Fic: Still Sherlock 8/?
Title: Still Sherlock
Author: ununpentium
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes / John Watson
Wordcount: 1491 (this chapter), 9238 so far
Warnings: Alzheimer's Disease
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was starting to forget.
Read on AO3
I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.
John stared blankly at Sherlock for thirty seconds before his face crumpled.
“Wh- Sh- I don’t understand. Alzheimer’s?” The weight of Sherlock’s confession sent John to his knees. Sherlock joined John on the floor and took his hands in his.
“I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned this to you before, John. I was scared. I thought that if I told you, it would somehow make it more real.”
John blinked furiously, trying to stop the tears from rolling down his face.
“Jesus, Sherlock. That time in the cab when you couldn’t find your phone. When you forgot you’d been introduced to Molly’s husband the other night. Why didn’t I see it?” John thumped the floor in anger.
“I tried to hide it from you John. I’m so sorry.”
Sherlock stood up carefully and removed the papers from the inside of his jacket.
“I was given this information today by the hospital. Maybe we could look at it together?”
John swallowed audibly and forced himself to look Sherlock in the eyes.
“Yes. Of course.”
Sherlock spread the papers on the table in the kitchen before switching on the kettle and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. John always needed a strong cup of tea when he felt emotional, and after twenty years together, Sherlock knew just how to make it.
Sherlock placed a cup of tea in front of John, who was by now seated at the table and reading the patient information leaflet from the Donezepil, and took a swig from his own cup. John put the leaflet down and picked up the Activities of Daily Living questionnaire the receptionist had given Sherlock. He moved closer to John so he could read it too. At the top of the questionnaire was written this should be filled out by a person close to the patient and not by the patient themselves. Sherlock felt uncomfortable. Now he was not trusted to report his own symptoms to the doctor. He scanned the rest of the questionnaire. There was a rating scale for each activity (0- no problems, same as always to 3-severely impaired and dependent on others). The threes were the extreme end of the scale- patient must be fed. No bowel or bladder control. Must be given medication. Cannot take care of themselves e.g. brushing hair or washing. No longer goes to work or engages in work related activity. Home or hospital bound. Cannot go outside unaccompanied. Speech almost unintelligible. No longer reads or writes. The final part of the questionnaire asked for a rating of the following symptoms over the past month- delusions, hallucinations, agitation, depression, anxiety, euphoria, apathy, disinhibition, irritability, repetitive motor disturbances, sleep disruption and changes in eating.
John paled and Sherlock closed his eyes. This was his future. This was his near future. He would no longer be able to go outside. He wouldn’t be able to work on cases or present his research to the Royal Society. He wouldn’t even be able to feed himself by the end.
What if he forgot who John was?
Sherlock let out a strangled sob and John drew Sherlock into his arms, stroking his back reassuringly.
“I’m here for you, Sherlock. Always.”
Sherlock stayed motionless in John’s arms.
“We should think about what we can do to help you to remember things. I can write out my work schedule and pin it to the fridge, that way you’ll know exactly when I’m at work and when I’ll be home. I can go to the chemist and get you a pill box so you can sort out your medication day by day.”
Sherlock wrestled his way out of John’s arms.
“What about when I no longer know how to read the time? When I forget what day of the week it is? What then? What about when you come home and I no longer know who you are?”
John reached out for Sherlock but Sherlock batted his arm away.
“Save it, doctor. I need some fresh air.”
The door banged shut and John put his head in his arms as he sobbed quietly.
~*~*~
A couple of week after Christmas, John and Sherlock invited Greg, Molly and Mrs Hudson over for a quiet dinner. Sherlock sat subdued for the entire meal and Greg kept giving him furtive glances across the table. John found Sherlock’s hand under the table and squeezed it in support.
Mrs Hudson was finishing her chicken when John cleared his throat.
“We’ve invited you over tonight because Sherlock and I have something we need to tell you.”
Greg opened his mouth ready to tease John about the sound of wedding bells, but one glance at Sherlock’s shuttered expression put a stop to it.
John glanced back at Sherlock, who nodded and folded his arms across his chest.
“Just before Christmas, Sherlock was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s Disease. We thought we should let you know as things might change pretty quickly here on in.”
Molly gasped and Mrs Hudson’s fork clattered to her plate.
“I thought something was wrong,” Greg uttered.
“How do you mean?” John asked.
Greg cleared his throat.
“Well, Sherlock forgot a couple of times that I’m retired, y’know? Kept asking for cases and such. And forgetting my name, that sort of thing.”
“To be fair, Sherlock never did remember your name, Greg,” John countered, and a ghost of a smile passed across Sherlock’s face.
“Oh, Sherlock, dear,” Mrs Hudson said with a wobble in her voice, “I may be getting on myself now but I’ll help you boys out where I can.”
“I appreciate the thought, Mrs Hudson, but I’ll still continue to cook you some meals for as long as I’m able. It might help with my cognitive functioning,” Sherlock said softly. Over the last twenty years there had been a gradual shift in the relationship between Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. As she grew older and Sherlock grew softer, Sherlock began to look after Mrs Hudson as a boy would look after their grandmother. Sherlock was determined this would continue for as long as possible.
