Re: Holding on (2)
anonymous
August 3 2010, 23:21:59 UTC
A cold flannel is thrown off after some dramatic shivering and shuddering and water is spat over John's jeans because of the appalling taste. He doesn't bother to try the paracetamol, and anyway he has no idea what else the foolish man might have taken in this state. Squinting in dim light is giving him a headache and his jeans are rather soggy. His patience is wearing rather thin, but this is Sherlock and John can't leave him even if he is reminding him more and more of a toddler winding himself into a state beyond all reason because something is beyond his capabilities.
Observing the constant fidgeting of his colleague... friend... Sherlock, John remembers with sudden clarity the time he was in Afghanistan and he had to treat a young boy who had had his legs blown away. The boy, Tom, had screamed and panicked and John had held his hand tightly, to give him something to hold on to while the other medics tried to stop him bleeding to death on foreign soil.
Shaking his head to clear the image from his mind, he grabs Sherlock's hand and holds it as tightly as he can. There isn't much logic to apply here, so instinct will have to do. Sherlock whimpers and tries to pull away, insisting that touch hurts him.
"No, it doesn't, it's just psychosomatic," he says, letting his mouth twist into a grim smile and keeping his hold. "No matter where you have wandered off to in that amazing mind of yours, sometimes you need something to hang on to". Sherlock doesn't bother to reply, but he stops fighting to get away.
Time passes and John's leg grows stiff. His shoulder aches and Sherlock is still staring somewhere near the ceiling. Suddenly he stops staring and jerks upright before being horribly and violently sick into basin that John has grabbed with all the instinct of a medical professional. Watching the other man spitting and coughing, he wonders if this is the sign of a return to normality. Vomiting without a care for who might be in the vicinity is probably a good sign.
Wordlessly John passes over water and a towel to wipe his face. Sherlock is sitting on the edge of the bed and looking unexpectedly vulnerable. His hands are trembling visibly.
"Nobody is meant to see me like this"
"No" John reaches for one of those slim wrists and checks heart rate and temperature. Both seem to be returning to more normal levels. Any frustration he had about being covered in water and nearly thrown up on is vanishing in a sense of relief.
"You aren't nobody, you're somebody" Sherlock's eyes lock with John's and his tone is wondering. There is an openness and trust which John has never seen before. He has a moment of doubt - is this just a sociopath being manipulative? John's gut instinct says that sociopath isn't quite how he'd describe this man.
In an effort to preserve the calm, he fetches water and helps Sherlock into pyjamas with the minimum of noise and conversation. He plies him with water and a glucose tablet that provokes winces but is swallowed nonetheless. The oddity of tucking his comparatively new flatmate into bed finally hits him but he dismisses it as another unimportant strangeness in his current life. What matters is Sherlock, looking better and apparently falling asleep. He watches the face relaxing, noting the purple bruises beneath the eyes and the overly prominent cheekbones. The man clearly needs looking after.
John thinks about leaving and then notices that he is still holding Sherlock's hand. Sherlock, despite being asleep, shows no inclination to return it. Oh. He gives a mental shrug and settles more comfortably into the chair by the bed. He wouldn't want to disturb him, not now he is finally asleep, and it's not as though it feels bad to be holding this hand. Violinist's hands, with long slender fingers and feeling somehow right.
John considers that perhaps something important has happened, but he's too tired to think about it now. He welcomes the blank thoughtlessness of sleep, aware only that hand in hand with Sherlock, he has something to hold on to.
Re: Holding on (2)
anonymous
August 4 2010, 19:10:36 UTC
It's been in my head from first watching the first episode that this is why he uses drugs. As Watson says - can you imagine him doing anything recreational? When I saw this prompt I had to write it.
Re: Holding on (2)
anonymous
August 4 2010, 19:14:22 UTC
Thanks :) I love that aspect to John - he's been knocked around a bit by life but he knows how to take care of people and even if he's not thinking about it, in my head at least he knows Sherlock matters and needs looking after.
Re: Holding on (2)
anonymous
August 4 2010, 19:17:05 UTC
Thanks for the praise - I fear I might be blushing! I thought I might not be able to get the idea in my head down on paper at all. I do love the characterisation of Watson in this series - he's not just a sidekick, he has strengths all of his own and he's good at things Sherlock isn't.
Observing the constant fidgeting of his colleague... friend... Sherlock, John remembers with sudden clarity the time he was in Afghanistan and he had to treat a young boy who had had his legs blown away. The boy, Tom, had screamed and panicked and John had held his hand tightly, to give him something to hold on to while the other medics tried to stop him bleeding to death on foreign soil.
Shaking his head to clear the image from his mind, he grabs Sherlock's hand and holds it as tightly as he can. There isn't much logic to apply here, so instinct will have to do. Sherlock whimpers and tries to pull away, insisting that touch hurts him.
"No, it doesn't, it's just psychosomatic," he says, letting his mouth twist into a grim smile and keeping his hold. "No matter where you have wandered off to in that amazing mind of yours, sometimes you need something to hang on to". Sherlock doesn't bother to reply, but he stops fighting to get away.
Time passes and John's leg grows stiff. His shoulder aches and Sherlock is still staring somewhere near the ceiling. Suddenly he stops staring and jerks upright before being horribly and violently sick into basin that John has grabbed with all the instinct of a medical professional. Watching the other man spitting and coughing, he wonders if this is the sign of a return to normality. Vomiting without a care for who might be in the vicinity is probably a good sign.
Wordlessly John passes over water and a towel to wipe his face. Sherlock is sitting on the edge of the bed and looking unexpectedly vulnerable. His hands are trembling visibly.
"Nobody is meant to see me like this"
"No" John reaches for one of those slim wrists and checks heart rate and temperature. Both seem to be returning to more normal levels. Any frustration he had about being covered in water and nearly thrown up on is vanishing in a sense of relief.
"You aren't nobody, you're somebody" Sherlock's eyes lock with John's and his tone is wondering. There is an openness and trust which John has never seen before. He has a moment of doubt - is this just a sociopath being manipulative? John's gut instinct says that sociopath isn't quite how he'd describe this man.
In an effort to preserve the calm, he fetches water and helps Sherlock into pyjamas with the minimum of noise and conversation. He plies him with water and a glucose tablet that provokes winces but is swallowed nonetheless. The oddity of tucking his comparatively new flatmate into bed finally hits him but he dismisses it as another unimportant strangeness in his current life. What matters is Sherlock, looking better and apparently falling asleep. He watches the face relaxing, noting the purple bruises beneath the eyes and the overly prominent cheekbones. The man clearly needs looking after.
John thinks about leaving and then notices that he is still holding Sherlock's hand. Sherlock, despite being asleep, shows no inclination to return it. Oh. He gives a mental shrug and settles more comfortably into the chair by the bed. He wouldn't want to disturb him, not now he is finally asleep, and it's not as though it feels bad to be holding this hand. Violinist's hands, with long slender fingers and feeling somehow right.
John considers that perhaps something important has happened, but he's too tired to think about it now. He welcomes the blank thoughtlessness of sleep, aware only that hand in hand with Sherlock, he has something to hold on to.
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Perhaps I should find some to watch and develop this a bit more...
Elena
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Sentinel!Sherlock and Guide!John. *wants*
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"Somewhere in the chaos John finds something... familiar. The persona of an army doctor is there, waiting for him to step into it."
So. Damn. Good.
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Elena
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