"Hungry," he murmurs. "Slept well. No nightmares."
It was strange. Like waking up after he was unconscious, but he didn't feel as sore. True, his skin still felt prickly and he still felt as though he didn't want to move.
"Pancakes," he says, huddling further under the covers. It's a little chilly in the flat since the fire went out hours ago. He would say 'chocolate chip' but - he's probably had enough chocolate for sometime.
He knows what your favorites are so you end up getting one that's chocolate chip and another that drizzled with honey. He makes a mental note to book you a dentist appointment sometime soon. John doesn't care as long as you are eating and it makes you happy.
He brings it over on a tray for you so you don't have to get up out of the covers, puts it on your lap as you sit up a bit.
He's reading the paper and notices you're done. He takes your plate and goes to wash it up before coming back.
"Right. Anything you want to do today?" He says, sitting on the coffee table; "If you're still feeling poorly you can just lie on the sofa all day watching daytime TV. Unless it would be too boring. We could...play Cluedo- no, wait, forget I said that." He stops himself, remembering the last time with a shudder.
A grim expression dawns; "You don't remember why the Cluedo board is hanging by the mirror with a knife stabbed into it?"
[[ooc: Thank you :D It's mostly loosely based on this and also a bit from the fic on your mun channel. All basically this same broken!Sherock universe we've made]]
He shakes his head, frowning. "No, John why does the Cluedo board have a knife in it?"
Is there something he's supposed to remember? It's blank - there's no file that he's aware that contains "Cluedo."
[[ooc: You are welcome. I'm considering a PART III on my own channel, but we'll see. Still debating whether to do "New Divide" or "Wicked Game" I know eventually I'll do both, but where and when and what footage is still up for grabs]]
He gives a puzzled frown; "What do you remember, Sherlock? Do you remember our cases? Do you remember...sitting half-naked in Buckingham Palace and stealing an ash tray?"
He knows it could be nothing...Just a blip, surely...Maybe he just deleted it, it wasn't like it was that important a memory. He guessed.
"I- I remember..." He frowns. "I remember chasing a cabbie that poisoned his victims. I think you shot him - you saved my life." That seems as though it must have been a very deep file. "Afghanistan or Iraq? But John, I've never been to Buckingham Palace. I - at least, I - I don't remember ever going."
He rubs his temples again, the light burns have nearly faded. "My head hurts."
"Okay, okay," He soothes, not wanting to push this but needing to know as much as he can; "You obviously remember me though, yeah. How about...Irene Adler. The Woman?"
He looks at his hands. Then says, in a very small near-whisper: "Yes." He sighs. "He brought her in to conduct... a 'Curing Session'. I - I don't think she knew who I was - or ... he paid her enough that she didn't care.."
He's not looking up at you anymore, in fact, he's nearly avoiding you completely.
John seethes. He looks down and bites his lip to control himself before looking back up.
"All right. But you remember everything that's important, don't you. This flat, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft? That's all you need for now. You don't need to worry about anything else. Your mind will fix itself in time." he says optimistically.
He squeezes your hand; "I know. I'm sorry. None of us would ever forget."
He shrugs; "Only if you wanna play it. Or anything you wanna do. It's all down to your choice, Sherlock, I want you to try to start understanding that, okay?
"Well then..." John thinks, unsure how to answer that; "It depends on how you'd rather be feeling. If you wanna be comfy and just relax then you can stay on the sofa. If you feel like you want some fresh air and to get out of the house, get some exercise, we can go for a walk. If you want more pirates you can read a book or we can watch a movie. How are you feeling right now? Other than empty."
Which he knew didn't make sense but no one could ever just want to sit still and do nothing. Not really. There had to be some tiny desire in there somewhere. He just had to find it.
"You are not going anywhere." he says, stern, "No one is taking you away. THIS is where you belong. And you're not leaving. Even if I have to lock every door and chain you to this sofa - you. are. not. leaving."
[[Really poor choice of words there, John]]
"And you are definitely not dying again." He stands up abruptly; "Now let's play some Cluedo."
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"Good morning." he says as brightly as he can manage; "How are we feeling today?"
It was strange. Like waking up after he was unconscious, but he didn't feel as sore. True, his skin still felt prickly and he still felt as though he didn't want to move.
But he didn't feel as panicky.
As much as he hates to, John carefully wriggles out from under you and gets off the sofa. He tucks you in again and as soon as he's up.
"You just lie there for as long as you want. I'll go make you some breakfast. What do you fancy?" He says sweetly; "Fry-up? Cereal? Pancakes?"
And he shouldn't overindulge.
Why was that? He couldn't remember.
He knows what your favorites are so you end up getting one that's chocolate chip and another that drizzled with honey. He makes a mental note to book you a dentist appointment sometime soon. John doesn't care as long as you are eating and it makes you happy.
He brings it over on a tray for you so you don't have to get up out of the covers, puts it on your lap as you sit up a bit.
As though waiting for you to tell him what's next.
"Right. Anything you want to do today?" He says, sitting on the coffee table; "If you're still feeling poorly you can just lie on the sofa all day watching daytime TV. Unless it would be too boring. We could...play Cluedo- no, wait, forget I said that." He stops himself, remembering the last time with a shudder.
His head begins to hurt and he rubs his temples a little. He doesn't care what he does, as long as you're there.
As long as Owner doesn't come for him. Yet.
[[ooc: THAT VID IS MADE OF AWESOME :D :D :D and what fic are you talking about? Links, links, links!]]
[[ooc: Thank you :D It's mostly loosely based on this and also a bit from the fic on your mun channel. All basically this same broken!Sherock universe we've made]]
Edited at 2012-04-07 03:31 pm (UTC)
Is there something he's supposed to remember? It's blank - there's no file that he's aware that contains "Cluedo."
[[ooc: You are welcome. I'm considering a PART III on my own channel, but we'll see. Still debating whether to do "New Divide" or "Wicked Game" I know eventually I'll do both, but where and when and what footage is still up for grabs]]
He knows it could be nothing...Just a blip, surely...Maybe he just deleted it, it wasn't like it was that important a memory. He guessed.
He rubs his temples again, the light burns have nearly faded. "My head hurts."
He's not looking up at you anymore, in fact, he's nearly avoiding you completely.
"All right. But you remember everything that's important, don't you. This flat, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft? That's all you need for now. You don't need to worry about anything else. Your mind will fix itself in time." he says optimistically.
"So would you like to play Cluedo?"
He gives you a smile that's clear his heart isn't in it at all. "If you want to play Cluedo. I could learn again - if you like."
He shrugs; "Only if you wanna play it. Or anything you wanna do. It's all down to your choice, Sherlock, I want you to try to start understanding that, okay?
Now it feels as though my brain is a pile of tangled wires and someone's shut the lights off."
Of course, he knew who that Someone was, but he can't seem to summon enough emotion to resent him for it.
Which he knew didn't make sense but no one could ever just want to sit still and do nothing. Not really. There had to be some tiny desire in there somewhere. He just had to find it.
He still expects his Owner will come to find him. As he always does.
In the damp and the cold. He could already picture himself huddled in the corner wanting desperately a cup of water.
"It's alright. You made it pleas - I think I'll be alright. Won't die. Yet."
His look is completely non-emotional. Detatched. Fact.
Even though he doesn't want it. What he wants doesn't matter.
Zero.
[[Really poor choice of words there, John]]
"And you are definitely not dying again." He stands up abruptly; "Now let's play some Cluedo."
Or temporary one. At least John feeds him.
"Good morning boys."
John groans and tries not to throw the dice at his head.