A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

22) Chemotherapy

It wasn't until the new year started until Sherlock began his first session of chemotherapy. That morning, John walked the curly-haired boy down the frost-bitten street towards the hospital, wrapped tightly in his Parker and scarf in nervous silence. In reality, Sherlock was scared. He had had his fair share of hospital appointments and medication in his life however the thought of chemo made him feel sick. He dreaded the worst - and he dreaded how John would react if anything bad were to happen. The blonde boy, carefully, pushed open the double doors of the building and slipped Sherlock inside, frowning slightly as he gazed around at the many staircases and lifts.
"Take the first lift - we want floor three," Sherlock explained quietly, leaning back in his chair and glancing at the many doctors and nurses rushing past, occasionally receiving the odd stare. John nodded slightly embarrassed as he headed for the lift, bustling inside along with a young child with his apparent mother. The boy was skinny, with pale skin and tufts of sticky-up blonde hair and light blue eyes. He watched Sherlock with vast interest as the metals doors slowly clamped shut.
"Why are you in a wheelchair?" He persisted, the tone rather reminding John of Sherlock.
The boy'a mother gasped slightly and pulled him back.
"Hugo that's none of your business," she scolded, turning her attention to Sherlock and John who both wore a confused expression on their faces.
"No it's err fine," the curly-haired boy reassured the woman.
"It's my bones - they found a tumour."

"Bones," the young boy, evidently named Hugo, repeated with wide eyes, all until his mother butted in.
"Haven't I seen you in the papers before?" She asked nosily, staring at Sherlock.
"You're that boffin aren't you."
John frowned greatly at this but Sherlock merely nodded his head and sighed.
"I help solve crimes with Scotland Yard," he explained in a bored-tone as the lift doors once again opened, revealing the third floor. Gratefully, John moved to help Sherlock out from the lift before the boy tugged at his coat.
"I think you're cool," he announced, a sheepish grin on his pale face. The blonde boy chuckled at this before making his way down the hallway, his face thoughtful. The two boys made their way down the quiet corridor towards the waiting room in silence; Sherlock's eyes closed as a sickening feeling rose in his stomach.
"Don't worry Sherlock," John whispered to him reassuringly as he toons seat on one of the plastic chairs, the curly-haired boy sat beside him.
The skinny boy managed a small nod before opening his eyes and gazing round the room. It was fairly empty in-fact; it was only him and John and an elderly woman sat at the back, apart from that the remaining chairs were all empty.
"Sherlock Holmes," a posh voice sounded from nearby as an older woman stepped out, her lips pursed and her grey hair tied back tightly into a bun.
The blonde initially stood up and made his way over with Sherlock by his side before the woman held out a bony hand and stopped him.

"Just Mr Holmes please," she explained snidely, guiding Sherlock into the next room and cautiously closing the door behind them. John huffed slightly at this but did not complain; instead he slumped back down onto his seat and pulled a magazine from the side-table, flicking through in order to take his mind off of things. It wasn't until nearly an hour later until Sherlock returned; looking rather disgruntled and miserable. The blonde boy quickly got to his feet upon seeing the boy and hurried over to him.
"Everything alright?" He asked anxiously, slipping on his coat and watching the boy.
The curly-haired boy slowly nodded his head and rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his seat with discomfort.
"Tell you what let's go to Speedy's and get something to eat?" John suggested, taking the handles of the wheelchair and striding down the hallway.
"Yeah," Sherlock agreed solemnly, resting his head against the back of the chair as they left the building - greeted by the bitter January wind. 

It was around ten minutes before both boy's arrived via taxi at the cafe, John holding the door open for Sherlock as they both bustled inside. The blonde boy made a beeline straight for a table for two by the window however Sherlock lingered slightly, his face grey and weary. He was in-fact exhausted and sore, but he didn't dare show it. Sherlock never liked to show emotions, especially in-front of John: he didn't want people to see that he was hurting.
"What did you want then?" The shorter boy piped up, scanning at the menu casually.
"Just tea for me," the curly-haired boy mumbled, slightly off in a trance.
John nodded quickly and got to his feet, heading for the counter and ordering their food. Sherlock leant back in his seat and pulled out his phone, gazing down at the new text messages displayed on the screen, rolling his eyes slightly.

Happy New Year Sherlock Holmes. I told Mother about your Chemotherapy and she's in-fact leaving her annual cruise holiday early to visit you next Sunday. Be there. -M

John immediately saw the look of disgust on his roommate's face as he made his way back over to the table, holding a tray of food and drink.
"Mycroft?" He asked suspiciously, placing the tray down onto the table and slipping into the vacant seat.
Sherlock took a small sip of tea before nodding and giving a sigh.
"My mother's coming to visit."
The blonde boy's mouth opened slightly into an 'O' shape as he flashed a puzzled look at the boy.
"You're not too keen on her?" He asked innocently.

"That's one way to put it," the curly-haired boy scoffed slightly, his voice irritable as he took a last sip of tea before placing it back down onto the table.
"We despised each-other," he continued.
"Mycroft was her golden child of course but me...well, not so much."
John clicked his tongue and nodded slowly, taking a small bite of food, his mind racing thoughtfully.
"Is she coming to 221b?"
Sherlock gave a forced laugh as he chuckled darkly to himself and leant back in his seat.
"No," he confirmed, staring at the blonde boy.
"I'm meeting her and Mycroft at a posh restaurant in the centre of town. She has plenty of money anyway."
The blonde boy nodded slightly and finished his lunch, leaving the knife and fork on his empty plate as he rested his chin on his hands and gazed at Sherlock.
"Well I'll come with you then," he decided.
The curly-haired boy gave a wide, disapproving frown before relaxing, comforted by John's reassurance.
"We can face her together."

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