“I’m sorry, Sherlock.”
“Don’t apologise, Molly. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
Molly dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.
“If there’s anything you need, just let me and Dan know, okay? Anything at all.”
Sherlock nodded, leant back against his chair and closed his eyes. The air felt thick and heavy on his shoulders and he wanted nothing more than to get into bed and curl around John.
John, as if sensing this, started to collect everyone’s plates to put them in the sink. Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson said their goodbyes and thanked John for the meal.
Greg paused before Sherlock on his way out.
“How you holding up, Kid?”
“I’ve been better,” Sherlock huffed.
“I can have a word with Donovan, seen if she can sneak out some cold cases for you, keep your mind busy.”
“Thanks, Lestrade. I’m not ready to chuck the towel in just yet; I’ve got a couple of papers to present over the next couple of months myself. But I’d appreciate it.”
Greg patted Sherlock on his shoulder and ruffled his hair gently.
“Keep on keeping on. Night.”
“Night, Lestrade.”
John finished clearing the table and stood next to Sherlock with his arm outstretched.
“You look done in. Want to skip the washing up and go straight to bed?”
“You read my mind, John,” Sherlock smirked and John laughed.
“I’m just good at reading you after all these years.”
Sherlock and John made their way into their bedroom, taking off their clothes and folding them quickly. They both pulled on their sleep wear, old t-shirts and shorts, and climbed into bed. Sherlock immediately curled himself around John, who started to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.
“I love you, Sherlock.”
“I know.”
“Do you, though?”
Sherlock sighed.
“Of course, John. You’ve been with me for twenty years, right by my side. You’ve put up with my experiments and moods. You even put up with the entire two weeks I spoke Latin at you.”
John laughed at the memory, but the laughter died away as he wondered how much longer Sherlock would be able to remember these things.
“I’ll understand if you want to walk away now. You’ve been with me when it counts, I’ll forgive you if you don’t want to do the rest.”
John shifted so that he was looking at Sherlock directly in the eyes.
“Are you mad? I’m not going to fucking leave you. I don’t want to leave you. I told you, I’m with you all the way, Sherlock.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“I know that. And that’s why I’m certain about what I want to do next.”
Sherlock stilled.
“And what’s that?”
“Sherlock Holmes, will you do me the pleasure of becoming my husband?”
Sherlock pushed back the covers, climbed out of bed and picked up his clothes.
“No.”
Author: ununpentium
Rating: Mature
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes / John Watson
Wordcount: 1491 (this chapter), 9238 so far
Warnings: Alzheimer's Disease
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was starting to forget.
Read on AO3
I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease.
John stared blankly at Sherlock for thirty seconds before his face crumpled.
“Wh- Sh- I don’t understand. Alzheimer’s?” The weight of Sherlock’s confession sent John to his knees. Sherlock joined John on the floor and took his hands in his.
“I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned this to you before, John. I was scared. I thought that if I told you, it would somehow make it more real.”
John blinked furiously, trying to stop the tears from rolling down his face.
“Jesus, Sherlock. That time in the cab when you couldn’t find your phone. When you forgot you’d been introduced to Molly’s husband the other night. Why didn’t I see it?” John thumped the floor in anger.
“I tried to hide it from you John. I’m so sorry.”
Sherlock stood up carefully and removed the papers from the inside of his jacket.
“I was given this information today by the hospital. Maybe we could look at it together?”
John swallowed audibly and forced himself to look Sherlock in the eyes.
“Yes. Of course.”
Sherlock spread the papers on the table in the kitchen before switching on the kettle and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. John always needed a strong cup of tea when he felt emotional, and after twenty years together, Sherlock knew just how to make it.
Sherlock placed a cup of tea in front of John, who was by now seated at the table and reading the patient information leaflet from the Donezepil, and took a swig from his own cup. John put the leaflet down and picked up the Activities of Daily Living questionnaire the receptionist had given Sherlock. He moved closer to John so he could read it too. At the top of the questionnaire was written this should be filled out by a person close to the patient and not by the patient themselves. Sherlock felt uncomfortable. Now he was not trusted to report his own symptoms to the doctor. He scanned the rest of the questionnaire. There was a rating scale for each activity (0- no problems, same as always to 3-severely impaired and dependent on others). The threes were the extreme end of the scale- patient must be fed. No bowel or bladder control. Must be given medication. Cannot take care of themselves e.g. brushing hair or washing. No longer goes to work or engages in work related activity. Home or hospital bound. Cannot go outside unaccompanied. Speech almost unintelligible. No longer reads or writes. The final part of the questionnaire asked for a rating of the following symptoms over the past month- delusions, hallucinations, agitation, depression, anxiety, euphoria, apathy, disinhibition, irritability, repetitive motor disturbances, sleep disruption and changes in eating.
John paled and Sherlock closed his eyes. This was his future. This was his near future. He would no longer be able to go outside. He wouldn’t be able to work on cases or present his research to the Royal Society. He wouldn’t even be able to feed himself by the end.
