Chapter Text
Being a person, a corporeal person is a wild ride. I had never imagined it like this before. My ability to do so was solely based on my own experiences, and as an ethereal person, my experiences were very limited. And to my imaginary mates out there who might be reading this: having a body is much more intense than you think! It only took me a couple of weeks until I began regretting ever wishing for it. However, let's start at the beginning.
It began two and a half weeks after my transformation. Having our meals outside the manor had become a habit by then - we couldn't cook, of course. I was as willing to learn cooking as I was to learn anything else other humans did, but we did not have the time. Sherlock was still obsessed with discovering why I had become a real person. We read every book we got our hands on, every newspaper, every document, but of course, we never found any answers. It did not seem to dishearten him, however. It was the opposite - the constant failures motivated him to continue his research even further as if to spite all odds. I would go as far as to say that the matters of my sudden transformation were so pressing to him that he seemed to have forgotten why we were staying on Cordona in the first place. And I had begun believing that God, or whoever it was, had made me real just to distract him from the real reason. I was thankful for that, I really was, but I was growing tired of reading boring scientific books all day, every day. Naturally, eating together was the bare minimum he could do to make my life more enjoyable.
In the beginning, Sherlock complained about it a lot; he was used to skipping meals quite frequently and eating three times a day was a waste of precious time in his eyes. I couldn't let this sit - food was a new concept to me, and I enjoyed every bite. I may not have been entirely truthful then because I always pretended to suffer greatly from hunger to get him to share a meal with me. I even went as far as to claim I was in pain because I was hungry - I suspected he saw right through me, but it worked well for a while, and eventually, he stopped complaining altogether. It simply became a thing we did together. Before long, he'd stop at a restaurant when it was about time for dinner, and he'd get us a table without me having to ask at all. I was pleased.
We had the most enjoyable time during our meals. Sherlock always made a point to order a dish I hadn't had before, and then he observed my reaction with great interest as I tried it. I suspect he even took notes about the dishes I enjoyed and those I didn't because he always took his notebook out during our meals. I suppose he needed to turn the whole matter into an experiment to be able to enjoy it. This gesture touched me, however, and naturally, I began to do the same, although he rarely voiced his preferences. To him, food was all the same and only there to sustain him, not to taste well. My notes about his favourite meals ended up being rather short, but at least I had gotten him to have them. It was a win. I still saw myself as someone whose whole purpose was to make sure he took care of himself, and therefore, I was very proud of the progress.
This was when it happened. When I least expected it, when I had finally begun feeling good in my own skin.
It began like an ordinary day insofar that I woke up after Sherlock had already begun his day. We still shared a bed - his savings weren't enough for furniture, and neither of us wanted to sleep in Violet's room. Well, and Mycroft's room was off-limits, if only because Sherlock held grudges against his brother. Of course, these weren't the only reasons. We had never addressed this verbally until then, but we had never spent the night in different rooms. Sherry had lived for six years before we met, but he had no recollection of them. Therefore, he had no recollection of ever being alone in a room - I had always been there. I was feeling exactly the same. What had seemed like solitude to many had never been real solitude, and having to separate for the night was a challenge for both of us we were not ready to face yet.
The way I woke up that day should have already warned me that it was like no other - it was almost noon, and I never slept this long. I was so parched that my throat hurt. In fact, everything hurt. It was freezing, too. It was like I had woken up right in a nightmare, and when I tried to get up, I realised it was more challenging than I was used to - it was as if my head had suddenly grown twice its size and was accordingly heavy. It had not grown, however - I checked.
"Sherry?" I called my friend, who was sitting at his desk and reading. What a surprise, I know.
"Jon! I see you are finally awake. I was just about to go out looking for a prince to kiss you," he said, smirking again. I humoured him and smiled, but I suspected it looked forced at best. I was feeling too uncomfortable to enjoy the banter.
"I feel odd. My body aches everywhere." I mumbled and looked at him, expecting he'd know what was wrong with me, but he simply sighed.
"Just take a hot bath - we did walk quite a lot yesterday. It should make you feel better. You love bathing anyway, don't you? See you in a few hours, then." He gave me another sassy smirk before he buried himself in his lecture again.
