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Sherlock eyed the objects on the table with narrowed eyes, his bare feet absently tapping on the floor. He groaned and roughly ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends of his curls. He stifled a groan and glanced around, fumbling to grab his mobile from where it had fallen between the sofa cushions.
Come downstairs. SH
Sleeping. JW
Please? SH
The sun’s barely up. Go back to sleep. JW
Please, John. SH
Dammit, Sherlock. If the flat isn’t on fire, I’m going to kill you. JW
Sherlock rubbed his thighs and returned his gaze to the objects, part of his focus listening for the sound of John coming down the stairs. He relaxed a little when he finally heard the telltale, slightly uneven steps of his friend. He leaned back with his arms and legs splayed, desperately hoping John could help.
“I don’t smell smoke.” John’s voice was deep with sleep and hints of annoyance, his arms crossed as he stopped a few feet from Sherlock and the sofa. “I don’t see fire either. Mind telling me why you woke me up?”
“I need your help.” Sherlock glanced between the objects on the table and John, unable to restrain the pleading sound in his voice. He let out a breath and sat back up, tapping his feet on the ground again. “I swear to God if you laugh, John, I will kill you.”
John arched an eyebrow and reluctantly moved to sit on the edge of the chair with his elbows on his knees. He watched Sherlock for a moment, doctor’s eyes flicking over the frail body. His eyes made sure nothing was physically wrong with Sherlock; therefore, he deduced, it must be his mind.
“So, you woke me up ‘cos you needed me help. Help with what?”
“I seem to have deleted some things.” Sherlock felt the lingering exhaustion from the previous case. It had lasted nearly two weeks and the detective had managed two hours of sleep the entire time. Food was another matter. He had slept for a full nine hours (on his own volition, thank you) and woke up feeling refreshed but confused. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either.
“Some things?” John’s eyebrows rose higher and he glanced down at the objects on the coffee table. He simply stared for a few moments, trying to piece everything together. He had the urge to laugh more than once. “You don’t remember what an apple is?”
“No, it’s not that I don’t remember,” he answered quickly, shifting forward on the sofa, “it’s that I deleted it in order to make room for the case details. I delete things I find irrelevant at the moment, then find the things I don’t remember later.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, still feeling some of the exhaustion from the past two weeks.
“How do you—Sherlock? I just, I don’t see how you can delete some of these things? How do you not find an apple irrelevant?” John paused, watching Sherlock carefully. “You know what, no, never mind. What do you need me to do?” He found it was easier not to laugh when he saw how off it was making Sherlock.
“It feels like my mind has holes. I deleted things to replace them with the case information, but now that the case information is gone, it’s empty.” Sherlock looked to John and picked up the sock, fingering it before tossing it back with a groan.
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and moved to sit beside Sherlock on the sofa. He picked up the apple and showed it to Sherlock, trying to think of the best way to teach the genius things children learned in primary school.
“I know it’s a fruit, I know it’s red, I know all of that except what its name is.” Sherlock’s voice interrupted John’s thoughts and he gave a stiff nod. Maybe this wouldn’t be too difficult.
“This is an apple. They come in several colors: red, yellow, green, even brown when they’re rotten. Alright? Apple.” Sherlock groaned and John found it hard not to chuckle again. Sherlock really was a child in some ways.
“I’m not a child John.”
“I beg to differ.” Before Sherlock could retort, John set the apple back down and picked up the water bottle. “Normally people put water in this. Sometimes they put juice or other drinks in it too, but typically it’s used for water.” Sherlock groaned again, leaning his head back against the sofa and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “It’s called a bottle, like a water bottle.”
Grudgingly, Sherlock repeated the two names to himself, knowing he’d remember them but wanting to make sure. Doing this once was more than enough; it made him feel as stupid as Anderson. John sighed, suddenly not finding it as funny. John Watson was anything but a cruel man and when his friend was as embarrassed as this, he wouldn’t push it.
“This is a wallet.” John decided to do things simply as he set the bottle down and picked up Sherlock’s wallet. He was momentarily distracted by the lack of personal things inside; he had a license, two debit cards, a business card, and a folded up piece of paper.
Sherlock nodded and glanced over the items, repeating their names over and over. He was relieved John hadn’t outright laughed at him, but he could tell that his flatmate was barely restraining himself. He didn’t call him out though, because it was the best reaction he had gotten since it had first happened. Mycroft had laughed so hard he choked himself blue.
“And this is a sock. Usually come in pairs, so two socks.” John gave Sherlock an encouraging smile and set everything on the table, eyes looking over his friend carefully again. “Is that what you needed?”
Sherlock tentatively smiled back and let out a breath. “Apple, bottle, wallet, socks. Yes, that’s all I needed for now. I’ll most likely find a few more things in the next few days, but this is the majority.” The genius paused and glanced down at his lap, letting out a breath. “Thank you, John, and I’m sorry I woke you.”
John shrugged and patted Sherlock’s shoulder. “It’s what friends are for,” he told him, smiling more as he stood up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m up now. Is there any chance I can get some food in you? Tea, at least?”