Prompt 31: Seize the Day
Title: Seize The Day
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: G
'Verse: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: 2072
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson,
Summary: "Ask."
"Now?" Sherlock squeaks.
"Might as well. Who knows? Maybe... the next time you work up the courage to I'll... be dead!"
In the same universe as The Space Between, Brave New World, Resurrection Fern, and The Nurse
Author's Notes: For prompt 31 of watsons_woes July Writing Prompts. This one was: Write an add-on scene to one of your own stories. This is really yet another add on fic (building off a question alluded to in "The Space Between") but it's the last in the series. I think...
John has never actually died but if he was ever to die and come back from it he gathers that this must be what it feels like. It's four days before he can stay awake for a normal period of time and three days after that before they start him with physiotherapy . His speech is pretty much back to normal, occasionally he has to pause and think a word out, but his walking is going to need some work. Right now he can only be pleased that it's a certainty that he'll be running in no time. That's what everyone tells him but it seems like it will be happening at the turn of the next century. His trainer, Sean, is a good enough bloke though. Puts up with Sherlock even when Sherlock shouts at him for being too cautious with him. One of them needs to be, John barks at him on the fourth day. John is holding back the desire to rush it. It's like if he breezes through this that means he can make up the time spent in the coma.
The person who ends up bearing the brunt of his frustration is Sherlock by default. It would have been Harry as well but the two of them finally snap at a week of being nice to one another and Harry heads back to Manchester. Sherlock almost seems sad that she's gone. He does not leave though. He sits with Sean and keeps quiet, only speaks when he needs to after that last outburst, and only helps when John needs him to. And that's whether he asks for it or not.
It's weird, John decides at the end of session eight. Sherlock has gone off to find some food, on John and Nurse Marion's orders, so he has a rare moment of peace on his own. It's weird to be the one in need of care instead of the one giving it. Him and Sherlock have been lucky so far, that neither of them have been out of commission quite so long. Neither of them are strangers to hospitals or hospital stays but this is the first big scare. The first time that one of them had been left with the possibility of being alive but not being alive.
Sherlock, aside from having pretended to be dead, has had his heart stop before. John has had his stop too but in those instance neither of them had had time to think about what happened if the other wasn't quite revived properly. No one's been a coma before and neither of them have never had to seriously think about being the one to stop the machines.
They're even now, John has to say. Not that he'd been keeping score in his head but they had to be as close to even as they ever were going to be. Two weeks cannot match nearly two years but things like grief and fear could not be weighed equally.
=====================================================================================
The next day John manages to make it across the room without either collapsing or swearing. Sean is all happiness and cheering and all that back slapping but it's Sherlock's quiet smile, and that light of victory in his eyes, that means the most for him. When he decides that he wants a celebratory walk in the garden both trainer and partner think he may be more brain damaged than they thought. "Come on," he nudges Sherlock with the hospital issue cane. "I've only been out once in the chair to see those ferns. I'd like... to go for a walk. There's plenty of places to stop."
It takes a bit of arguing but he gets his way. John likes to think it's because he'd only had to stop once during that speech. Two victories in one day. Nothing ever went this well. Maybe he was still out of it after all.
"Still awake, John." Sherlock tells him when he returns to John's side with one of his jumpers. "It's colder out there than I thought."
Nope, nothing ever went perfectly. That would be far too boring. They last about half an hour before John has to sit down. He's pleased he's been allowed to wear his own clothes now, the hospital gown has never been a look he has appreciated or done well in. The worn jeans and jumper make him feel more at home, though home at this point happens to be anywhere where Sherlock Holmes is standing.
It's not as cold as Sherlock had made it sound but John had to admit that the heat he's feeling is more from the effort than the temperature. When he sits down without a word Sherlock backtracks and sits next to him without hesitation, or any sign of having seen him. Sherlock had once said that there was no way that he could discern John's footprint from the millions in the world but John thinks that he can at least pick out his step by sound. The bench is large but, as usual, Sherlock sits pressed up against him and John holds out his hand without Sherlock having to ask. "'m sorry," John finds himself saying.
Sherlock turns his hand over, palm up, and examines it. "Why?"
"For slipping. For put...putting you through all... all that."
"That was hardly your fault, John, but if it will end this line of conversation I forgive you."
John chuckles. "Thanks." He looks around the scattered crowd. A few mobile patients with trainers or family like himself, a few are in wheelchairs still, and others are less than responsive to their surroundings than they could be. John shudders at that prospect. It wouldn't make a difference to him one way or the other, or at least he hopes that it wouldn't, but he cannot imagine what that result would have done to Sherlock. He squeezes Sherlock's hand, a little too hard fast judging by the start and the muttered yelp. If he is confused, though, he doesn't let on and doesn't say a word.
"What would you have done?" John doesn't bother explaining himself.