It was a solution I liked - I had come to realise that hot baths were even better than food. In fact, I had spent every evening of the past weeks in the bathtub. It was like magic to me - the way warm water seemed to heal every little ache my body felt, from the ache I felt in my feet after spending all day running from bookstore to bookstore to the one I felt in my back from sitting in an uncomfortable position and reading all day.
Sherry did not share my sentiments, of course. He only spent as much time as necessary in the bathroom and not a second longer. 'The purpose of bathing is to get you clean and not to turn you into an amphibian, Jon' or 'We could have spent all this wasted time reading, Jon. Don't you want to know why you have become corporeal?'
Of course, I didn't listen to him. I simply enjoyed myself, and when he suggested I take a bath, I immediately felt a surge of energy, which helped me get up and do just that. My head still felt heavy, but I was sure I was going to be alright. As expected, the water provided instant relief to my aching muscles, and I leaned my head against the edge of the tub to rest it.
... And that was it for a while.
The next thing I remember was Sherry's voice coming from behind the door. I didn't quite understand what he was saying, but I found myself unable to respond in a way that he could hear. I could only mumble at best! The water was still warm but no longer hot, and I couldn't, for the love of me, raise my head from the edge of the tub.
Sherry's voice sounded concerned, but I still failed to understand what he said. Before long, he entered the bathroom and knelt down next to me.
"Are you alright? Why didn't you reply, Jon? I was worried"
"I don't know. My head is so heavy." I spoke quietly, weakly - I barely recognised my own voice like this. The pain, which had been dispelled by the water initially, had come back tenfold, and my entire being was shaking. I knew something was wrong, but my mind refused to form a coherent thought. It wasn't a bad thing - it was the only reason why I had not yet panicked and started speaking of dying again. That happened later.
A cool sensation against my face startled me from my momentary slumber - I had nodded off for a second despite the painful imprint the edge had begun forming against my cheek. No pain and no cold could keep me awake. It was Sherry's palm that I felt - something I only realised a little later.
"You are hot, Jon," Sherry muttered, and I somehow managed to raise an eyebrow. I didn't know where the sudden compliments were coming from.
"Thank you very much. You too." I sighed and grinned slightly, and suddenly, the cool sensation disappeared.
"With this, I meant you have a fever, Jon! You are burning up, and the warm water is not helping. Come on, we should get you out of the tub and back into bed." With this, he jumped back on his feet and reached down to grab me by my arm.
You see, whoever had turned me into a real person had put much effort into making me strong and attractive. They had completely forgotten to give me a good immune system, however. I wonder if that means they had half-arsed my transformation. Either way, I ended up with a cold only two and a half weeks after becoming real. And as with many other first times, it was unforgettable.
It was a miracle that I didn't trip as I exited the tub. Not without help, of course - Sherry had wrapped both arms around me to help me keep my balance, and I leaned against him like a lifeless doll. Of course, he had gotten all wet in the process - something I had tried to warn him about, but he didn't seem to mind it a lot. Once outside, I finally let go of him and supported myself against the wall while trying my best to put my bathrobe on - I didn't want to scandalise him again by walking around naked, you see. The whole thing was already difficult as it was, but there was some strange feeling growing inside the depth of my stomach that made me halt for a moment. At least I was done dressing.
"I don't feel…" was all I managed to say before the feeling rose up my throat and made me gag. Apparently, my body knew better how to handle this situation than my mind, for my hand pressed against my mouth all by itself. I froze, and my eyes filled with tears. Breathing was difficult, too, but I dared not speak to communicate this to Sherlock.
"You can throw up into the toilet, Jon." Sherry had figured out what was happening to me, but I only shook my head in response. Nausea is very scary for newcomers! Don't judge me!
"Yes, you can do it, believe me. Just kneel down next to the toilet and… let it go. You will feel better afterwards."
I wasn't convinced, so I whimpered instead, which caused him to raise an eyebrow and point towards the bowl.
"Jon. Toilet. Now." It was an order. Reluctantly and through tears, I listened. My body was still quite tricky to balance, so I fell on my knees instead of kneeling down properly. The impact hurt immensely, but I had more pressing problems than this.
I don't have to describe the process of throwing up to any of you corporeal people. It's terrifying! I wept quite a lot.
