(Untitled)

[byronicsherlock]

Who: John and Sherlock
What: Dealing with Jim drama
Where: Sherlock's cabin
When: Soon after Jim's post
Warnings/Notes: -

Comments

[drdaytimetelly]

John had been in the infirmary all day, and was very much looking forward to going back to his well-worn chair in 221B and having a nice cup of tea. A bunch of mishaps had fallen into his lap over the past few days, and while they had exhausted and confused him, they had partially succeeded in pulling him back into 'crisis mode'. Having to work under that kind of stress was a much-needed thrill; he secretly relished being put under pressure again.

But God, the last two days had been utterly mad. So much so that John's head began to ache if he dwelt too long on any one thing.

He let himself into Sherlock's cabin - well, it was technically his flat and he could do what he liked - and stumbled into the kitchen.

[byronicsherlock]

Sherlock gives John a sweeping glance, taking in the exhaustion. "Enjoying yourself?"

He grabs two mugs from the cupboard and sets them on the table. The extent of his tea-helping abilities thus reached, he sidles around John to check on one of his experiments.

"Don't use the sugar," he says as he passes him.

[drdaytimetelly]

John actually grins at that - honest to God grins - and heads straight for the kettle. "It wasn't dull, I can tell you that," he says, not even doing much a double take when told to avoid the sugar. It's fine, he has a sachet in his jacket pocket.

"Been keeping yourself occupied?"

[byronicsherlock]

"Of course," he replies snidely. He sees no signs of a second Sarah in the infirmary, which means John is simply enjoying his work. Sherlock can understand that, he supposes.

He moves to the kitchen table and notes down some recordings in the open file. "I brought my casework with me, as well as my experiments."

[drdaytimetelly]

The kettle goes off and John pours the hot water into the mugs. He can make a damn good cup of tea, but the steeping process is all intuitive now. He doesn't count the seconds, he just knows when its ready.

John stiffens at mention of Sherlock's casework; it's brief, but if the consulting detective had been paying attention he would have surely noticed it. "Did you bring Jim Moriarty with you as well, or was that also a coincidence?"

[byronicsherlock]

Notice it he did. "No, he replied. "He followed me, rather like you."

Never let it be said that Sherlock can't be petty, or sulky, or both. Still, he finally drops his pencil and looks up at John. "Why, what did you think of him." He focuses now on John, very sharply indeed.

[drdaytimetelly]

John resists the strong urge to just shrug and say, "wanker". Moriarty hadn't made the best impression on him. He had been vague, creepy, insulting, and quite clearly obsessed with Sherlock. John had been particularly alarmed by that last one.

"You can probably tell what I think," replies John, reaching across the counter to fetch his mug. "Who is he, Sherlock? Not some cousin of yours, I hope."

[byronicsherlock]

Sherlock snorts. "No, most certainly not related." He pauses, still studying John. He could draw it out, like he had with Mycroft. But the desire there had come more from dislike of his brother, than wanting to trick John. He decides against it. Better to get this out in the open.

"The case, the one I'm working on. The one with the bombs. It's him."

[drdaytimetelly]

John's quite genuinely surprised. This case isn't like the others then, he can see that much. It's rare that Sherlock ever leaves the confines of London, but to pack up and go for an unforeseen amount of time? It was mind-boggling. Plus, of course, there was the matter of this Moriarty person actually being on the Barge as an inmate.

"So you came here, to the Barge, for this case," he begins slowly. "It involves a bomber, but you already know that this inmate, Jim Moriarty, is responsible. You're from a point in time that's not my own, though I don't know how many days or weeks - or even months it is into my own future."

God, this is more complicated than he realised. "What am I missing here, Sherlock? Why'd you, of all people, leave London to come here for a case, and why the hell is Moriarty so obsessed with you?"

[byronicsherlock]

"It's not just the one case, it's all of them. He's behind, all of them." And if there's an audible shred of awe in there, well so what if there is.

