Cup of Tears
Mar. 30th, 2012 04:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
solrosanNotes: Chapter 6 of 11 of Eating us alive, again, following John through Sherlock's eating disorder for the second time. This was inspired by a conversation I had with M. Huge thanks to Laura whose support made it possible for me to support someone else.
Summary: Mrs Hudson notices that something is wrong and at the moment, that’s enough.
-x-
“Are you two all right?” Mrs Hudson had asked that question – in different wordings, of course – a lot lately. It was obvious by the way she looked at John that she knew the answer was no. Still, he lied and told her that everything was fine every time.
Every time.
It wasn’t his place to tell.
“Er…. Yeah,” he said with a weary smile. “We’re…. the same as, as always.”
That answer was almost the truth, really, because nothing out of the ordinary happened; it was the same uncomfortable level of agony every day.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she gave him a motherly, understanding smile. “Do you want some tea, dear?”
Mrs Hudson reached out and put a hand on his arm. The maternal care in that small gesture made something twist in John’s chest and he nodded, unable to answer verbally. He was exhausted and he truly hated to lie to her.
The landlady led him into her flat and placed him at the kitchen table as she started to potter around, putting on a kettle and placing three different kinds of cake on the table.
John looked at the pastry with some disgust, hoping he could conceal it. He didn’t know why he loathed everything with sugar nowadays, but he was fairly sure he could blame Sherlock for it.
Sherlock’s eating disorder.
He was fairly sure he could blame Sherlock’s eating disorder.
It happened more and more often that John needed to remind himself that it was the eating disorder he hated and not Sherlock. He was afraid the day would come when he didn’t bother correcting his thoughts.
“Here you go, dear,” Mrs Hudson placed the small tea cup in front of him, sitting down opposite him at the table. Neither of them took anything from the cake plate; John didn’t even try the tea or look at Mrs Hudson.
“Do you want to talk?”
John shook his head, slowly moving the spoon back and forth in his cup.
“How bad is he?”
John stared at her, feeling as startled as he looked. To distance himself from the question, from Mrs Hudson, from everything happening upstairs, he leaned back in the chair, crossings his arms over his chest.
“I…. I can’t,” he said with a forced smile, because it was better than the alternative, “What happen…. He…. I can’t.”
“Then: how are you?” Mrs Hudson asked with a rueful smile, getting John’s throat to clench up.
“It’s not…. I’m fine,” John said, undermining his own words by looking away from her.
“You don’t have to be strong in front of me, you know.”
“It’s not…. He’s the one who’s….” John shook his head and he took a trembling breath. He met her eyes and wondered how much she knew, how much she had figured out. His own exhaustion appeared to be visible to her, but had she noticed Sherlock’s weight loss? Did she hear their constant fighting? Maybe she had heard Sherlock’s purging as well. John really hoped she hadn’t heard that.
Really, really hoped that.
“I’m fine,” he managed to say again after a deep breath, sounding just a bit more secure this time.
“I might not be Sherlock, but I can see that you’ve been holding yourself together with string and glue for quite some time now.” Mrs Hudson said, calling his obvious lie with yet another rueful smile, “Remember what they tell you about the oxygen masks on aeroplanes?”
John shook his head because he had no idea what she was talking about. “I only ever listen to when I’m supposed to turn my phone off.”
“First you help yourself and then you help others, that’s what they say. You’re no use to him like this. He needs you to take care of yourself.”
“I’m of no use to him anyway,” he whispered, accepting defeat. Admitting to not being good enough. Not being strong enough.
Just not being enough. Of anything.
John lowered his eyes and swallowed hard. Mrs Hudson had probably not been trying to hurt him, but she had. She was right, though, and it made matters worse. He knew it. What would happen if neither of them had the strengths to fight? When neither of them had the strength to fight….
He couldn’t think like that.
He just wished Sherlock had the strength to fight some of the days so that he could take a break. No, that wasn’t fair. Sherlock probably fought twice the battle he did. John had no right to complain.
No right to be tired.
No right to give in, to give up.
He just had to be strong.
He covered his face with one hand and bit into it to stop himself from crying, but it was impossible to stop the sob and the following tears. Mrs Hudson reached over the table and took his other hand, waiting out his tears without either encouraging or soothing it. It was terrible and comforting at the same time to let someone see him cry and admit to the fact that he wasn’t coping as well as he wanted to.
As well as he needed to.
“Should I refresh your cup?” Mrs Hudson asked and squeezed his hand lightly when managed to stifle the tears. He had forgotten that she still held it and he squeezed back, forcing the same type of smile that he had given her every day for the last six months or so.
Fake it until you make it…or in his case, fake it until you break.
“Yes, please,” he said, letting go with some reluctance so she could pour out his cold tea and refill it with hot. It smelled wonderful and he forced himself to blow on it and taste it. It would be really rude to accept two cups of tea and not drink any of it.
“I should go back upstairs,” John reminded himself out loud when he had finished half his tea, “Thank you for the tea…and for noticing.”
“You’re always welcome here, dear.”
“I know,” he said and managed a more honest smile. He appreciated the offer, he did, but he knew he wasn’t going to take her up on it. Sitting at her kitchen table without being able to say anything, without breaking the trust Sherlock had in him wouldn’t help. And the trust could not be broken, because it was the only thing he had. The world felt less alone when he knew she knew though, but that made it even more impossible to talk to her somehow.
John didn’t get up from the table even though he said he should. Instead he stayed in her kitchen for two hours, cherishing every second of this brief break from the life he had grown to detest.