"What you wanted," Sherlock answers. "Harry would have come around, eventually."
John nods and makes a mental note to do something about that power of attorney mess. Maybe actually write a living will on top of that. Had things gone down that road, or if one day things do go down that road, he does not want Sherlock having to deal one more extra grief.
"You'd still want the plug pulled if it was you, yeah?" John has no idea why he's asking such an obvious question. Sherlock's wishes must be known to the entire universe by this point. Sherlock does not mention this and says that he would want the plug pulled.
"Mycroft won't fight me on it?"
"I seem to recall Mycroft presenting you with the documents before I'd even finished with them."
"I don't... think he was impressed that I pre...tended to be him to get past the nurses."
Sherlock looks at him and John bursts out laughing. "I never told you? This was...early days...the George case? You were concussed."
"No I remember, but I thought they'd let you back there as a professional courtesy."
"Not even a little bit. You probably had...passed out again....Mycroft hauled me out of there so fast to sign everything I... was probably gone before... you noticed I was there. 'S why we nev...never had any trouble after."
Sherlock seems caught between being grateful and being furious. John himself had presented Sherlock with his papers after they met Moriarty for the first time. He'd at first been hesitant to take responsibility for John, especially in the light of the pool and what emotions had been stirred up there. John had had every intention of laying out the painful process that would wait for him but the second that John had said that he wouldn't be given access to his hospital room Sherlock had taken the thing and signed it so furiously he'd almost ripped it.
John smiles at the memory. When Sherlock asks why he's giggling to himself he tells him. Sherlock finds it slightly less funny. "I didn't know what I felt and what I didn't then," he sighs. "I knew that I didn't want you away from me. Where I couldn't at least see you."
"Possessive git."
"Excellent deduction."
The wind starts to kick up and John starts to shiver. Sherlock is rising to give him a hand to his feet but John loses his balance a bit and his cane drops to the ground. When Sherlock sets John back down on the bench to retrieve the cane a black box falls out of his pocket and rolls under the bench. When John has the cane back in his hand he uses the hook end to fish it out from under the bench. "You dropped something."
Sherlock's fingers itch like he wants to snatch it away but instead John finds himself holding a much abused black box that can only contain one thing. Instead of acknowledging it aloud he tries his best deductions. "Been in your coat pocket for weeks," he begins. He observes a bit of dried blood on it. "Weeks before my accident at that..."
"John..."
John opens it and finds two very simple gold bands. So simple they almost don't look like wedding bands. John smiles . "You were going to ask me after we got home that night, weren't you? You'd finally got the courage. That's why you had dinner already planned. You-you nev-never plan for food unless there's a very good...reason for it. Not on a case."
"I was hoping the wine would make it easier."
"Oh well, I'm...sorry that asking me a...simple question is that hard for you." John smirks at him to let him know that he's teasing. The poor man looks ready to either faint or run. "You know my answer. You have to know it."
Sherlock is unable to speak. He's trying but the poor sod just looks like a fish out of water.
John takes pity on him, shuts the box, and hands it back. "Ask."
"Now?" Sherlock squeaks.
"Might as well. Who knows? Maybe... the next time you work up the courage to I'll... be dead!" John winces with Sherlock and reaches out for his hands. Well, one hand and one wrist. "I'm sorry. That...wasn't on at all. Please, Sherlock. I'd... like to hear you ask."
Sherlock looks around them, when he is confident that no one is nearby he gets down on one knee. Had John been standing he wouldn't have bothered but here he's eye to eye. "Will you...John...will you..."
"Go on. Get it out. I've...got the monopoly on sp-speech impediments here."
"Marry me? Will you marry me?! John, really---" Sherlock is silenced by the embrace and the kiss that John attacks him with. Not quite as forceful as he'd like, he'd had hoped to knock them over, but he is still on the mend. When he pulls back he can almost see his self satisfied victorious grin in Sherlock's shining eyes.
"Yes," he pronounces. "Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes. Never doubt it, Sherlock." He holds out his hand and tries not to laugh at how reverently Sherlock slides the ring onto his finger. That being said he does put Sherlock's on with just as much care. He kisses Sherlock's knuckles when he's done. "When did you get my measurement?"
Sherlock gives him his first proper eye roll in days. John is delighted. "I know, I know, you don't need my measurements. You probably had me sized the second you saw my hands." He holds his arm out. "Let's try this again, shall we?"
This time they both manage to stay upright and head, slowly, back down the path. They'll have calls to make at some point, hopefully once he's released and settled. That being said he's sure Mycroft will notice the next time he visits to say nothing of Harry and Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade might not notice for a bit but one of them will tell him. It's enough to make him want to crawl back into the coma and not wake up until the actual date.
No, he decides just as quickly. Being awake is so much better, even if it's slightly more dangerous.