Sherlock leans forward, resting his palms on the table top and lowering his head a little to avoid the light. "He masterminded it all, and this case, the bombings, it was... perfect." His gaze drops to the table. "Each one, a test, a puzzle for me to solve, each, building up..." He looks back up at John, and straightens. "Building up to the last. With you, he kidnapped you. You were the bomber."

And suddenly Sherlock finds he can't look at John, can't hold his eyes without remembering John in that pool, the both of them so shell-shocked and scattered, and all that desperation, all that fear.

He turns away abruptly, pretends to check an experiment, the line of his back, very stiff, his hands moving uselessly over the glass bottles. "It went wrong. I made it go wrong. Shot the bomb jacket. Blew us all up. That's why I'm here, that's my deal." His hands still. "A second chance."

[drdaytimetelly]

John's conversation with Moriarty made a little more sense now. Moriarty was clearly an enemy, but an enemy that was willing to take the time and set up puzzles and games for Sherlock. John, however, was feeling a little ill at the thought of two brilliant people playing dangerous games with innocent lives on the line. Sherlock clearly relished having an adversary like Moriarty, but the lives, the innocent lives...

And his life too, apparently.

He's been staring at Sherlock, trying to read him in his own feeble way, trying to focus on the man in front of him and not all the nonsense he was hearing. Kidnapped, strapped to a bomb, and then blown up. Torn into a million pieces because Sherlock....because of Sherlock. God, it's horrifying. He thinks about what Sherlock's saying, he made it go wrong, and suddenly he's on his feet and on the other side of the table, standing beside the preoccupied detective

[byronicsherlock]

He freezes -- despite his skill, John's hand on his shoulder is entirely unexpected. The heat of his palm warms Sherlock's skin through the thinness of his shirt. He doesn't turn, not quite ready to see John's face. (The wide eyes, the firmness of his mouth as he nodded, do it Sherlock. White light and heat and everything stopped.)

He swallows heavily.

"Yes. I suppose I did." All things considered, it's rather an empty achievement.

[drdaytimetelly]

John wants to make it better, but he doesn't know how. He settles for just keeping his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. For once he's not the awkward one here. He's the calm one, the steady one.

Whatever happened, whatever the circumstances that brought Sherlock here, he doesn't blame him for it. He can't, knowing what he's come to the Barge for and seeing his reaction now.

...and God, he was probably encouraging Sherlock to blow them all sky-high if it meant taking Moriarty out with them.

"Sherlock." He exhales slowly. "Sherlock, look at me."

[byronicsherlock]

Sherlock takes a couple of breaths. Filing those irritating emotions away until he's sure of the expression on his face, until the beat of his heart is approximating normal.

He turns towards John. He still can't bring himself to meet his eyes for more than a couple of seconds, and the closeness of the air between them is suddenly stifling. He doesn't like this at all, still stuck too strongly in his memories. Unsettled and off balance, it's usually only Mycroft who can set him on edge like this.

He steps sideways, knocking the table leg with his heel, pain curling up the back of his ankle and he can't entirely suppress a wince.

[drdaytimetelly]

The moments before Sherlock finally turns to him are long and rather painful. John feels his throat begin to tighten, but he's still surprisingly calm despite all the palpable tension in the air. Sherlock can be unreadable sometimes, but John can see how uncomfortable he is in this very moment.

Sherlock begins to move away, the knock against the table startling John and briefly turning his attention down towards his ankle. "Sherlock--Jesus, it's okay."

He sighs and removes his hand, his gaze back on Sherlock's face. He steps back, giving him a little room, sorry for maybe having made his flatmate anxious or nervous or...whatever it was. "It's okay, Sherlock, it'll be all right. You've got a second chance now."

[byronicsherlock]

"Yes." Sherlock coughs to clear his voice. "Yes. Precisely."

And he will avail himself of this opportunity, he will. There's a way out of that pool that doesn't leave them all blown to bits and dead.

He flicks his fringe from his forehead in a sharp, jerky motion. Should get it cut soon.

"Did you have any further questions?" He attempts a semi-subject change. "I don't doubt Jim will also see this as a second chance of sorts."