What if he forgot who John was?
Sherlock let out a strangled sob and John drew Sherlock into his arms, stroking his back reassuringly.
“I’m here for you, Sherlock. Always.”
Sherlock stayed motionless in John’s arms.
“We should think about what we can do to help you to remember things. I can write out my work schedule and pin it to the fridge, that way you’ll know exactly when I’m at work and when I’ll be home. I can go to the chemist and get you a pill box so you can sort out your medication day by day.”
Sherlock wrestled his way out of John’s arms.
“What about when I no longer know how to read the time? When I forget what day of the week it is? What then? What about when you come home and I no longer know who you are?”
John reached out for Sherlock but Sherlock batted his arm away.
“Save it, doctor. I need some fresh air.”
The door banged shut and John put his head in his arms as he sobbed quietly.
~*~*~
A couple of week after Christmas, John and Sherlock invited Greg, Molly and Mrs Hudson over for a quiet dinner. Sherlock sat subdued for the entire meal and Greg kept giving him furtive glances across the table. John found Sherlock’s hand under the table and squeezed it in support.
Mrs Hudson was finishing her chicken when John cleared his throat.
“We’ve invited you over tonight because Sherlock and I have something we need to tell you.”
Greg opened his mouth ready to tease John about the sound of wedding bells, but one glance at Sherlock’s shuttered expression put a stop to it.
John glanced back at Sherlock, who nodded and folded his arms across his chest.
“Just before Christmas, Sherlock was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s Disease. We thought we should let you know as things might change pretty quickly here on in.”
Molly gasped and Mrs Hudson’s fork clattered to her plate.
“I thought something was wrong,” Greg uttered.
“How do you mean?” John asked.
Greg cleared his throat.
“Well, Sherlock forgot a couple of times that I’m retired, y’know? Kept asking for cases and such. And forgetting my name, that sort of thing.”
“To be fair, Sherlock never did remember your name, Greg,” John countered, and a ghost of a smile passed across Sherlock’s face.
“Oh, Sherlock, dear,” Mrs Hudson said with a wobble in her voice, “I may be getting on myself now but I’ll help you boys out where I can.”
“I appreciate the thought, Mrs Hudson, but I’ll still continue to cook you some meals for as long as I’m able. It might help with my cognitive functioning,” Sherlock said softly. Over the last twenty years there had been a gradual shift in the relationship between Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. As she grew older and Sherlock grew softer, Sherlock began to look after Mrs Hudson as a boy would look after their grandmother. Sherlock was determined this would continue for as long as possible.
“I’m sorry, Sherlock.”
“Don’t apologise, Molly. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
Molly dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.
“If there’s anything you need, just let me and Dan know, okay? Anything at all.”
Sherlock nodded, leant back against his chair and closed his eyes. The air felt thick and heavy on his shoulders and he wanted nothing more than to get into bed and curl around John.
John, as if sensing this, started to collect everyone’s plates to put them in the sink. Molly, Greg and Mrs Hudson said their goodbyes and thanked John for the meal.
Greg paused before Sherlock on his way out.
“How you holding up, Kid?”
“I’ve been better,” Sherlock huffed.
“I can have a word with Donovan, seen if she can sneak out some cold cases for you, keep your mind busy.”
“Thanks, Lestrade. I’m not ready to chuck the towel in just yet; I’ve got a couple of papers to present over the next couple of months myself. But I’d appreciate it.”
Greg patted Sherlock on his shoulder and ruffled his hair gently.
“Keep on keeping on. Night.”
“Night, Lestrade.”
John finished clearing the table and stood next to Sherlock with his arm outstretched.
“You look done in. Want to skip the washing up and go straight to bed?”
“You read my mind, John,” Sherlock smirked and John laughed.
“I’m just good at reading you after all these years.”
Sherlock and John made their way into their bedroom, taking off their clothes and folding them quickly. They both pulled on their sleep wear, old t-shirts and shorts, and climbed into bed. Sherlock immediately curled himself around John, who started to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.
“I love you, Sherlock.”
“I know.”
“Do you, though?”
Sherlock sighed.
“Of course, John. You’ve been with me for twenty years, right by my side. You’ve put up with my experiments and moods. You even put up with the entire two weeks I spoke Latin at you.”
John laughed at the memory, but the laughter died away as he wondered how much longer Sherlock would be able to remember these things.
“I’ll understand if you want to walk away now. You’ve been with me when it counts, I’ll forgive you if you don’t want to do the rest.”
John shifted so that he was looking at Sherlock directly in the eyes.
“Are you mad? I’m not going to fucking leave you. I don’t want to leave you. I told you, I’m with you all the way, Sherlock.”
“It’s not going to be easy.”
“I know that. And that’s why I’m certain about what I want to do next.”
Sherlock stilled.
“And what’s that?”
“Sherlock Holmes, will you do me the pleasure of becoming my husband?”
Sherlock pushed back the covers, climbed out of bed and picked up his clothes.
“No.”