Eating disorder

[solrosan]

Note: Written for this prompt, I know the name sucks but at least it describes the content. Don’t want to tell you which goggles to use when reading this, but I wrote it as non-slash.

Summary: John has figured out the real reason Sherlock doesn't eat like a normal person.


-x-

”You know, you’re probably the best looking man I know,” John told Sherlock from the doorway. Sherlock flinched at the sound of John’s voice, but didn’t turn away from the mirror in front of which he was getting undressed.

“That’s irrelevant,” Sherlock said and stopped unbuttoning his shirt.

“What part?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, nor did he move, but in the mirror John could see how the detective’s eyes were directed at the floor.

“Are you okay?” John wanted to know, suspecting Sherlock knew what he was talking about.

“Yes.”

John wanted to believe him, so he did. It was easier and he felt he needed to trust him.

“If you wouldn’t be, or if it would change, would you tell me?”

No answer.

“Because you could. Tell me, I mean.”

After waiting for a couple of minutes for an answer that never came, John gave up and went to his room. There wasn’t much more he could do, not really, and trust was a good thing. Most of the time.

Did he actually trust Sherlock to tell him if this became worse?

Honestly?

No.

It was strange really; when John had been at uni, every suspicious feeling in his legs had been a thrombus, every lump a neoplasm and every sore throat cause by a MRSA, still he had been blind to the fact that Harry showed all the signs of alcoholism. Now, a medical license and a war later, he was still just as oblivious to his loved ones’ problems.

Not completely blind maybe, he had figured it out, but the excuse pattern he had used this time was far too similar to the one he had used concerning Harry’s drinking. John was a bit ashamed of himself.

“If I told you, what would you do?”

“Jesus! You scared me!” John said as he turned around and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, wearing his robe – carefully closed for once – and holding a cup of tea between his hands.

“Look at it as payback,” Sherlock said, but unlike John he entered the room. “Well?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I tell you, what will you do?” Sherlock said with a sigh. John wondered if he really thought that changing the tense would make the question more understandable, but as his heart rate slowed down, John realised that he did understand.

“I don’t know,” he answered, knowing perfectly well that it was not the answer Sherlock wanted.

“Would you be Dr Watson? Would you fuss? Would you pity me?” Sherlock tried to specify and make the question easier to answer for his stupid flatmate, “Would you try to talk me out of it? Would you try to understand? Would you claim you understood? Would you tell me to get over it and get myself together?”

John opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a goldfish. Oddly, Sherlock seemed to patiently wait for his answer. That insight forced John to at least say something.

“Try me.”

“There is nothing to tell right now, but I think I understand the sentiment.” Sherlock looked at the mirror on John’s wardrobe and John wasn’t sure if the detective even was aware of it. Silence fell again and it took some time before John figured out the second reason why Sherlock come here.

“You want to know how I figured it out, don’t you?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, but turned away from the mirror and met John’s eyes for the first time tonight. John sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Sherlock’s face with a weak smile.

“Are you impressed or angry that I figured it out?” John wanted to know but he still got no answer so he felt the need to point out: “Usually there’s more than one person in a conversation you know.”

“Not when I speak.”

“Well, you mostly do monologues,” John said with a more proper smile, “And I’m trying to have a dialogue here.”

“You’re failing.”

“Yeah, it appears I am,” John sighed, “I’m actually surprised you didn’t know I knew; I’ve been spending a lot of time listening outside the bathroom door.”

“I’ve never forced myself to throw up,” Sherlock said in a very low voice.

“That’s….” John started but he had no idea of what the end of that sentence should be. Was that a good thing? A bad thing? A surprise? A comfort? Was it even the truth? He realised he hoped it was the truth for whatever reason. “Anorexia?”

Sherlock did nothing to confirm or deny that; John took it as a yes and even though he had known, even though he had figured it out, it still made his heart ache.

“But you’re okay now?” John wondered.

“Yes.”

John reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock’s which still held a tight grip round the tea mug, “Then why was I able to figure it out?”

“Yes, how were you able to do that?” Sherlock looked at John, his face changing from insecure and exposed to interested and vaguely annoyed.

