RNG gave me 11 luciendaskyMay 19 2013, 14:24:56 UTC
It wasn't exactly how he planned their time together to go: Their lazy afternoon sitting on the sofa and watching a film had been interrupted by the creak of the catflap and minutes later Zirconia creeping into the room and just laying down in front of the coffee table. Lucien had felt a bit foolish, fussing over his cat in front of John like that, but it he hadn't even paused to try to push down the worry in the back of his mind at his pet's out of character lethargy. As soon as he leaned forwards in his seat, gently untangling himself from the other man, he'd caught the unmistakable scent of fresh meat and blood, and then panic hit him as he rushed to the floor to check his cat
( ... )
aw poor kitty <3 :(crimebloggerMay 19 2013, 19:09:16 UTC
John, in the meantime, had tried to be a calm, steady presence around Lucien, someone for him to lean on, to reassure him that Zirconia would be alright, he was a stubborn cat, as stubborn as the man who kept him, if not moreso, and would come out of this just fine. Of course, John had no real way of knowing that, but it seemed the right thing to say.
Returning to the flat, John could tell his words had not quite registered. Lucien looked as white as a sheet, and the air surrounding him was jittery and heavy with nerves, worry, fear, anxiety...
"D'you want me to make you some tea?" John asked quietly as he gently guided Lucien over to the sofa, having him sit down. After another moment, John sat down beside him, throwing an arm around Lucien's shoulder. "He'll be fine, Lucien. The vet hasn't gotten back to us yet, which is good, means they're still working on him, yeah? We were told this would take a while, so that's good. Zirconia is going to be just fine, and he'll get to come home and we'll spoil him rotten. Alright?"
"You don't know that. You can't," the words were bitten out, trying not to take anything out on John, because he knew that he was only trying to comfort him. And he was glad that he was here. He was glad for someone to lean on, which he did right now, pressing into the other man to lean against his chest.
He felt like something had been scooped out of his torso and now where it should hurt it was just numb because there was nothing there to hurt. Weak. He was so weak and showing a side of himself that he felt ashamed to bare, especially so early on, but it was bared and John was all he had to cling on to, so he did. Turning more against the doctor, he fisted his hand tightly in John's sweater, pulling on it as an ache rose in his throat and hitched his breath. "God. I'm sorry..."
It was frustrating, John mused as he wrapped his arms a little tighter around the other man, feeling this helpless. Feeling like he couldn't do a thing to ensure that Zirconia would come home, safe and sound and in one piece. All he could do was sit there, really, and make sure Lucien knew he was not in this alone, and he was certainly not being silly. John had seen him with the damn animal; the two shared an understanding, a connection. That cat was more than just a pet. It had better survive this; if not, Lucien was going to be absolutely broken.
"Don't be sorry. It's fine. It's all fine. I'm here for you, alright? Don't hold back, just... Whatever you need, I'm here."
It wasn't all fine, nothing was going to be fine, not until he knew that Zirconia was going to pull through. Or not. Lucien hiccuped at the thought, something like a massive hand squeezing in chest and trying to wrench everything behind his ribcage out. It was the waiting though, this limbo, the thought that he couldn't do anything because right now, at this moment, his cat could be...
The high pitched whine didn't even register as coming from him until his throat tightened uncomfortably. No, not this. This was ridiculous, embarrassing, pitiful, but as hot tears began to catch in his eyelashes and wash down his face he couldn't find enough pride to care. "I just... I've had him since I left home... He is home to me..."
Truth be told, John was more of a dog person, and even with that in mind he didn't have that much with animals. He didn't mind them, not at all, but he'd never stayed anywhere near long enough to even consider getting a pet, much less get this attached to them. He got attached to people, though. And he felt for them, deeply, when they got upset. And Lucien was certainly that; one of his people, and upset. Horribly upset.
Hushing him, John hugged the other man close, using one hand to run his fingers through Lucien's hair and down his back in soothing movements. "I know, I know," he murmured, understanding Lucien's fear and pain even though he'd never experienced it before. "You don't have to explain, Lucien, or apologize. You just let it all out, it's alright, it's fine, I'm here."
Even in this state of absolute distress, there was a detached part of Lucien that could reflect on how he was glad that John was here with him. His voice was soothing, something that he could listen to, concentrate on, while his touch was comforting. He leaned against the movements of his hand, even as his own fingers alternated between splaying over John's chest and arm, and clutching at the doctor's sweater. That part of him that insisted on processing and functioning, even if the world was on the verge of ending right now, admired how soft the wool was between his fingers, and how very solid and warm and real John was. Pulling his feet up onto the seat, Lucien half lay across John's lap, pressing his face into that comforting softness.
