Prompt 18: One Slip
Title: One Slip
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: G
'Verse: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: 944
Summary: This case is already a failure and he will not let it end in the worst failure of all.
Author's Notes: For prompt 18 of watsons_woes July Writing Prompts. This one was to use five woe related words not on either of the two prompt tables. Word chosen were: Ache, Drown, Resign, Ruin, Slip
"RUN!"
John pauses only long enough to make sure that Sherlock is running before he takes to his own heals. He pumps his arms and rushes and runs and the need to keep running from the soon to be exploding barn. He feels Sherlock start lag behind him - John is the distance runner of the pair of them while Sherlock is the sprinter - and grabs his wrist and pulls him. He's got long legs, he'll be able to keep step.
They run far enough away to avoid getting actually hit by the barn when it goes up. The blast seems to give Sherlock more wind in his sails so to speak and he ends up getting far ahead of John. John himself, however, finds his course altered slightly. Really he'd have thought that Sherlock would be more susceptible to being blown about but Sherlock has always been the more graceful of the two of them.
John reorients himself and tries to keep following Sherlock. Instead he stumbles, he slips, and falls. He falls longer than he ought and awareness leaves him before landing.
=====================================================================================
"RUN!"
Sherlock doesn't need the obvious stated to him. He's moving before John can finish the word. The failure is already gutting him even as his feet begin to ache beneath him. There was a lot of grunt work put in today to lead them to this point and to fail after all of that work just makes him that much angrier that the whole case had been brought to ruin in one swift moment.
John hand is around his wrist and he is pulling. He hadn't thought he'd fallen that far behind straight away. Another failure for today. He's drowning in it today apparently. This case has had him at every turn. If Moriarty weren't already dead and dealt with he would suspect his hand here. At the mere thought of Moriarty his resolve hardens. He won't resign himself to failure this soon. He's beaten Moriarty, he and John had done that and beaten Moran as well, they can do this. He can do this.
He stops running and leans over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. When he doesn't see feet near his own that sense of failure, of utter ruin, hits him again but harder. Like it had the moment when he'd been told that a sniper was trained on John. Like when John had stepped out of the change stall at the pool wrapped in plastic explosives.
"John?"
No answer. He rushes back toward the now flaming wreck of the barn. He looks, he calls, he sees and hears nothing. What nearly does happen is him falling into a pit. He stops just shy of toppling into the thing, whirling arms included. When he looks down and sees nothing but yawning blackness he fears the worst. "John!" he bellows down the hole. Not a sound.
They're in a field. There is literally not a tree for miles yet and John has not yet revealed an ability to disappear into thin air. Sherlock examines the pit, sends out a text to Lestrade on his mobile, takes off his coat and scarf, and then carefully slides his way into the hole. Care vanishes rather quickly since it appears to be a very muddy locale and when he hits bottom he hits mud up to his knees. "John!" he calls once he sees the figure lying half submerged in the muck. Face down.
Sherlock fights his way to his friend's side and flips him over with no attention to comfort. He roughly, furiously, cleans the mud off of John's face (nose and mouth especially) as best as he can and thanks heaven when the man coughs and heaves as soon as he manages to take in a proper breath. He does not show any signs of waking though. His pulse is strong and steady and Sherlock knows enough not to try and move him from his position. He fumbles for his mobile with one hand, the other is supporting the back of John's head, and checks his texts. By some miracle the phone is still working - just - and there is a text back saying to make sure the phone stays on and that they're on their way. Sherlock tucks it in his shirt pocket as he lowers to his knees. He continues to cradle John's head in his hands and looks up at the distant sky above them. They're not far, he knows that, but he can't help the fear that they'll be left down here. In a mud pit with one of them unconscious.
"Whatever you don't write about this one, John.
Sherlock orders John. "There's too much failure in this one."
John coughs again. Sherlock wipes his hand on his shirt and rubs some more of the mud off John's face. John's breathing takes the form of a shudder. Sherlock shudders in kind. It is getting cold down here. He adjusts position so John's head is on his shoulder and wraps his arms around John. He's certain that his body heat isn't ideal but it's all he has at the moment.
"I'm sorry," he whispers to John. "You said there was something wrong here but I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I didn't notice you were gone."
One of John's arms tries to move but finds the task to difficult. "Don't move," he orders quietly. "I've got you." John stops moving and relaxes into Sherlock's embrace. "I've got you." This case is already a failure and he will not let it end in the worst failure of all.