"Is this how you live?" I finally asked once I had emptied my stomach entirely. Tears were blurring my vision, and I had begun shaking even more than before. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced! "When will I get better? I can't do this any longer, Sherry." It was the confession of a dying man, but it seemed to amuse Sherlock for a reason beyond my comprehension. I had never seen him as a cruel person. I had been wrong.
"You fell sick an hour ago, Jon. You still have a few days of this ahead of you."
"No," I shook my head in disbelief while hugging the toilet bowl as if my life depended upon it. "Don't say days, no, I can't do this. Please, tell me this is a joke." He was no longer simply amused - he was fighting hard not to laugh now! The audacity of my so-called best friend made me question what sick world I had ended up living in.
"Yes, Jon, you can and you will. It's likely just a cold. I will get you some medicine, and you will get better soon, I promise. You better brush your teeth before going back to bed, however."
"Just a cold? JUST a cold?" I couldn't believe my ears. I was suffering greatly! I couldn't even get up on my own!
"A friend once told me that ginger helps with an upset stomach." He smirked. "I suppose you don't have any ginger?"
I had decided not to speak to Sherlock any longer after he ridiculed my suffering. However, I quickly gave up on my intentions - I depended on him entirely. He helped me get up, brush my teeth, and change into a fresh pair of pyjamas before I could finally lie down. Once I felt the soft pillow under my head, I sighed in relief and spread my limbs. It was a feeling better than any bath, better than any meal I'd had. It was the Heaven on Earth, the cherry on top, the crème de la crème - you get the idea. I was still in pain, my muscles aching, my head throbbing, my throat scratching, my stomach rebelling, my nose running, my consciousness slipping. However, lying in bed felt like coming home. Still, the thought of feeling like this for days greatly troubled me. It shouldn't have come as a surprise - I had been by Sherry's side during countless colds and cases of flu, but I hoped, desperately hoped, for a miracle.
"I shall get you some medicine and something to eat." Sherlock was still standing by the bed and watching me. His voice broke the spell of momentary sleep once again.
"What do you mean?" I slurred and raised my head an inch before falling back into the pillow - it was useless. I gave up.
"I mean… I shall get you some medicine and something to eat." He was still feeling incredibly cheeky, apparently. I couldn't believe this guy!
"I heard you the first time, but what am I supposed to do?"
"You are supposed to do precisely what you are doing right now - lie in bed and wait for me."
It sounded fair and reasonable, but I wasn't reasonable. I couldn't think clearly at all, thanks to the fever, and I was sick for the very first time in my life. I did not know if people like me, who had not been born naturally into this world, could survive a cold. For all I knew, I was the first one to ever face this challenge. I was scared!
"What if I die while you are away? I don't want to die all alone! People have died from a cold before, Sherry." I muttered and pulled the blanket to my mouth, desperately trying to warm myself up. From time to time, a pained groan escaped my lips without my permission. I felt the weight of the bed shift slightly, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Sherry sitting beside me. The humour was gone from his face.
"I swear you will not die from this. Do you trust me?"
It took me a moment before I nodded. Not because I doubted him but because I saw where this was going. Of course, I trusted him - I trusted him so much that I knew I'd take a bullet from him if he requested me to. I would not hesitate to die for him if he needed me to. He smiled gently in return and placed his hand on mine. "It's complicated, isn't it? Being a person. For what it's worth, you are doing great, Jon. I would never want to switch places with you and experience every woe of corporeality for the very first time again. Now sleep. I will be back by the time you awake." Even if I had wanted to protest, closing my eyes and resting felt too tempting, so I did that.
The rest of the day passed like this. I did not die while Sherry was gone. In fact, I didn't realise he had left the house at all - by the time I opened my eyes again, he was urging me to take a pill he had brought. And we did not have our meals in a nice restaurant this time. Instead, we ate hot chicken soup on a tablet in our bed, and it was just as delightful as always. The soup gave me some strength back, but the fever did not sink despite the medicine. Slowly but surely, I had accepted my fate to suffer like this for a couple of days, even though I hated it. However, it seemed sickness made me constantly sleepy, and I figured if I simply slept more, the time until my recovery would pass faster.