Rolled 19 <3 Couldn't resist a barter system promptshutupimageniusMay 22 2013, 01:15:29 UTC
All things considered, it was a fairly normal day at 221b, 'normal' being an extremely relative term. There were case files yet to be organized in precarious piles all throughout the living room, and some experiments of indeterminable origin on the kitchen table, but that was all par for the course.
Sherlock had taken a long shower in the attempt to organize the data in his head, which took precedence over the state of the flat in his mind (though John likely disagreed). The only thing that could be considered somewhat out of the ordinary was that when Sherlock emerged from his shower, he had only John's bathrobe wrapped around himself. It was a bit too small, but he rather liked it that way, appreciating the way the satiny material clung to his skin as he moved to the kitchen table to prod at his experiments. He thought nothing of borrowing John's clothes, really. In his mind, it was simple logistics: John's robe was there, his was not, there was nothing strange about why he'd ended up wearing it.
Re: Rolled 19 <3 Couldn't resist a barter system promptcrimebloggerMay 23 2013, 10:53:04 UTC
John had been in the middle of enjoying his afternoon tea and the paper in his chair in the sitting room, when he heard Sherlock emerge from the shower. Putting down his cup, he waited until he heard Sherlock enter the kitchen behind him. "Nothing in the papers today, we might have to text Lestrade, see if he has anything int--"
John had turned his head to look over his shoulder and into the kitchen, and what he saw had him momentarily stunned. There sat his flatmate, peering into his bloody microscope for at least the fiftieth time that day, wearing--
"Is that my robe?" he exclaimed, already hearing 'obviously' in his head, clear as day. God, he had to get out more. Soon enough, he'd be speaking to Sherlock when he wasn't even there, and then they'd be two nutters sharing a flat. Brilliant. He realised he was still staring at Sherlock. The robe was much too short, not to mention too small, it was straining around the middle and revealed far too much of Sherlock's chest. Christ. "Sherlock, you can't just... You had better be wearing
( ... )
Sherlock settled in front of his microscope, adjusting the focus as he examined the tissue sample under the slide that he'd been experimenting with. He gave a noncommittal hum when John spoke, able to tell from his tone of voice that there was nothing on today despite not actually hearing what he'd said. He did hear John's exclamation, though, smirking to himself without lifting his head from the microscope
( ... )
John did not want to observe, he really didn't, not just because of the risk of what he might actually get an eye-full of, but he also really did not want to give Sherlock the pleasure. Which was, of course, why he glanced down for a split second. Bugger. It was quick, but it was enough, and Sherlock was clearly wearing absolutely nothing under John's far too small robe, and John was quite certain his ears had never felt hotter. He wanted to punch the smug git.
"Get off your arse and into your room and some clothes, for God's sake. I don't give a bleeding fuck about optimal proximity, that is my robe and it's-- you--" John spluttered, grasping for words as he tried not to explode completely (he looked adorable). "You can't just wear other people's robes without asking, it's-- well, it's something very, you know, intimate and, would you, could you just take it off, please?"
Sherlock couldn't concentrate on his experiment anymore, needing to pull back and get a look at John's meltdown himself. He chewed his lip to bite back a smile, though his eyes were glittering in amusement at how flustered John was. He tilted his head at John's words, his brow knitting in confusion
( ... )
John threw up his hands, exasperated beyond belief, which made him even more frustrated, with himself, with Sherlock, with the entire situation. He always tried so hard to hold onto some semblance of control in situations like this, refusing to let Sherlock get a rise out of him, but oh, sometimes it was difficult to remember why he couldn't just stomp around the flat all day.
