Baby Please Don't Go - Part 2a
anonymous
March 27 2011, 22:21:37 UTC
Two weeks later, at 10:53 pm, Sherlock found himself sitting in the back of an ambulance with a bruised and grinning John Watson, both of them protesting that no, they weren’t actually in shock.
Lestrade sighed.
“Look, guys,” he began, in the tone of a man who has had this conversation before and will have it again, and does not derive one ounce of pleasure from the prospect. “I’m fairly certain this man did not just fall down three flights of stairs and break both his arms by accident. However, since he was, in fact, the rapist we’ve been trying unsuccessfully to catch for ten days, I am willing to not ask too many questions.”
John laughed; Sherlock smiled at the sound.
“An admirable notion, Inspector,” he said, winking at Lestrade. “God, I’m going to miss this,” he added.
Sherlock frowned. Despite knowing for two weeks now that John was leaving, he had simply not been able to grow accustomed to the idea. Every time John mentioned it, he felt an unpleasant jolt in his stomach, which was ridiculous. He knew John was leaving, this wasn’t a surprise anymore. And yet he couldn’t force his subconscious into remembering that fact.
“Miss it? You going somewhere, John?” Lestrade asked curiously.
“Oh, I’d forgotten you didn’t know,” John replied. He glanced sideways at Sherlock. “Yes, I’m, uh, moving away. To America, actually.”
Lestrade looked shocked, then horrified.
“America? What on earth for?”
“I’ve been offered a job there. At an army base, training medics. Right up my alley, actually.”
“And how on earth am I supposed to deal with him,” Lestrade gestured wildly at Sherlock, “without you around?”
Sherlock scowled.
“He’s not my handler, Lestrade,” he snapped. He didn’t want to be discussing this now. His head hurt and his arms hurt, and he was starting to tremble. Maybe he was in shock after all. He looked around for a blanket.
Lestrade, completely unabashed, asked the question again.
“You managed for five years before I came along, didn’t you?” John asked, and Sherlock could hear the mirth sparkling in his voice. John had a remarkable expressible voice. Sherlock could read a hundred times more in it than John’s actual words betrayed.. He loved that, love being able to deduce everything about John’s day just from the way said the word ‘Evening’ or ‘Chilly, isn’t it?’ or ‘Sherlock, fuck off, I’ve had a bloody awful day and I am not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ Although possibly even Anderson would have been able to deduce that last one.
“Yeah, and I went completely grey at 46.”
John laughed again, longer this time. It suddenly stuck Sherlock that he was going to miss this. All of it. Dragging John out of bed at four in the morning to look at an interesting body, Chinese food at three am after they’d caught the murderer, sitting in an ambulance, high on adrenaline and winning, giggling at crime scenes.
Scowl deepening, he stood and stalked off to hail a taxi.
“You, constable, fetch me a taxi,” he instructed one of the young police officers standing nearby. Hopkins, Sherlock thought his name might be.
“Y-yes, sir,” stammered the officer, his face fixed in an expression of awe.
Sherlock nodded at him briefly and wandered back to where John and Lestrade were still talking. Although they were attempting to keep their voices hushed, Sherlock caught a few of their words before they realised he was approaching.
Baby Please Don't Go - Part 2b
anonymous
March 27 2011, 22:22:30 UTC
“ - but I thought the two of you were...” Lestrade finished his sentence with a hand wave, which John appeared to understand, because he shrugged in reply.
“Yeah, so did I. Sometimes, at least. It’s hard to tell with him, y’know?”
Lestrade nodded emphatically.
“I just, I can’t wait forever.” John looked sad and resigned and a little bit hurt, and the sight of it twisted Sherlock’s insides in a way he couldn’t begin to understand.
“Fair enough, mate,” Lestrade said, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder.
John, finally spotting Sherlock over Lestrade’s shoulder, didn’t reply. He smiled at Sherlock instead.
“Ready to go?” he asked, hopping down from the ambulance.
“When you are,” Sherlock returned shortly. He was completely bewildered by what he’d overheard, and that made him grumpy. He hated not understanding things.
John did not look at all put out by his surliness, merely turning to Lestrade and sticking out his hand. Lestrade shook it enthusiastically.
“It’s been a pleasure, Doctor Watson.”
“Likewise,” replied John. “Keep an eye on him, hey?” He nudged Sherlock’s elbow.
“Will do,” Lestrade said, and from the expression on his face and John’s answering look, Sherlock felt that an entire conversation had just passed between them that he was not privy to.
“Come on, Sherlock.”
John turned away and began striding towards the waiting taxi, leaving Sherlock to trail, perplexed, in his wake.
Re: Baby Please Don't Go - OP!!!
anonymous
March 27 2011, 22:45:52 UTC
OP LOVES YOU!!!!! Cannot contain the giddy. The giddy cannot be contained. That is all. Squeeing forever!