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: G
'Verse: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: 944
Summary: This case is already a failure and he will not let it end in the worst failure of all.
Author's Notes: For prompt 18 of watsons_woes July Writing Prompts. This one was to use five woe related words not on either of the two prompt tables. Word chosen were: Ache, Drown, Resign, Ruin, Slip
"RUN!"
John pauses only long enough to make sure that Sherlock is running before he takes to his own heals. He pumps his arms and rushes and runs and the need to keep running from the soon to be exploding barn. He feels Sherlock start lag behind him - John is the distance runner of the pair of them while Sherlock is the sprinter - and grabs his wrist and pulls him. He's got long legs, he'll be able to keep step.
They run far enough away to avoid getting actually hit by the barn when it goes up. The blast seems to give Sherlock more wind in his sails so to speak and he ends up getting far ahead of John. John himself, however, finds his course altered slightly. Really he'd have thought that Sherlock would be more susceptible to being blown about but Sherlock has always been the more graceful of the two of them.
John reorients himself and tries to keep following Sherlock. Instead he stumbles, he slips, and falls. He falls longer than he ought and awareness leaves him before landing.
=====================================================================================
"RUN!"
Sherlock doesn't need the obvious stated to him. He's moving before John can finish the word. The failure is already gutting him even as his feet begin to ache beneath him. There was a lot of grunt work put in today to lead them to this point and to fail after all of that work just makes him that much angrier that the whole case had been brought to ruin in one swift moment.
John hand is around his wrist and he is pulling. He hadn't thought he'd fallen that far behind straight away. Another failure for today. He's drowning in it today apparently. This case has had him at every turn. If Moriarty weren't already dead and dealt with he would suspect his hand here. At the mere thought of Moriarty his resolve hardens. He won't resign himself to failure this soon. He's beaten Moriarty, he and John had done that and beaten Moran as well, they can do this. He can do this.
He stops running and leans over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. When he doesn't see feet near his own that sense of failure, of utter ruin, hits him again but harder. Like it had the moment when he'd been told that a sniper was trained on John. Like when John had stepped out of the change stall at the pool wrapped in plastic explosives.
"John?"
No answer. He rushes back toward the now flaming wreck of the barn. He looks, he calls, he sees and hears nothing. What nearly does happen is him falling into a pit. He stops just shy of toppling into the thing, whirling arms included. When he looks down and sees nothing but yawning blackness he fears the worst. "John!" he bellows down the hole. Not a sound.
They're in a field. There is literally not a tree for miles yet and John has not yet revealed an ability to disappear into thin air. Sherlock examines the pit, sends out a text to Lestrade on his mobile, takes off his coat and scarf, and then carefully slides his way into the hole. Care vanishes rather quickly since it appears to be a very muddy locale and when he hits bottom he hits mud up to his knees. "John!" he calls once he sees the figure lying half submerged in the muck. Face down.
Sherlock fights his way to his friend's side and flips him over with no attention to comfort. He roughly, furiously, cleans the mud off of John's face (nose and mouth especially) as best as he can and thanks heaven when the man coughs and heaves as soon as he manages to take in a proper breath. He does not show any signs of waking though. His pulse is strong and steady and Sherlock knows enough not to try and move him from his position. He fumbles for his mobile with one hand, the other is supporting the back of John's head, and checks his texts. By some miracle the phone is still working - just - and there is a text back saying to make sure the phone stays on and that they're on their way. Sherlock tucks it in his shirt pocket as he lowers to his knees. He continues to cradle John's head in his hands and looks up at the distant sky above them. They're not far, he knows that, but he can't help the fear that they'll be left down here. In a mud pit with one of them unconscious.
"Whatever you don't write about this one, John.
Sherlock orders John. "There's too much failure in this one."
John coughs again. Sherlock wipes his hand on his shirt and rubs some more of the mud off John's face. John's breathing takes the form of a shudder. Sherlock shudders in kind. It is getting cold down here. He adjusts position so John's head is on his shoulder and wraps his arms around John. He's certain that his body heat isn't ideal but it's all he has at the moment.
"I'm sorry," he whispers to John. "You said there was something wrong here but I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry I didn't notice you were gone."
One of John's arms tries to move but finds the task to difficult. "Don't move," he orders quietly. "I've got you." John stops moving and relaxes into Sherlock's embrace. "I've got you." This case is already a failure and he will not let it end in the worst failure of all.