"It's a matter of principle, of-- of privacy! Of asking before taking, of bloody assumption from your side-- what the hell are you grinning for." Seriously, it was a little unsettling, and seemed completely out of place - were they even having the same conversation? John could never be entirely sure, Sherlock always seemed to be a few paces ahead, or not listening to John, sometimes not even realising he was actually there. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned deeply at his friend and flatmate, trying (and failing) to come across as even remotely authoritative in this situation. "Take it off. And put. It. Back. Right now. I don't want you walking around
( ... )
Oh, Sherlock couldn't get enough of John like this, always enjoying watching how flustered he'd get over the simplest things. Sometimes, like today when there was nothing on, he liked pushing John like this, his reactions always making him feel lighter and less prone to bouts of sulking on the couch. Boredom was always a lurking danger, but when he could wind John up, he could often find entertainment for hours, which he was certainly holding out hope for
( ... )
From the way John was looking at Sherlock, one would not say he was the shorter of the two men. He was simply refusing being intimidated by something as ridiculous as height; he'd had to deal with that all his life, always being the shortest in class, with a small build on top of that. It always left people surprised to see that much punch (often literally) come out of such a small package. Until he joined the Army as a doctor and went through the basics of training and actually got a taste for the more disciplined, physical aspect of the job. There wasn't much about an army doctor's job, really; very little occurred out in the field, and most of it was contained on base in the medical post buildings. But John would get up very early, each morning, and do his exercise, just in case. Mostly, just because he enjoyed doing it
( ... )
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Returning to the flat, John could tell his words had not quite registered. Lucien looked as white as a sheet, and the air surrounding him was jittery and heavy with nerves, worry, fear, anxiety...
"D'you want me to make you some tea?" John asked quietly as he gently guided Lucien over to the sofa, having him sit down. After another moment, John sat down beside him, throwing an arm around Lucien's shoulder. "He'll be fine, Lucien. The vet hasn't gotten back to us yet, which is good, means they're still working on him, yeah? We were told this would take a while, so that's good. Zirconia is going to be just fine, and he'll get to come home and we'll spoil him rotten. Alright?"
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He felt like something had been scooped out of his torso and now where it should hurt it was just numb because there was nothing there to hurt. Weak. He was so weak and showing a side of himself that he felt ashamed to bare, especially so early on, but it was bared and John was all he had to cling on to, so he did. Turning more against the doctor, he fisted his hand tightly in John's sweater, pulling on it as an ache rose in his throat and hitched his breath. "God. I'm sorry..."
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"Don't be sorry. It's fine. It's all fine. I'm here for you, alright? Don't hold back, just... Whatever you need, I'm here."
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The high pitched whine didn't even register as coming from him until his throat tightened uncomfortably. No, not this. This was ridiculous, embarrassing, pitiful, but as hot tears began to catch in his eyelashes and wash down his face he couldn't find enough pride to care. "I just... I've had him since I left home... He is home to me..."
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Hushing him, John hugged the other man close, using one hand to run his fingers through Lucien's hair and down his back in soothing movements. "I know, I know," he murmured, understanding Lucien's fear and pain even though he'd never experienced it before. "You don't have to explain, Lucien, or apologize. You just let it all out, it's alright, it's fine, I'm here."
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Sherlock had taken a long shower in the attempt to organize the data in his head, which took precedence over the state of the flat in his mind (though John likely disagreed). The only thing that could be considered somewhat out of the ordinary was that when Sherlock emerged from his shower, he had only John's bathrobe wrapped around himself. It was a bit too small, but he rather liked it that way, appreciating the way the satiny material clung to his skin as he moved to the kitchen table to prod at his experiments. He thought nothing of borrowing John's clothes, really. In his mind, it was simple logistics: John's robe was there, his was not, there was nothing strange about why he'd ended up wearing it.
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John had turned his head to look over his shoulder and into the kitchen, and what he saw had him momentarily stunned. There sat his flatmate, peering into his bloody microscope for at least the fiftieth time that day, wearing--
"Is that my robe?" he exclaimed, already hearing 'obviously' in his head, clear as day. God, he had to get out more. Soon enough, he'd be speaking to Sherlock when he wasn't even there, and then they'd be two nutters sharing a flat. Brilliant. He realised he was still staring at Sherlock. The robe was much too short, not to mention too small, it was straining around the middle and revealed far too much of Sherlock's chest. Christ. "Sherlock, you can't just... You had better be wearing ( ... )
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"Get off your arse and into your room and some clothes, for God's sake. I don't give a bleeding fuck about optimal proximity, that is my robe and it's-- you--" John spluttered, grasping for words as he tried not to explode completely (he looked adorable). "You can't just wear other people's robes without asking, it's-- well, it's something very, you know, intimate and, would you, could you just take it off, please?"
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"It's a matter of principle, of-- of privacy! Of asking before taking, of bloody assumption from your side-- what the hell are you grinning for." Seriously, it was a little unsettling, and seemed completely out of place - were they even having the same conversation? John could never be entirely sure, Sherlock always seemed to be a few paces ahead, or not listening to John, sometimes not even realising he was actually there. Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned deeply at his friend and flatmate, trying (and failing) to come across as even remotely authoritative in this situation. "Take it off. And put. It. Back. Right now. I don't want you walking around ( ... )
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