Thunderstorms and Showers (Sherlock)
Title:Thunderstorms and Showers
Author: isha_chan
Fandom: Sherlock
Spoilers: none
Rating: G
Picture: Here by cynthiakphotography
Summary: John comes home and finds Sherlock doing... nothing. And that's not normal.
Note: Just a little nice story because I wasn't in the mood for any drama. It has been a while since I wrote something and it's surprisingly difficult to write exactly 1000 words. I hope you enjoy it :-)
John left the clinic and cursed silently. It started raining a few minutes ago and he could already hear thunder rumble from far away. He rushed to a taxi and got in as fast as he could. He really did love London but he could’ve gone without weather like this.
When he’s back in Baker Street the thunder had arrived and the rain felt like a constant shower with icy water. John ran the short distance but still was soaked after he unlocked the door and closed it behind him.
He got rid of his wet jumper and hung it over the railing to lose at least some of the water. Then he pulled out his shoes and turned them around with a frown. Water ran out and gathered in a small pile on the floor. He really didn’t like such weather.
Drying his hair with a towel he turned to the living room, expecting Sherlock to be occupied with some new experiments or at least playing the violin to keep him distracted from the boredom John left him in, this morning. But he found nothing like that. He entered with the words: “God, I really hate…” But then he stopped.
Sherlock leaned against the window frame, completely still. The window was open wide and cold rain fell inside and on Sherlock.
“Sherlock?”
He didn’t turn or move any other way. John wondered if he had acknowledged his presence at all when Sherlock finally said: “John.”
Something in his tone was strange. John let the towel fall on his chair and stood next to Sherlock. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, John.”
John twisted his head a bit to one side and stepped almost in front of Sherlock to observe him better. Was Sherlock on drugs? No. No dilated pupils. Withdrawal? No. No shaking hands or biting his lower lip. Sleep deprivation? Most likely not. Because they weren’t on a case right now and he was sure Sherlock went to bed last night and had some hours of sleep. Starvation? Also not possible, John cooked last night and on the table next to Sherlock stood the empty bowel. So what was it then?
“John, stop worrying. I’m not on drugs, no withdrawal or missing any other stuff you seem to be so keen about. Sleep and food and all those boring things.”
“Then… what is it? What’s wrong with you?”
Sherlock turned to John for a split second and John saw contentment. His eyebrows shot upwards. Shit, drugs. What did he take? Where did he hide it? How bad was it already?
“John, I told you, I’m not on anything.”
For a second John feared, he’d spoken out loud but then he remembered, it was Sherlock, so… he ignored it. “But… you’re not doing anything to keep your mind focused and still you look… satisfied. Seriously, that worries me.”
Sherlock - already back staring out of the window - smiled a small but true smile. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“Lightning. It’s so beautiful. Without any sound but so full of energy.”
Then both heard the thunder rumble and Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Smell that? After such a dry period rain does a have a fantastic scent.”
“Sherlock…”
Sherlock let out an annoyed huff. “John, please stop to look so worried. I swear to you, I didn’t take anything. I just… like thunderstorms.”
John decided to trust Sherlock long ago and so he would this time, too. “Why?” He leaned opposite of Sherlock against the frame and crossed his arms in front of his chest to avoid the cold getting through to his skin too fast.
Sherlock shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Oh yes, you do. There are only a few things in the world you don’t know and that isn’t one of them.” He smiled and touched Sherlock’s forearm gently. “But it’s okay, if you don’t want to talk about it. You can enjoy the storm as long as it lasts. I’m going to make some tea. Come and join me in the kitchen when you’re done.”
Sherlock nodded quietly and turned back to the window. The spot where John touched him spread warmth though his whole body even if he didn’t feel cold before. He heard John open the cupboard, put the kettle on and preparing tea. Then a chair was moved and John probably sat down on the table to wait patiently for Sherlock to join him while reading the papers.
“John?”
The chair moved again and John brought Sherlock the cup without any words.
Sherlock then said quietly: “I do know.”
John smiled. “Yes.”
Still quiet he continued: “And I want to tell you.”
Very calm John answered: “Okay.”
“But…” He stopped and shook his head in loss of words.
“You don’t know how?”
“Yes. Why can’t I explain it? I can always explain everything!” He brushed his hands through his hair.
John, always so gentle, put the cup of tea in Sherlock’s hand and said: “Don’t worry. You will find the words. And until then I will take a shower. I’m still freezing cold from the rain.”
Sherlock was already looking out of the window again, drinking his tea absent-mindedly.
John left his friend with his thoughts and was looking forward to a very hot shower. The day was long, the rain cold and he deserved something nice today.
He took his time, enjoyed the feeling and even sang a little while he cleaned himself and warmth returned to his body.
After the shower he dried himself and enjoyed the feeling of dry clothes. He brought a soft jumper, a comfortable pair of trousers and even softer socks and if nothing drastic would happen this evening would just be this. Sitting in his favorite chair in his favorite clothes with his favorite flatmate.
This in mind he left the bathroom and found Sherlock sitting opposite the door.
“Sherlock?”
His flatmate looked up smiling and said: “Your singing makes me almost as happy as a thunderstorm!”