Ultimately, the break wasn't unwelcome. It wasn't how I had wanted to spend it, but I was grateful we didn't spend yet another day running from bookstore to bookstore. I was convinced there weren't any of them left either way - we had been quite busy. While I rested in bed, Sherlock kept reading, although I figured it was only a matter of hours until he was through with the very last book we had gotten. Was he going to finally give up after we ran out of ideas on how to continue our research? I seriously doubted it, but only time was going to tell. Pondering about the direction our lives had taken, I finally fell into a deep sleep, which could not be disrupted so easily.
I woke up in the middle of the night. The light in our room had been extinguished, and I found myself lying in complete darkness. It was an eerie feeling, especially with the balloon hanging on our ceiling and looking like the oversized head of a creature standing at the foot of our bed. It wasn't pleasant, but I rested in the knowledge that Sherry was with me. I closed my eyes once again and tried to fall back asleep.
But he wasn't with me. It didn't take long to realise I was completely alone in the room - with my limbs still spread in every direction, I could feel both ends of the bed, and he was definitely not lying in it. I was fully awake all at once.
It wasn't just fear, mind you. It was much deeper than this. It was a sense of abandonment, an unfamiliarity, and a silence I had never heard in my life. It was the complete lack of life around me - it was as if something essential was missing. Because he wasn't there. I did not hear his breathing, and I did not sense his presence, which had always been around me. I can't possibly make any regular person understand how severely I felt his absence. He wasn't just a regular friend - he was more like the air in my lungs, and without him, I was suffocating. It was as if someone had removed all my limbs, and I hadn't been given any time to adapt. If I hadn't realised how dependent on him I was until then, the dread I felt only because he wasn't with me spelt it out very clearly, and despite the fever and dizziness, I got up on my feet almost immediately.
Leaving the warm bed wasn't easy. The nightfall had made my head even heavier, and I was sure my fever had reached its all-time highest right before I had woken up. I trusted my feet to lead me to Sherry because my mind refused to play its essential part - no matter how hard I tried to focus, I couldn't tell where I was half the time. Occasionally, I couldn't even tell why I was looking for him. I simply wandered around along the manor's walls and called out his name, hoping he would eventually hear and find me. In retrospect, I imagine myself like a confused and disoriented ghost haunting the manor. If that's how they feel, then I genuinely pity them.
I can't tell how long I had been searching for him. By the time he found me, I had somehow walked down the stairs without breaking my neck, which was a miracle in itself. I was sitting on the very last step and leaning against the railing. The sound of his voice and his cold palms against my cheeks brought me back to my senses - at least to an extent.
"Great Lord, you are much hotter than you were when I left you," he spoke with great concern, but I grinned stupidly anyway, which earned me some scolding. "Seriously, Jon? You don't even know where you are, but you still find this amusing?"
"I'm on Cordona, Sherry," I replied proudly, but my mood soured almost instantly. "You left me to die all alone because I am a burden to you, didn't you?" I whined. I had spun this tale in my head while looking for him, and my confused mind did not question it for a moment.
"This is the fever talking, isn't it? There was no room for me in the bed, and I wanted to let you rest. I retired into Mycroft's room. Come on, let's get you some medicine." I tried to protest, but he stopped paying attention to my words. Considering how much nonsense left my mouth that night, it was likely the right thing to do. I have forgotten most of it, but Sherry swears I feared a large-headed monster was following me.
When I opened my eyes again, we were both in Mycroft's bed, which was twice as large as ours and at least ten times more comfortable. Thanks to the medicine, my fever had sunk a little, and I could think clearly again. It was two o'clock in the morning, as the large clock on the wall told me. Sherlock was still awake and, once again, reading.
"You really never give up," I laughed tiredly and narrowed my eyes - despite being small and relatively weak, the gas lamp still hurt them.
"Hello, Jon. No longer hallucinating monsters, I assume?" He smirked and turned the page of his book.
"Says the man whose favourite hallucination has come to life." He did not deny it - just smiled. It was good to know I was still his favourite after the whole ordeal. Not that I really had competition. "I panicked when I found myself all alone. Sorry about that. I guess I should learn to be less dependent on you, but being all alone is..." I was losing the trail of my thoughts again and found myself struggling to finish the sentence. Luckily, he did it for me.
"Unusual. I know. I couldn't fall asleep either." He did not raise his head from his book as he spoke. I chuckled and closed my eyes.
