Chapter Text
Sherlock groaned loudly from the other room; an exhausted sigh rung out. If it was anyone else, John would have assumed they were starting to panic. But that wasn’t Sherlock. He remained calm despite any circumstance that came his way. Despite knowing this, John looked up from his newspaper again as he heard his flatmate shuffle into the room. Sherlock’s bedhead was something John had never witnessed before. It made fear pool up in his stomach. He stared at the man as if to asses him in the way that he asses John. He gave Sherlock a look of someone trying to stare through another person’s soul and John thinks he might have seen Sherlock shiver in that moment.
“Get. Out.”
The request is so forward yet without a hint of malice that John is sure he didn’t hear the man right.
“Excuse me?”
“Get out,” Sherlock repeated, harsher this time.
John got up from the arm chair and stepped towards Sherlock, arms flailing in the way that they do when he’s angry. The motions are swift and irritating to Sherlock.
“This is just as much my flat as it is your’s.”
There’s a redness to Sherlock’s face that John misread as angry.
“What the bloody hell is your problem?”
That was the wrong choice of words — the reminder, though not deliberate, sets Sherlock off screaming.
“Boys!” Ms. Hudson shouted from the doorframe moments later, annoyed to have been disturbed by the bickering. “That’s enough! John, why don’t you come over for tea?” she asked but as she closed the door she turned to wink at Sherlock.
He smiled her way but the second the door closed, he collapsed to the floor and sobbed.
“I can’t find it. I can’t find it.”
His packer was gone and he was riddled with anxiety about John finding it. Even worse, his period had arrived and he could ignore the pain by chugging unhealthy amounts of hot tea but he needed his packer to cure his bottom dysphoria.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked aloud.
Sherlock knew in the back of his mind that this was irrational. This was a monthly occurrence and sometimes, even with T, it would come back. The stomach cramps nor the blood said anything about his manhood. Yet it came with such pain that riddled him to his core. He hit the ground with his fist but it brought him no relief. So he curled into a ball and continued to sob on the cold floor.