Runs in the Family (4/?)
Title: Runs in the Family (4/?)
Rating: Pg-13 for general drama in this chapter
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John, Harry/Clara
Warning: Slash, child abuse, alcohol abuse, spouse abuse and eventual mentions of drug abuse
Word Count: 820
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Doyle, Sherlock belongs to BBC
Summary: Harry's losing it and John is picking up the pieces but will he let Sherlock in?
Author's Notes: This chapters been a long time coming! I'm sorry. I was afraid of ruining it. Hopefully it came out all right. It was suppose to be longer but it seemed to end there so I let it.
Next chapter Clara apears! Yay!
He had woken to find John dreaming. But it hadn’t been a war dream. Where John is a soldier clawing through Afghanistan, shouting orders, dodging bullets, jerking off the bed to press his hands painfully into Sherlock’s side mumbling about too much blood. His arms jutting out to fight and hold and shoot and save. No. Sherlock knew those haunting and this had been something entirely different. It was too . . . still. John lay with his arms flat against his sides and trembled. His teeth clenched, not making a sound. It was the most terrifying thing Sherlock had ever witnessed.
Then it was over. His features relaxing with a breath. And unnerved, Sherlock found himself downstairs making tea and attempting to block the image from his mind. John was never helpless. Never so vulnerable, not even when he has given himself over to Sherlock and they are sprawled out on their bed tangled in each other’s arms. There is always a sliver of control. To see it gone, stripped from the man and leaving him that shell, it made the detective furious.
He didn’t know what to do. He stared into the mug of tea, now lukewarm in his hands. John was his go to for emotional matters. He was as solid as the earth and knew the depths of people as well as Sherlock knew blood analysis. So Sherlock was at a loss when John was the emotion in question. He needed his help to help him. He gripped the mug so hard his knuckles were as white as the porcelain, before dropping the mug on the side table and following John down the stairs.
He found him slumped against the wall with the phone pressed to his ear. Yesterday’s trousers pulled up and buttoned around his waist. He looked tired.
“Can she do that? . . . ok. Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” John ran a hand over his face. “Thanks.” He stood there, shoulders slumped, seemingly oblivious to the detective behind him.
“John-“ The doctor jumped and tried to hide it by focusing on putting his phone in his pocket.
“Sherlock, I have to-“
“I’m going too.”
“It’s alright I-“
Sherlock set his jaw now trying to stem his anger. “-can handle it right.” He voice was deadpan, almost harsh. “I want to. I’m bored. It has nothing to do with you or any interest I have in your well being. I’m simply bored.” John stared with wide eyes. “Does that help?”
“I’m sorry.” And he meant it. Sherlock could see it in the lines of his face.
“John-“
“Harry’s a mess, Sherlock.” He tried that half smile, the one that said this was all a silly little nuisance not worthy of Sherlock’s attention.
“I like mess.”
John slid a weary hand over his face. “She’s the worse yet. You don’t want to meet her like that right? Just . . . give me a few days to work things out. She just needs . . . “ John tensed at Sherlock’s expression and then drooped in resignation. His forced smile morphed to frustration and his hands pulled at his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what she needs but I’m what she’s got. And this is what we do. Families right? We pick up pieces or sweep them under the rug if we need to. Get them out of sight.” John took a deliberate step back. Sherlock matched his step forward and John blurted, his anger rising at being pushed, “I don’t want you to see!”
John stopped at the admission. His hands dropping to his sides as he searched his companion’s face. Sherlock had set up his mask and was as impenetrable as ever. John’s face was a haze of swirling emotion, none of which Sherlock could grasp. And they were always so good at reading each other that this strange territory, this place where they didn’t recognize one another, was truly frightening.
“Just- just let me fix it ok?” Sherlock saw John’s eyebrows crease in frustration at the near whimper in his voice. “Just give me a little time and I’ll be right where you need me.” He moved to kiss the detective but Sherlock didn’t concede, using his height he didn’t bring his lips down to meet him so John settled for kissing him on his jaw before jerking away, grabbing his coat and making for the door.
“I haven’t hidden anything from you, John.” He finally said, unable to mask the hurt in his voice as John stopped. “Because I trust you.” John’s hand tightened on the doorknob, then he was gone. The door closed softly behind.
Sherlock considered shooting at the wall to ease his frustration. He settled instead on pulling out his phone and texting Lestrade for anything that could possibly occupy his mind and keep him from chasing John down and shaking answers from him.