Some time passed in silence, but there was a question on my mind, which kept me from falling asleep again - a question I had wanted to ask him for two and a half weeks now. I had never dared to, but the fever had emboldened me.
"Say, Sherry... would it be so bad if we never found out why I suddenly got a body?"
He placed his book on the nightstand before sitting up in the bed and turning towards me. "I refuse to accept this possibility. It makes no sense, Jon. It goes against everything I believe in, and I believe in logic - in facts! I know I can't be wrong, and yet..." He choked on his words - the matter tormented him greatly.
"You might have to accept it - we have searched every bookstore, Sherry, turned every stone. And it is also a fact that I am here. You will not find a logical explanation for this. You know you won't. What would it look like?" I paused. It was the last thing he wanted to hear. "Aren't you even a little happy that I am real?" I whispered, partially because of exhaustion and partially because I wasn't sure I wanted him to hear my question.
He took a moment before replying. Then he sighed and lay down again, facing the ceiling. "I am happy for you. I know you have always wanted this. I know how much you have suffered because you couldn't have it."
I cracked my eyes open if only to look at his face. There was a melancholy in his eyes, which pierced me like a knife.
"Have you never wanted this?" I asked, but it was a watered-down way of asking if he mourned my transformation. I didn't know if I could live with myself knowing he did.
"I don't think I ever cared, Jon," his voice cracked a little, but before I could feel a certain way about his answer, he interrupted my thoughts. "You must not misunderstand - it's not because I did not care about you, but rather ... because you have always been enough, with or without a physical form." With this, he turned to face me and placed his palm on my cheek, as he had done many times that day. "You have always been the best companion... the best friend I could imagine. Your corporeal body did not make you better because you were already enough as you were." I smiled tiredly, and my eyes fell shut again - I couldn't keep them open for long.
"Did it make me worse?"
"No." he chuckled." You are still the same person to me, Jon, my best and only friend. I only worry about you more now, but I am happy that you finally have what you have always wanted. You deserve it."
It was my turn to chuckle - of course, he did worry. He was so stuck in his head that he always worried about something, and when he didn't worry, he obsessed over something. Most of the time, he did both.
"I have been very needy lately. Again, sorry about that."
"But it's only fair, is it not? I have needed your presence and support for over a decade. I suppose it's your turn now to need me. But this is not what I mean when I say I worry, Jon." He paused, likely contemplating whether he should elaborate or not. Speaking about feelings had never been his strong suit. Facing me must have felt too intimate all of a sudden - he rolled on his back again.
"You can tell me. The fever will likely make me forget it anyway." I reached out and wrapped my arm around his middle." Come on, no need to be shy around me. I won't judge you."
He first snorted in disbelief, then exhaled deeply before speaking up." I … don't think the world is made for people like you, Jon. You are kind, sensitive, and empathetic. I fear it's only a matter of time until… it breaks you." The way it had broken him - it was a thought neither of us wanted to speak out loud. It hurt him greatly to talk about this matter - he had squeezed his eyes shut and didn't seem interested in opening them again. I understood why he felt like this - by watching me become real, he felt as if a part of himself was exposed to the world, a part he had desperately hoped to keep hidden and safe. No matter how much I wanted to, I could not take his fear away. My grip around him tightened, and I lay my head on his shoulder.
"I promise you, I will never change. Whatever challenges the world throws in our path, we will face them together - always together. It will be alright, Sherry." I spoke quietly. My mind was becoming too foggy to hold our conversation for much longer, but I felt him slightly press his cheek against my forehead.
"I hope you are right. I never want to lose you, Jon."
It didn't take long before I began dozing off again, but before sleep took over entirely, a thought crossed my mind: there was no way Sherry did not think this was nice. Just lying like this, holding each other close and resting. It was a valid reason to not dislike my transformation completely. I loved it, and I smiled a little before entering the realm of dreams. This time, I did not awake until morning.
P.S. It took me four days to recover from the fever and about two weeks to recover completely. I would lie if I said I had gotten used to being sick by now - I still hate it with a burning passion, but I no longer think I will die whenever I catch a little cold. And naturally, Sherry got sick as well shortly after I did, but his symptoms were milder, and he had no fever, so he decided to not let his sickness disturb him. He still stayed in bed for a day, however - I made him. And I fed him with as much chicken soup as he allowed me to.