ficlet: like a lifeline
Title: like a lifeline
Rating: PG
Genre(s): angst, h/c
Word Count: ~450
Pairing(s) / Character(s): John/Sherlock
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
Summary: Sherlock has never relied on another human being before. Human beings are weak. And then he meets John. Written for captn_noligin’s birthday! Her prompt was ‘Sherlock loves John's woolly jumper’, and this became much more angsty than I’d originally intended!
“Where did you get your jumper, John?”
John looks up from the newspaper and cocks an eyebrow.
“Um. Why?”
Sherlock waves an impatient hand. “Do you really need to know why?”
“I guess not. It’s um.” John twists a hand around to grab the label, but can’t incline his head backwards far enough to see.
“For goodness sake,” Sherlock sighs. He stands up and rounds John’s armchair, taking the scruff of John’s collar and upturning it. John yelps in protest at Sherlock’s cold hands along his neck, but stills nonetheless to let him read.
Sherlock purses his lips. “I see.”
“See what exactly?” John scratches his neck when Sherlock lets go and returns to his chair.
“Nothing you need to bother yourself with.”
John stares at Sherlock as he takes out his phone and begins tapping at it.
“Right. Of course.” Rolling his eyes, John returns to his newspaper.
*
John walks in on Sherlock pressing his jumper to his face, eyes closed and inhaling deeply.
“What the?” John drops the bag of shopping on the floor.
“Welcome home,” Sherlock greets, tone casual and breezy as normal as he stands. He walks past John into the hallway, jumper still in hand. “I’m off, thanks for letting me borrow your jumper.”
“But I didn’t!” John splutters as Sherlock descends the flight of stairs. “And what do you need it for? Why were you even smelling it? Sherlock!”
The front door slams shut.
*
John never gets his jumper back, and he doesn’t learn why Sherlock keeps it for several months.
Then, one night, after a particularly dangerous escapade with some burly gangsters - now safely locked away in prison, John is glad to note - Sherlock is pacing the room. There are ugly bruises forming along the left side of his face where he’d been punched.
“Are you all right?” John asks, concerned.
“Fine. I’m fine,” Sherlock replies distractedly. He looks up at John, stares at his pale face, unmarred because Sherlock had taken the brunt of the beatings.
“I’ll make some tea,” John mutters, breaking the tense silence, and slips away into the kitchen.
When he returns, Sherlock is curled in his armchair, John’s jumper between his hands.
“Sherlock?” John puts the tea down to stand in front of him. “Are you all right?”
Sherlock closes his eyes and inhales deeply. When he reopens them, he says like a revelation, “What would I do without you, John?”
John blinks. He smothers his surprise as he shakes his head. “I’m here, Sherlock. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Sherlock is quiet as he reaches out a hand - the hand that isn’t clutching John’s jumper like a lifeline against his coat. John takes it, and squeezes tight.
Rating: PG
Genre(s): angst, h/c
Word Count: ~450
Pairing(s) / Character(s): John/Sherlock
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock
Summary: Sherlock has never relied on another human being before. Human beings are weak. And then he meets John. Written for captn_noligin’s birthday! Her prompt was ‘Sherlock loves John's woolly jumper’, and this became much more angsty than I’d originally intended!
“Where did you get your jumper, John?”
John looks up from the newspaper and cocks an eyebrow.
“Um. Why?”
Sherlock waves an impatient hand. “Do you really need to know why?”
“I guess not. It’s um.” John twists a hand around to grab the label, but can’t incline his head backwards far enough to see.
“For goodness sake,” Sherlock sighs. He stands up and rounds John’s armchair, taking the scruff of John’s collar and upturning it. John yelps in protest at Sherlock’s cold hands along his neck, but stills nonetheless to let him read.
Sherlock purses his lips. “I see.”
“See what exactly?” John scratches his neck when Sherlock lets go and returns to his chair.
“Nothing you need to bother yourself with.”
John stares at Sherlock as he takes out his phone and begins tapping at it.
“Right. Of course.” Rolling his eyes, John returns to his newspaper.
*
John walks in on Sherlock pressing his jumper to his face, eyes closed and inhaling deeply.
“What the?” John drops the bag of shopping on the floor.
“Welcome home,” Sherlock greets, tone casual and breezy as normal as he stands. He walks past John into the hallway, jumper still in hand. “I’m off, thanks for letting me borrow your jumper.”
“But I didn’t!” John splutters as Sherlock descends the flight of stairs. “And what do you need it for? Why were you even smelling it? Sherlock!”
The front door slams shut.
*
John never gets his jumper back, and he doesn’t learn why Sherlock keeps it for several months.
Then, one night, after a particularly dangerous escapade with some burly gangsters - now safely locked away in prison, John is glad to note - Sherlock is pacing the room. There are ugly bruises forming along the left side of his face where he’d been punched.
“Are you all right?” John asks, concerned.
“Fine. I’m fine,” Sherlock replies distractedly. He looks up at John, stares at his pale face, unmarred because Sherlock had taken the brunt of the beatings.
“I’ll make some tea,” John mutters, breaking the tense silence, and slips away into the kitchen.
When he returns, Sherlock is curled in his armchair, John’s jumper between his hands.
“Sherlock?” John puts the tea down to stand in front of him. “Are you all right?”
Sherlock closes his eyes and inhales deeply. When he reopens them, he says like a revelation, “What would I do without you, John?”
John blinks. He smothers his surprise as he shakes his head. “I’m here, Sherlock. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Sherlock is quiet as he reaches out a hand - the hand that isn’t clutching John’s jumper like a lifeline against his coat. John takes it, and squeezes tight.