Rating: Pg-13 for general drama in this chapter
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John, Harry/Clara
Warning: Slash, child abuse, alcohol abuse, spouse abuse and eventual mentions of drug abuse
Word Count: 820
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Doyle, Sherlock belongs to BBC
Summary: Harry's losing it and John is picking up the pieces but will he let Sherlock in?
Author's Notes: This chapters been a long time coming! I'm sorry. I was afraid of ruining it. Hopefully it came out all right. It was suppose to be longer but it seemed to end there so I let it.
Next chapter Clara apears! Yay!
He had woken to find John dreaming. But it hadn’t been a war dream. Where John is a soldier clawing through Afghanistan, shouting orders, dodging bullets, jerking off the bed to press his hands painfully into Sherlock’s side mumbling about too much blood. His arms jutting out to fight and hold and shoot and save. No. Sherlock knew those haunting and this had been something entirely different. It was too . . . still. John lay with his arms flat against his sides and trembled. His teeth clenched, not making a sound. It was the most terrifying thing Sherlock had ever witnessed.
Then it was over. His features relaxing with a breath. And unnerved, Sherlock found himself downstairs making tea and attempting to block the image from his mind. John was never helpless. Never so vulnerable, not even when he has given himself over to Sherlock and they are sprawled out on their bed tangled in each other’s arms. There is always a sliver of control. To see it gone, stripped from the man and leaving him that shell, it made the detective furious.
He didn’t know what to do. He stared into the mug of tea, now lukewarm in his hands. John was his go to for emotional matters. He was as solid as the earth and knew the depths of people as well as Sherlock knew blood analysis. So Sherlock was at a loss when John was the emotion in question. He needed his help to help him. He gripped the mug so hard his knuckles were as white as the porcelain, before dropping the mug on the side table and following John down the stairs.
He found him slumped against the wall with the phone pressed to his ear. Yesterday’s trousers pulled up and buttoned around his waist. He looked tired.
“Can she do that? . . . ok. Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” John ran a hand over his face. “Thanks.” He stood there, shoulders slumped, seemingly oblivious to the detective behind him.
“John-“ The doctor jumped and tried to hide it by focusing on putting his phone in his pocket.
“Sherlock, I have to-“
“I’m going too.”
“It’s alright I-“
Sherlock set his jaw now trying to stem his anger. “-can handle it right.” He voice was deadpan, almost harsh. “I want to. I’m bored. It has nothing to do with you or any interest I have in your well being. I’m simply bored.” John stared with wide eyes. “Does that help?”
“I’m sorry.” And he meant it. Sherlock could see it in the lines of his face.
“John-“
“Harry’s a mess, Sherlock.” He tried that half smile, the one that said this was all a silly little nuisance not worthy of Sherlock’s attention.
“I like mess.”
John slid a weary hand over his face. “She’s the worse yet. You don’t want to meet her like that right? Just . . . give me a few days to work things out. She just needs . . . “ John tensed at Sherlock’s expression and then drooped in resignation. His forced smile morphed to frustration and his hands pulled at his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what she needs but I’m what she’s got. And this is what we do. Families right? We pick up pieces or sweep them under the rug if we need to. Get them out of sight.” John took a deliberate step back. Sherlock matched his step forward and John blurted, his anger rising at being pushed, “I don’t want you to see!”
John stopped at the admission. His hands dropping to his sides as he searched his companion’s face. Sherlock had set up his mask and was as impenetrable as ever. John’s face was a haze of swirling emotion, none of which Sherlock could grasp. And they were always so good at reading each other that this strange territory, this place where they didn’t recognize one another, was truly frightening.
“Just- just let me fix it ok?” Sherlock saw John’s eyebrows crease in frustration at the near whimper in his voice. “Just give me a little time and I’ll be right where you need me.” He moved to kiss the detective but Sherlock didn’t concede, using his height he didn’t bring his lips down to meet him so John settled for kissing him on his jaw before jerking away, grabbing his coat and making for the door.
“I haven’t hidden anything from you, John.” He finally said, unable to mask the hurt in his voice as John stopped. “Because I trust you.” John’s hand tightened on the doorknob, then he was gone. The door closed softly behind.
Sherlock considered shooting at the wall to ease his frustration. He settled instead on pulling out his phone and texting Lestrade for anything that could possibly occupy his mind and keep him from chasing John down and shaking answers from him.