Baby Please Don't Go - Part 1b
anonymous
March 27 2011, 08:17:53 UTC
*****
Sherlock sighed and flung off his blanket in frustration. He got out of bed, slipped on his dressing gown, and made his way out to the kitchen.
He couldn’t sleep.
There was a strange sort of irony to it, he would have acknowledged, were he in the kind of mood to appreciate it. Countless times he’d forced his body to keep going, pushing aside its need for sleep and food. And now it was exacting some kind of cruel revenge, because no matter how many times he closed his eyes and rearrange his pillow and his body, he simply couldn’t fall asleep. It was wretched.
Sherlock stared at the kettle. He hadn’t made tea in four years. John had always done it. Sherlock would never admit it, but he was unsure about how best to go about it. But now, given that John would be leaving in three weeks, he supposed he had better start learning.
He filled it with water and flicked it on. As he waited for it to boil, he flicked idly through the newspaper lying on the kitchen table. Petty political skirmishes and horribly dull killings. Boring.
The kettle clicked off and the flat was filled with silence. Sherlock shivered. He couldn’t remember ever being so aware of the absence of noise. Usually the roaring in his head was enough to distract him from any silence outside it. But now there was nothing except this odd, uncomfortable silence.
Shaking his head at this unusually maudlin thought, Sherlock proceeded to make his tea.
He failed spectacularly.
After the third attempt (too weak and not enough sugar), Sherlock gave up. Embarassing as it was, he didn’t even know how much sugar he liked. John always made it perfectly.
He crept back into his bed, feeling worse than when he’d got out of it. Punching his pillow in frustration, he turned onto his stomach and stared out the window.
The sky was just turning pink when he finally drifted off.
Re: Baby Please Don't Go - Part 1b
anonymous
March 27 2011, 14:55:24 UTC
This is amazing! I felt so bad for poor John when Sherlock congratulated him! And Sherlock! He doesn't know it, but he'll never survive without his John. Brilliant start!
Sherlock sighed and flung off his blanket in frustration. He got out of bed, slipped on his dressing gown, and made his way out to the kitchen.
He couldn’t sleep.
There was a strange sort of irony to it, he would have acknowledged, were he in the kind of mood to appreciate it. Countless times he’d forced his body to keep going, pushing aside its need for sleep and food. And now it was exacting some kind of cruel revenge, because no matter how many times he closed his eyes and rearrange his pillow and his body, he simply couldn’t fall asleep. It was wretched.
Sherlock stared at the kettle. He hadn’t made tea in four years. John had always done it. Sherlock would never admit it, but he was unsure about how best to go about it. But now, given that John would be leaving in three weeks, he supposed he had better start learning.
He filled it with water and flicked it on. As he waited for it to boil, he flicked idly through the newspaper lying on the kitchen table. Petty political skirmishes and horribly dull killings. Boring.
The kettle clicked off and the flat was filled with silence. Sherlock shivered. He couldn’t remember ever being so aware of the absence of noise. Usually the roaring in his head was enough to distract him from any silence outside it. But now there was nothing except this odd, uncomfortable silence.
Shaking his head at this unusually maudlin thought, Sherlock proceeded to make his tea.
He failed spectacularly.
After the third attempt (too weak and not enough sugar), Sherlock gave up. Embarassing as it was, he didn’t even know how much sugar he liked. John always made it perfectly.
He crept back into his bed, feeling worse than when he’d got out of it. Punching his pillow in frustration, he turned onto his stomach and stared out the window.
The sky was just turning pink when he finally drifted off.
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Great start. Poor Sherlock, he has no idea what's going on, and his subconscious is going to beat him up till he does.
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