Fic: Another blink in time - (6/9)
Tuesday again! Next chapter featuring sleeping Sherlock, happy John and a plan! :D
Title: Another blink in time
Author: anarion
Words: 1311
Warnings: UST
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Beta: still verityburns, the best beta in the world ♥♥♥
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).
Chapter 5 here
Chapter 6
The day after the argument John made a decision.
Just spending his days longing after Sherlock would drive him crazy. He needed to get out of the house more often. And he needed other people. He feared that otherwise he would truly lose his mind.
And since he also needed money, he decided to get a job.
But before he could put this plan into action, Sherlock dragged him out to another case. The whole thing ended with Sherlock being badly beaten up and refusing to go to the hospital. John finally agreed to tend to the wounds himself, just to get Sherlock out of the cold.
Getting home was problematic, because no cab wanted to take the bloodstained men along and holding the wobbly Sherlock upright was not an easy task.
When they finally reached the flat, Sherlock was panting and John manoeuvred him to the bathroom at once, where he got his medical kit out and moistened a towel.
He closed his eyes for a moment to become calm and focused on the task in front of him. There was a storm of emotions raging through him. One the one hand he was incredibly angry at Sherlock, because running after a known thug alone was just plain stupid. On the other hand he was so relieved that nothing serious had happened that he feared he might start to cry any time.
He said nothing because now was not the time and Sherlock was in pain and probably had a slight concussion.
John carefully dabbed at Sherlock’s face. Most of the blood came from a cut on his forehead, because the thug had been shorter than Sherlock and did not waste time going for his face. He had cut him down by swinging an iron bar in his way while he was running and then started kicking him. Attacking people already on the ground made John especially angry, because it was dishonourable.
Sherlock’s reaction had been good, because he curled himself up and protected his head and most of his internal organs that way. When the thug tumbled for a second, Sherlock used his legs, swung them around, hooked one of his feet behind the attacker’s knee and kicked against it with his other, breaking the thug’s kneecap.
After John cleaned the blood from Sherlock’s face and examined the cut, which luckily would not need stitches, he turned to the rest of his body.
He knew he was in trouble even before he helped Sherlock to unbutton his shirt.
Sherlock had to stand up for this and leaned heavily against John before stabilising himself. John swallowed and concentrated on the task at hand. He felt Sherlock’s ribs, and found some bruising, but nothing broken or otherwise damaged. John sighed with relief, but did not yet take his hands away. He spread his fingers and marvelled at his still sun tanned skin against the whiteness of Sherlock’s.
The feeling of Sherlock’s ribcage, moving under his hands while he was breathing, distracted John for a second. He moved his hand to Sherlock's chest and felt his heart beat - a little too fast, but otherwise steady and reassuring. Glad that Sherlock was standing with his eyes closed and therefore not seeing his face, John cleared his throat and told Sherlock that he would live.
When John was done and sure that Sherlock had no serious injuries, he forced him to lie down. The little pained moan from Sherlock as he put on his pyjamas made John get him a painkiller and warned him to not get up before the next morning.
That night he lay on his back, hands crossed behind his head, eyes closed and let the scene in the bathroom rise in front of his inner eye again. He imagined Sherlock turning around, moving John’s hand to where he wanted to be touched. Imagined touching that pale skin not for medical reasons, but to arouse pleasure.
He wondered what kind of noises Sherlock made. And who had had the privilege to hear them. If anybody ever had. Had anybody ever touched that wonderful body? Sherlock’s beautiful and skilful hands never giving pleasure to anybody would be a terrible sin.
These were dangerous thoughts, so he turned his mind to a much bigger problem.
John had intently tried to find out why Sherlock was not remembering. Apparently just being with John did not help. That would have been the easy solution. He might need some kind of trigger, as John had. But as to what that could be, John had no idea.
John considered that Sherlock might be somehow blocked by his enormous intellect. Logic and rational thoughts were so important to him. He might think that emotions were non-essential and only distracted him from his work.
The next thought made John cold all over: What if Sherlock had remembered at some time and decided to delete it? Because it meant emotions… and emotions were a weakness and therefore useless.
Suddenly he could not stand being apart from Sherlock any longer. He got out of bed and went down the stairs, but came to his senses when he stood in front of Sherlock’s door. What was he thinking, barging in there like a scared little child? He put his hands and his head against the wood, as if this brought him closer to Sherlock.
But it was just not enough, so he opened the door without a sound and stepped inside. The room was absolutely quiet. While John waited for his eyes to adjust to the slightly different shade of darkness, he listened to Sherlock’s soft but deep breathing.
When he could make out the bed and the sleeping shape in it, he slowly went closer, until he could sit carefully down on the foot of it. He knew that this would not have been possible had Sherlock not been knocked out and full of painkillers.
He sat there for some time, just listening to Sherlock breathing and being alive. The thought of losing him made John feel as if he swallowed glass and was bleeding inside.
Even just listening was not enough, he needed to feel. So he carefully moved again, until he sat close to Sherlock’s body, leaning on the headboard. Sherlock made a small sound and turned from his back to his side, his face towards John. One of Sherlock’s hands came to rest on John’s knee and Sherlock’s nose nearly touched his hip.
John’s heart made a little stuttering motion, but Sherlock did not wake. John waited a few minutes, then gently weaved the fingers of his right hand into Sherlock’s curls and rubbed small circles with his thumb on his temple. A soft pleased sigh from the other man’s throat was his reward.
John let his head rest on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. Sherlock’s breath was warming his skin through the thin fabric of his pyjama trousers and his hand was a reassuring weight on his knee. He felt an inner peace that nearly made him cry.
But his momentarily happiness did not let him forget the reason that made him come down here in the first place: He still needed to find a solution to the problem.
John skimmed through his memories and considered possible triggers, which worked in previous lives. Unfortunately John never had to deal with an exceptional brain like Sherlock's before. Who knew what might work on him or what needed to be done for him to remember.
But Sherlock was going to get himself, or probably both of them, killed sooner or later. Maybe he felt deep down that he was missing an essential part of himself and was often careless because of that. Either way, John needed him to remember, before anything happened to either of them.
So he came up with a plan.
Next chapter
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AN: Thank you so much to all the kind readers who took the time and commented so far. I love you.
To all readers who haven't: Yes, people, like every other author I love feedback and I thrive on it. So don't be shy! :)
Due to a big family meeting next weekend, there will be no new chapter next week, but I have a little treat in form of a follow-up for the blowjob 221B for you. Stay tuned!
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