Both of these bits are hilarious:
He loved that, love being able to deduce everything about John’s day just from the way said the word ‘Evening’ or ‘Chilly, isn’t it?’ or ‘Sherlock, fuck off, I’ve had a bloody awful day and I am not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ Although possibly even Anderson would have been able to deduce that last one.
Lestrade sighed.
“Look, guys,” he began, in the tone of a man who has had this conversation before and will have it again, and does not derive one ounce of pleasure from the prospect. “I’m fairly certain this man did not just fall down three flights of stairs and break both his arms by accident. However, since he was, in fact, the rapist we’ve been trying unsuccessfully to catch for ten days, I am willing to not ask too many questions.”
John laughed; Sherlock smiled at the sound.
“An admirable notion, Inspector,” he said, winking at Lestrade. “God, I’m going to miss this,” he added.
Sherlock frowned. Despite knowing for two weeks now that John was leaving, he had simply not been able to grow accustomed to the idea. Every time John mentioned it, he felt an unpleasant jolt in his stomach, which was ridiculous. He knew John was leaving, this wasn’t a surprise anymore. And yet he couldn’t force his subconscious into remembering that fact.
“Miss it? You going somewhere, John?” Lestrade asked curiously.
“Oh, I’d forgotten you didn’t know,” John replied. He glanced sideways at Sherlock. “Yes, I’m, uh, moving away. To America, actually.”
Lestrade looked shocked, then horrified.
“America? What on earth for?”
“I’ve been offered a job there. At an army base, training medics. Right up my alley, actually.”
“And how on earth am I supposed to deal with him,” Lestrade gestured wildly at Sherlock, “without you around?”
Sherlock scowled.
“He’s not my handler, Lestrade,” he snapped. He didn’t want to be discussing this now. His head hurt and his arms hurt, and he was starting to tremble. Maybe he was in shock after all. He looked around for a blanket.
Lestrade, completely unabashed, asked the question again.
“You managed for five years before I came along, didn’t you?” John asked, and Sherlock could hear the mirth sparkling in his voice. John had a remarkable expressible voice. Sherlock could read a hundred times more in it than John’s actual words betrayed.. He loved that, love being able to deduce everything about John’s day just from the way said the word ‘Evening’ or ‘Chilly, isn’t it?’ or ‘Sherlock, fuck off, I’ve had a bloody awful day and I am not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ Although possibly even Anderson would have been able to deduce that last one.
“Yeah, and I went completely grey at 46.”
John laughed again, longer this time. It suddenly stuck Sherlock that he was going to miss this. All of it. Dragging John out of bed at four in the morning to look at an interesting body, Chinese food at three am after they’d caught the murderer, sitting in an ambulance, high on adrenaline and winning, giggling at crime scenes.
Scowl deepening, he stood and stalked off to hail a taxi.
“You, constable, fetch me a taxi,” he instructed one of the young police officers standing nearby. Hopkins, Sherlock thought his name might be.
“Y-yes, sir,” stammered the officer, his face fixed in an expression of awe.
Sherlock nodded at him briefly and wandered back to where John and Lestrade were still talking. Although they were attempting to keep their voices hushed, Sherlock caught a few of their words before they realised he was approaching.
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“Yeah, so did I. Sometimes, at least. It’s hard to tell with him, y’know?”
Lestrade nodded emphatically.
“I just, I can’t wait forever.” John looked sad and resigned and a little bit hurt, and the sight of it twisted Sherlock’s insides in a way he couldn’t begin to understand.
“Fair enough, mate,” Lestrade said, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder.
John, finally spotting Sherlock over Lestrade’s shoulder, didn’t reply. He smiled at Sherlock instead.
“Ready to go?” he asked, hopping down from the ambulance.
“When you are,” Sherlock returned shortly. He was completely bewildered by what he’d overheard, and that made him grumpy. He hated not understanding things.
John did not look at all put out by his surliness, merely turning to Lestrade and sticking out his hand. Lestrade shook it enthusiastically.
“It’s been a pleasure, Doctor Watson.”
“Likewise,” replied John. “Keep an eye on him, hey?” He nudged Sherlock’s elbow.
“Will do,” Lestrade said, and from the expression on his face and John’s answering look, Sherlock felt that an entire conversation had just passed between them that he was not privy to.
“Come on, Sherlock.”
John turned away and began striding towards the waiting taxi, leaving Sherlock to trail, perplexed, in his wake.
Reply
Both of these bits are hilarious:
He loved that, love being able to deduce everything about John’s day just from the way said the word ‘Evening’ or ‘Chilly, isn’t it?’ or ‘Sherlock, fuck off, I’ve had a bloody awful day and I am not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ Although possibly even Anderson would have been able to deduce that last one.
“Yeah, and I went completely grey at 46.”
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Sherlock... bless his heart -- he has no idea what he's losing by acting so nonchalant~ <3
Brilliant update! :D
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