-x-
Part VII: Glass house
Summary: Mrs Hudson notices that something is wrong and at the moment, that’s enough.
-x-
“Are you two all right?” Mrs Hudson had asked that question – in different wordings, of course – a lot lately. It was obvious by the way she looked at John that she knew the answer was no. Still, he lied and told her that everything was fine every time.
Every time.
It wasn’t his place to tell.
“Er…. Yeah,” he said with a weary smile. “We’re…. the same as, as always.”
That answer was almost the truth, really, because nothing out of the ordinary happened; it was the same uncomfortable level of agony every day.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she gave him a motherly, understanding smile. “Do you want some tea, dear?”
Mrs Hudson reached out and put a hand on his arm. The maternal care in that small gesture made something twist in John’s chest and he nodded, unable to answer verbally. He was exhausted and he truly hated to lie to her.
The landlady led him into her flat and placed him at the kitchen table as she started to potter around, putting on a kettle and placing three different kinds of cake on the table.
John looked at the pastry with some disgust, hoping he could conceal it. He didn’t know why he loathed everything with sugar nowadays, but he was fairly sure he could blame Sherlock for it.
Sherlock’s eating disorder.
He was fairly sure he could blame Sherlock’s eating disorder.
It happened more and more often that John needed to remind himself that it was the eating disorder he hated and not Sherlock. He was afraid the day would come when he didn’t bother correcting his thoughts.
“Here you go, dear,” Mrs Hudson placed the small tea cup in front of him, sitting down opposite him at the table. Neither of them took anything from the cake plate; John didn’t even try the tea or look at Mrs Hudson.
“Do you want to talk?”
John shook his head, slowly moving the spoon back and forth in his cup.
“How bad is he?”
John stared at her, feeling as startled as he looked. To distance himself from the question, from Mrs Hudson, from everything happening upstairs, he leaned back in the chair, crossings his arms over his chest.
“I…. I can’t,” he said with a forced smile, because it was better than the alternative, “What happen…. He…. I can’t.”
“Then: how are you?” Mrs Hudson asked with a rueful smile, getting John’s throat to clench up.
“It’s not…. I’m fine,” John said, undermining his own words by looking away from her.
“You don’t have to be strong in front of me, you know.”
“It’s not…. He’s the one who’s….” John shook his head and he took a trembling breath. He met her eyes and wondered how much she knew, how much she had figured out. His own exhaustion appeared to be visible to her, but had she noticed Sherlock’s weight loss? Did she hear their constant fighting? Maybe she had heard Sherlock’s purging as well. John really hoped she hadn’t heard that.
Really, really hoped that.
“I’m fine,” he managed to say again after a deep breath, sounding just a bit more secure this time.
“I might not be Sherlock, but I can see that you’ve been holding yourself together with string and glue for quite some time now.” Mrs Hudson said, calling his obvious lie with yet another rueful smile, “Remember what they tell you about the oxygen masks on aeroplanes?”
John shook his head because he had no idea what she was talking about. “I only ever listen to when I’m supposed to turn my phone off.”
“First you help yourself and then you help others, that’s what they say. You’re no use to him like this. He needs you to take care of yourself.”
“I’m of no use to him anyway,” he whispered, accepting defeat. Admitting to not being good enough. Not being strong enough.
Just not being enough. Of anything.
John lowered his eyes and swallowed hard. Mrs Hudson had probably not been trying to hurt him, but she had. She was right, though, and it made matters worse. He knew it. What would happen if neither of them had the strengths to fight? When neither of them had the strength to fight….
He couldn’t think like that.
He just wished Sherlock had the strength to fight some of the days so that he could take a break. No, that wasn’t fair. Sherlock probably fought twice the battle he did. John had no right to complain.
No right to be tired.
No right to give in, to give up.
He just had to be strong.
He covered his face with one hand and bit into it to stop himself from crying, but it was impossible to stop the sob and the following tears. Mrs Hudson reached over the table and took his other hand, waiting out his tears without either encouraging or soothing it. It was terrible and comforting at the same time to let someone see him cry and admit to the fact that he wasn’t coping as well as he wanted to.
As well as he needed to.
“Should I refresh your cup?” Mrs Hudson asked and squeezed his hand lightly when managed to stifle the tears. He had forgotten that she still held it and he squeezed back, forcing the same type of smile that he had given her every day for the last six months or so.
Fake it until you make it…or in his case, fake it until you break.
“Yes, please,” he said, letting go with some reluctance so she could pour out his cold tea and refill it with hot. It smelled wonderful and he forced himself to blow on it and taste it. It would be really rude to accept two cups of tea and not drink any of it.
“I should go back upstairs,” John reminded himself out loud when he had finished half his tea, “Thank you for the tea…and for noticing.”
“You’re always welcome here, dear.”
“I know,” he said and managed a more honest smile. He appreciated the offer, he did, but he knew he wasn’t going to take her up on it. Sitting at her kitchen table without being able to say anything, without breaking the trust Sherlock had in him wouldn’t help. And the trust could not be broken, because it was the only thing he had. The world felt less alone when he knew she knew though, but that made it even more impossible to talk to her somehow.
John didn’t get up from the table even though he said he should. Instead he stayed in her kitchen for two hours, cherishing every second of this brief break from the life he had grown to detest.
-x-
Part VII: Glass house
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Date: 2012-03-30 03:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-30 08:59 pm (UTC)