Sherlock fic: Flatmates should know the worst about each other
Title: Flatmates should know the worst about each other
Author: Ariane DeVere
Word count: 221
Rating: PG
Characters: John, Sherlock
Warnings: It looks sort of angsty, but it really isn’t, honest. However, includes mention of possible drug use.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to way more powerful and wealthy people than me.
Flatmates should know the worst about each other
It’s worse than the drugs busts; worse than the terrible times when there’s no case and Sherlock prowls around the flat, bored and dangerous; worse than the terrible times when there is a case and Sherlock flares around London with no thought for his own safety or that of others; worse than the times when a case goes on too long and Sherlock is pale, exhausted and trembling from lack of both food and sleep.
It’s even worse than the few heartbreaking times - thankfully very few - when Sherlock can no longer resist the call of his old addictions and John comes home to find that it’s not nicotine patches that Sherlock has been applying to his arm.
In all of these scenarios, John is at Sherlock’s side, quiet, supportive, ready to defend him, protect him - or die for him.
It’s still a shock whenever Sherlock’s anguished voice cries out John’s name, disturbing John from his sleep or from a doze on the sofa. The fear in Sherlock’s voice is horrifying and John wants to bury his head under a pillow and pretend he can’t hear it.
But he’s in this for good and bad, and so John sighs tiredly and once more pulls himself to his feet and goes to defend and protect Sherlock by retrieving the spider from the bath.
********************
Author’s Note: This 221B (221 words, final word beginning with a ‘b’) was somewhat inspired by the fact that my plotbunny appears to have gone on holiday and left behind a temp to do his job for him. Sadly, I am finding it more than a little hard to be inspired whenever the plotspider regularly comes galloping across the floor and heads straight for my feet, apparently with the intention of nibbling on my toes in the way that the bunny does. He hasn’t managed it yet and ends up racing straight past as I hoick my feet into the air with a shriek of terror. Sadly, it doesn’t stop him trying.
Come home soon, Cedric, please. I miss you, you silly fluffy bunny, you.
Do forgive the ludicrously wide paragraph spacing. LJ is being a prat today.
Author: Ariane DeVere
Word count: 221
Rating: PG
Characters: John, Sherlock
Warnings: It looks sort of angsty, but it really isn’t, honest. However, includes mention of possible drug use.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to way more powerful and wealthy people than me.
Flatmates should know the worst about each other
It’s worse than the drugs busts; worse than the terrible times when there’s no case and Sherlock prowls around the flat, bored and dangerous; worse than the terrible times when there is a case and Sherlock flares around London with no thought for his own safety or that of others; worse than the times when a case goes on too long and Sherlock is pale, exhausted and trembling from lack of both food and sleep.
It’s even worse than the few heartbreaking times - thankfully very few - when Sherlock can no longer resist the call of his old addictions and John comes home to find that it’s not nicotine patches that Sherlock has been applying to his arm.
In all of these scenarios, John is at Sherlock’s side, quiet, supportive, ready to defend him, protect him - or die for him.
It’s still a shock whenever Sherlock’s anguished voice cries out John’s name, disturbing John from his sleep or from a doze on the sofa. The fear in Sherlock’s voice is horrifying and John wants to bury his head under a pillow and pretend he can’t hear it.
But he’s in this for good and bad, and so John sighs tiredly and once more pulls himself to his feet and goes to defend and protect Sherlock by retrieving the spider from the bath.
********************
Author’s Note: This 221B (221 words, final word beginning with a ‘b’) was somewhat inspired by the fact that my plotbunny appears to have gone on holiday and left behind a temp to do his job for him. Sadly, I am finding it more than a little hard to be inspired whenever the plotspider regularly comes galloping across the floor and heads straight for my feet, apparently with the intention of nibbling on my toes in the way that the bunny does. He hasn’t managed it yet and ends up racing straight past as I hoick my feet into the air with a shriek of terror. Sadly, it doesn’t stop him trying.
Come home soon, Cedric, please. I miss you, you silly fluffy bunny, you.
Do forgive the ludicrously wide paragraph spacing. LJ is being a prat today.