. "I'm sorry for..."

"It's alright Sherlock." He paused. "Let's get you cleaned up." John said as he grabbed his friend by the arm, pulling him gently upright. John then let go of Sherlock's arm.

"Not so fast John." Sherlock blurted out as he grabbed John's arm to steady himself as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

"Steady." John muttered as he reached out to balance the detective his wavering form. Sherlock nodded slightly. John sent Sherlock a reassuring smile before leading him forwards. They wandered into the bathroom where John placed Sherlock on the lid of the toilet. He began searching for a washcloth and then he began carefully dab at Sherlock's face with a washcloth. Sherlock's eyes were closed the whole time, which John appreciated. A crimson flush slowly creep over John's cheeks while cleaning Sherlock up. When he was finished, he was unsure what to do next. Sherlock's shirt was full with vomit. But he wasn't sure if Sherlock would feel comfortable with John helping him. So when John finished, he stood motionless in front of Sherlock.

After a moment, Sherlock lifted his face slowly and stared into John's hazel eyes, bleary eyes trying to focus.

"John can you bring me my pyjama shirt please?" He asked quietly, feeling embarrassment with himself. John nodded and wandered away, entering Sherlock's room again. He searched something for Sherlock to wear. He grabbed a simple t-shirt, and walked over to the trash can and picked it up. He placed it in the hallway and strolled to Sherlock. Sherlock was fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, unable to open them. Because he was still a bit tipsy and his hands were trembling furiously. John smiled sadly at Sherlock and crouched down, gently taking Sherlock's hands away from the buttons and began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt with a flushed face.

"You alright?" He asked gently, helping Sherlock out of the purple shirt.

"No." Sherlock replied dryly. John rolled with his eyes and placed Sherlock's dirty shirt in the wash basin, not knowing where to lay it. John handed Sherlock the t-shirt. Sherlock thanked him, weakly pulling it on. Sherlock also managed to brush his teeth afterwards.

They returned in Sherlock's bedroom. The detective slipped under the covers, wrapping them tightly around himself.

"Do you want me to bring some water?" John asked warmly.

"If you don't mind." Sherlock replied softly.

"I don't mind at all." John assured, smiling. "And it's my fault that you started drinking tonight." John added with a reassuring smile and walked out of the bedroom. He entered the kitchen, and began searching for a glass. He found one and poured water from the crane in the glass. He returned In Sherlock's room, seeing that Sherlock pulled out his trousers. He was lying in a foetal position, shivering under the covers. John found it odd that Sherlock was so sick from alcohol. Vomiting is a normal thing; but feeling so hot, sweating and trembling. John sighed, walking over to the waiter and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Here." He whispered. Sherlock grunted softly before pushing himself upright with his elbows. John handed him the water. Sherlock accepted it as he offered John a small smile.

"Thank you." He mumbled and took a big gulp.

"Welcome." John replied, watching as Sherlock drank the water. "Do you have a bucket somewhere?" John asked, scanning the room.

"In the cabinet, under the sink." Sherlock mumbled, lying himself back down, closing his eyes. John frowned and stood up. He returned a couple minutes later, and placed the bucket at the side of Sherlock's bed. "Here you go." John said, more likely talking to himself. John's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall and he noticed that it was getting really late. If he wanted to find a cab, then it's better to leave now. "Well. I think I should go now. It's getting late." John said. Sherlock fluttered his eyes open.

"You can stay if you want." He said calmly. John cleared his throat, feeling his face heating up.

"I don't want to walk in your way..." John said hesitantly.

"You don't." Sherlock said. "There is another bedroom upstairs." Sherlock added. John smiled.

"Alright thank you." John said, ready to leave. "See you tomorrow morning then. Call me if you need me." John added shyly.

"I will."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight John."