“You mean besides the fact that you hardly eat?” John wondered with a weary smile.

“I eat,” Sherlock sounded upset.

“I know you do, I’m sorry,” John took away his hand, he guessed that was a sensitive subject to even joke about right now, “But that was it. I was afraid you were going to get malnourished, so I started to keep track on what you ate.”

“I eat.” Sherlock said again, this time trying to sound offended, but it just came out flat.

“Sherlock I know you do,” John insisted, “As I said, I’ve been keeping track.”

“I eat….” Sherlock murmured one last time and John reached out and placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips, pulling him closer even though he could feel how reluctant Sherlock was.

“I’m sorry,” John whispered, “but you wanted to know, so I’m just trying to explain…. I’m not…I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“You’re terrible at delivering deductions,” Sherlock informed him.

“Well, I have other qualities,” John let a low chuckle slip before he became serious again and stroked Sherlock’s sides, “I saw you poke and pinch your stomach the other day and that in combination with the ‘interesting’ eating habits you have and the fact that you’re always completely covered…. I saw it because I was looking for it.”

“I’m okay,” Sherlock assured him, staring down the tea.

“Is there a why?” John wondered.

“Isn’t there always?” Sherlock asked in return.

“I don’t know, Sherlock,” John whispered, “is there?”

Sherlock didn’t answer and John felt a sting of panic without really knowing why. He did, however, know why he felt so utterly helpless; the preconception of an anorexic was a young girl who thought she was ugly because she was fat and even though John knew it wasn’t even close to the whole truth, a distorted body image was still a terrible enemy. That was why Sherlock had said it was irrelevant what John thought about his appearance, because compared to what Sherlock saw when he looked in the mirror it didn’t matter what John said.

“Why was I able to figure it out now?” John asked, “We’ve known each other for over a year and, eating habits aside, I haven’t noticed anything until now…. So what has happened? Because it’s not a new thing is it?”

Sherlock shook his head, “It’s periodical. Right now I’m not fine but I’m okay.”

“I believe you,” John said and removed the tea mug that had worked as a shield between them during the conversation and placed it on the floor. “But if you wouldn’t be, can you promise to tell me?”

Sherlock hesitated and John placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips again and looked up into his eyes.

“No matter if you tell me or not, I’m going to worry because you’re the most important person in my life.” John said, moving his thumbs slowly back and forth “I will not pity you. I will not fuss over you. I will try to understand, but never lie and say I do, because we both know I don’t and I promise to only be Dr Watson if you need me to be. Is that good enough?”

“I am the most important person in your life?” Sherlock sounded very insecure.

“Does it really surprise you?”

“Yes.”

John pulled him even closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist and resting his head on Sherlock’s stomach.

“I love you,” John said, “and even if I don’t know the ‘why’, I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“God…don’t be,” John let him go and placed his hands on Sherlock’s stomach, “Just tell me if it becomes not-okay, okay?”

“Okay.” Sherlock picked distracted on John’s fingertips.

“Really? You promise?”

“I promise,” Sherlock nodded, “and I don’t have anorexia.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Then it matters to me too,” John said and slid his arms around Sherlock’s waist again, letting his head rest where his hands just had been. He couldn’t tell if Sherlock was pleased or displeased with not having an anorexia diagnosis, but he wasn’t going to look into that just now. In this position he could feel Sherlock’s pelvis bone and it freaked him out a bit, but if Sherlock said he was okay then John would believe him. For now.

“John….”

“What?”

“I think you’re the most important person in my life as well.”

-x-

crashcart9 wrote an amazing fill-in-fill about Sherlock's thoughts over at the kink meme.

Then the sequel here

Comments

[solrosan.livejournal.com]

Thank you, I hope you like the rest of it as well. I'm glad you appreciated John's wrong-doings as part of the story because in his situation there are really so many ways to make misstakes, but so few to do the right thing. What's right on Monday can be wrong by Thursday and frustration, missunderstandings, fear, guilt, anger, worry and love often make it impossible to be objective and "think straight".

Take care!