Author: isha_chan
Fandom: Sherlock
Spoilers: none
Rating: G
Picture: Here by cynthiakphotography
Summary: John comes home and finds Sherlock doing... nothing. And that's not normal.
Note: Just a little nice story because I wasn't in the mood for any drama. It has been a while since I wrote something and it's surprisingly difficult to write exactly 1000 words. I hope you enjoy it :-)
John left the clinic and cursed silently. It started raining a few minutes ago and he could already hear thunder rumble from far away. He rushed to a taxi and got in as fast as he could. He really did love London but he could’ve gone without weather like this.
When he’s back in Baker Street the thunder had arrived and the rain felt like a constant shower with icy water. John ran the short distance but still was soaked after he unlocked the door and closed it behind him.
He got rid of his wet jumper and hung it over the railing to lose at least some of the water. Then he pulled out his shoes and turned them around with a frown. Water ran out and gathered in a small pile on the floor. He really didn’t like such weather.
Drying his hair with a towel he turned to the living room, expecting Sherlock to be occupied with some new experiments or at least playing the violin to keep him distracted from the boredom John left him in, this morning. But he found nothing like that. He entered with the words: “God, I really hate…” But then he stopped.
Sherlock leaned against the window frame, completely still. The window was open wide and cold rain fell inside and on Sherlock.
“Sherlock?”
He didn’t turn or move any other way. John wondered if he had acknowledged his presence at all when Sherlock finally said: “John.”
Something in his tone was strange. John let the towel fall on his chair and stood next to Sherlock. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, John.”
John twisted his head a bit to one side and stepped almost in front of Sherlock to observe him better. Was Sherlock on drugs? No. No dilated pupils. Withdrawal? No. No shaking hands or biting his lower lip. Sleep deprivation? Most likely not. Because they weren’t on a case right now and he was sure Sherlock went to bed last night and had some hours of sleep. Starvation? Also not possible, John cooked last night and on the table next to Sherlock stood the empty bowel. So what was it then?
“John, stop worrying. I’m not on drugs, no withdrawal or missing any other stuff you seem to be so keen about. Sleep and food and all those boring things.”
“Then… what is it? What’s wrong with you?”
Sherlock turned to John for a split second and John saw contentment. His eyebrows shot upwards. Shit, drugs. What did he take? Where did he hide it? How bad was it already?
“John, I told you, I’m not on anything.”
For a second John feared, he’d spoken out loud but then he remembered, it was Sherlock, so… he ignored it. “But… you’re not doing anything to keep your mind focused and still you look… satisfied. Seriously, that worries me.”
Sherlock - already back staring out of the window - smiled a small but true smile. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“Lightning. It’s so beautiful. Without any sound but so full of energy.”
Then both heard the thunder rumble and Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Smell that? After such a dry period rain does a have a fantastic scent.”
“Sherlock…”
Sherlock let out an annoyed huff. “John, please stop to look so worried. I swear to you, I didn’t take anything. I just… like thunderstorms.”
John decided to trust Sherlock long ago and so he would this time, too. “Why?” He leaned opposite of Sherlock against the frame and crossed his arms in front of his chest to avoid the cold getting through to his skin too fast.
Sherlock shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Oh yes, you do. There are only a few things in the world you don’t know and that isn’t one of them.” He smiled and touched Sherlock’s forearm gently. “But it’s okay, if you don’t want to talk about it. You can enjoy the storm as long as it lasts. I’m going to make some tea. Come and join me in the kitchen when you’re done.”
Sherlock nodded quietly and turned back to the window. The spot where John touched him spread warmth though his whole body even if he didn’t feel cold before. He heard John open the cupboard, put the kettle on and preparing tea. Then a chair was moved and John probably sat down on the table to wait patiently for Sherlock to join him while reading the papers.
“John?”
The chair moved again and John brought Sherlock the cup without any words.
Sherlock then said quietly: “I do know.”
John smiled. “Yes.”
Still quiet he continued: “And I want to tell you.”
Very calm John answered: “Okay.”
“But…” He stopped and shook his head in loss of words.
“You don’t know how?”
“Yes. Why can’t I explain it? I can always explain everything!” He brushed his hands through his hair.
John, always so gentle, put the cup of tea in Sherlock’s hand and said: “Don’t worry. You will find the words. And until then I will take a shower. I’m still freezing cold from the rain.”
Sherlock was already looking out of the window again, drinking his tea absent-mindedly.
John left his friend with his thoughts and was looking forward to a very hot shower. The day was long, the rain cold and he deserved something nice today.
He took his time, enjoyed the feeling and even sang a little while he cleaned himself and warmth returned to his body.
After the shower he dried himself and enjoyed the feeling of dry clothes. He brought a soft jumper, a comfortable pair of trousers and even softer socks and if nothing drastic would happen this evening would just be this. Sitting in his favorite chair in his favorite clothes with his favorite flatmate.
This in mind he left the bathroom and found Sherlock sitting opposite the door.
“Sherlock?”
His flatmate looked up smiling and said: “Your singing makes me almost as happy as a thunderstorm!”