Author: arwen_kenobi
Rating: G
'Verse: BBC Sherlock
Word Count: 2072
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson,
Summary: "Ask."
"Now?" Sherlock squeaks.
"Might as well. Who knows? Maybe... the next time you work up the courage to I'll... be dead!"
In the same universe as The Space Between, Brave New World, Resurrection Fern, and The Nurse
Author's Notes: For prompt 31 of watsons_woes July Writing Prompts. This one was: Write an add-on scene to one of your own stories. This is really yet another add on fic (building off a question alluded to in "The Space Between") but it's the last in the series. I think...
John has never actually died but if he was ever to die and come back from it he gathers that this must be what it feels like. It's four days before he can stay awake for a normal period of time and three days after that before they start him with physiotherapy . His speech is pretty much back to normal, occasionally he has to pause and think a word out, but his walking is going to need some work. Right now he can only be pleased that it's a certainty that he'll be running in no time. That's what everyone tells him but it seems like it will be happening at the turn of the next century. His trainer, Sean, is a good enough bloke though. Puts up with Sherlock even when Sherlock shouts at him for being too cautious with him. One of them needs to be, John barks at him on the fourth day. John is holding back the desire to rush it. It's like if he breezes through this that means he can make up the time spent in the coma.
The person who ends up bearing the brunt of his frustration is Sherlock by default. It would have been Harry as well but the two of them finally snap at a week of being nice to one another and Harry heads back to Manchester. Sherlock almost seems sad that she's gone. He does not leave though. He sits with Sean and keeps quiet, only speaks when he needs to after that last outburst, and only helps when John needs him to. And that's whether he asks for it or not.
It's weird, John decides at the end of session eight. Sherlock has gone off to find some food, on John and Nurse Marion's orders, so he has a rare moment of peace on his own. It's weird to be the one in need of care instead of the one giving it. Him and Sherlock have been lucky so far, that neither of them have been out of commission quite so long. Neither of them are strangers to hospitals or hospital stays but this is the first big scare. The first time that one of them had been left with the possibility of being alive but not being alive.
Sherlock, aside from having pretended to be dead, has had his heart stop before. John has had his stop too but in those instance neither of them had had time to think about what happened if the other wasn't quite revived properly. No one's been a coma before and neither of them have never had to seriously think about being the one to stop the machines.
They're even now, John has to say. Not that he'd been keeping score in his head but they had to be as close to even as they ever were going to be. Two weeks cannot match nearly two years but things like grief and fear could not be weighed equally.
=====================================================================================
The next day John manages to make it across the room without either collapsing or swearing. Sean is all happiness and cheering and all that back slapping but it's Sherlock's quiet smile, and that light of victory in his eyes, that means the most for him. When he decides that he wants a celebratory walk in the garden both trainer and partner think he may be more brain damaged than they thought. "Come on," he nudges Sherlock with the hospital issue cane. "I've only been out once in the chair to see those ferns. I'd like... to go for a walk. There's plenty of places to stop."
It takes a bit of arguing but he gets his way. John likes to think it's because he'd only had to stop once during that speech. Two victories in one day. Nothing ever went this well. Maybe he was still out of it after all.
"Still awake, John." Sherlock tells him when he returns to John's side with one of his jumpers. "It's colder out there than I thought."
Nope, nothing ever went perfectly. That would be far too boring. They last about half an hour before John has to sit down. He's pleased he's been allowed to wear his own clothes now, the hospital gown has never been a look he has appreciated or done well in. The worn jeans and jumper make him feel more at home, though home at this point happens to be anywhere where Sherlock Holmes is standing.
It's not as cold as Sherlock had made it sound but John had to admit that the heat he's feeling is more from the effort than the temperature. When he sits down without a word Sherlock backtracks and sits next to him without hesitation, or any sign of having seen him. Sherlock had once said that there was no way that he could discern John's footprint from the millions in the world but John thinks that he can at least pick out his step by sound. The bench is large but, as usual, Sherlock sits pressed up against him and John holds out his hand without Sherlock having to ask. "'m sorry," John finds himself saying.
Sherlock turns his hand over, palm up, and examines it. "Why?"
"For slipping. For put...putting you through all... all that."
"That was hardly your fault, John, but if it will end this line of conversation I forgive you."
John chuckles. "Thanks." He looks around the scattered crowd. A few mobile patients with trainers or family like himself, a few are in wheelchairs still, and others are less than responsive to their surroundings than they could be. John shudders at that prospect. It wouldn't make a difference to him one way or the other, or at least he hopes that it wouldn't, but he cannot imagine what that result would have done to Sherlock. He squeezes Sherlock's hand, a little too hard fast judging by the start and the muttered yelp. If he is confused, though, he doesn't let on and doesn't say a word.
"What would you have done?" John doesn't bother explaining himself.
"What you wanted," Sherlock answers. "Harry would have come around, eventually."
John nods and makes a mental note to do something about that power of attorney mess. Maybe actually write a living will on top of that. Had things gone down that road, or if one day things do go down that road, he does not want Sherlock having to deal one more extra grief.
"You'd still want the plug pulled if it was you, yeah?" John has no idea why he's asking such an obvious question. Sherlock's wishes must be known to the entire universe by this point. Sherlock does not mention this and says that he would want the plug pulled.
"Mycroft won't fight me on it?"
"I seem to recall Mycroft presenting you with the documents before I'd even finished with them."
"I don't... think he was impressed that I pre...tended to be him to get past the nurses."
Sherlock looks at him and John bursts out laughing. "I never told you? This was...early days...the George case? You were concussed."
"No I remember, but I thought they'd let you back there as a professional courtesy."
"Not even a little bit. You probably had...passed out again....Mycroft hauled me out of there so fast to sign everything I... was probably gone before... you noticed I was there. 'S why we nev...never had any trouble after."
Sherlock seems caught between being grateful and being furious. John himself had presented Sherlock with his papers after they met Moriarty for the first time. He'd at first been hesitant to take responsibility for John, especially in the light of the pool and what emotions had been stirred up there. John had had every intention of laying out the painful process that would wait for him but the second that John had said that he wouldn't be given access to his hospital room Sherlock had taken the thing and signed it so furiously he'd almost ripped it.
John smiles at the memory. When Sherlock asks why he's giggling to himself he tells him. Sherlock finds it slightly less funny. "I didn't know what I felt and what I didn't then," he sighs. "I knew that I didn't want you away from me. Where I couldn't at least see you."
"Possessive git."
"Excellent deduction."
The wind starts to kick up and John starts to shiver. Sherlock is rising to give him a hand to his feet but John loses his balance a bit and his cane drops to the ground. When Sherlock sets John back down on the bench to retrieve the cane a black box falls out of his pocket and rolls under the bench. When John has the cane back in his hand he uses the hook end to fish it out from under the bench. "You dropped something."
Sherlock's fingers itch like he wants to snatch it away but instead John finds himself holding a much abused black box that can only contain one thing. Instead of acknowledging it aloud he tries his best deductions. "Been in your coat pocket for weeks," he begins. He observes a bit of dried blood on it. "Weeks before my accident at that..."
"John..."
John opens it and finds two very simple gold bands. So simple they almost don't look like wedding bands. John smiles . "You were going to ask me after we got home that night, weren't you? You'd finally got the courage. That's why you had dinner already planned. You-you nev-never plan for food unless there's a very good...reason for it. Not on a case."
"I was hoping the wine would make it easier."
"Oh well, I'm...sorry that asking me a...simple question is that hard for you." John smirks at him to let him know that he's teasing. The poor man looks ready to either faint or run. "You know my answer. You have to know it."
Sherlock is unable to speak. He's trying but the poor sod just looks like a fish out of water.
John takes pity on him, shuts the box, and hands it back. "Ask."
"Now?" Sherlock squeaks.
"Might as well. Who knows? Maybe... the next time you work up the courage to I'll... be dead!" John winces with Sherlock and reaches out for his hands. Well, one hand and one wrist. "I'm sorry. That...wasn't on at all. Please, Sherlock. I'd... like to hear you ask."
Sherlock looks around them, when he is confident that no one is nearby he gets down on one knee. Had John been standing he wouldn't have bothered but here he's eye to eye. "Will you...John...will you..."
"Go on. Get it out. I've...got the monopoly on sp-speech impediments here."
"Marry me? Will you marry me?! John, really---" Sherlock is silenced by the embrace and the kiss that John attacks him with. Not quite as forceful as he'd like, he'd had hoped to knock them over, but he is still on the mend. When he pulls back he can almost see his self satisfied victorious grin in Sherlock's shining eyes.
"Yes," he pronounces. "Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes. Never doubt it, Sherlock." He holds out his hand and tries not to laugh at how reverently Sherlock slides the ring onto his finger. That being said he does put Sherlock's on with just as much care. He kisses Sherlock's knuckles when he's done. "When did you get my measurement?"
Sherlock gives him his first proper eye roll in days. John is delighted. "I know, I know, you don't need my measurements. You probably had me sized the second you saw my hands." He holds his arm out. "Let's try this again, shall we?"
This time they both manage to stay upright and head, slowly, back down the path. They'll have calls to make at some point, hopefully once he's released and settled. That being said he's sure Mycroft will notice the next time he visits to say nothing of Harry and Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade might not notice for a bit but one of them will tell him. It's enough to make him want to crawl back into the coma and not wake up until the actual date.
No, he decides just as quickly. Being awake is so much better, even if it's slightly more dangerous.