Overflow Post II
This post is for responding to prompts from prompt posts that are full, or continuing WIPs that were started on prompt posts that have since filled up or are close to full.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
"No."
That question, it really hadn't been John's attempt at flirting with Sherlock. Really. It hadn't! Why did no one ever just believe him? John had simply been trying to better acquaint himself with the man he'd potentially be living with. No ulterior motives whatsoever.
Yes alright, he obviously had seen the same appeal Molly saw in Sherlock's unique features. John did have eyes after all, and it wasn't like John had any qualms about dating men. He just preferred women. Simple as that.
Their round curves, and soft bodies, and dark curly hair that fingers could get tangled in, set a top cheekbones so sharp they could cut gla- no. No! He was not in- he didn't have those sort of feelings for Sherlock. They were mates. Mates don't fall for other mates. It's a rule look it up.
Besides, Sherlock was too much for John. All that boundless energy. The constant need for a distraction. His quick wit, and sharp tongue. It was so easy to get caught up in the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes, and John craved the adventure that came with it. But a relationship? An honest to God relationship? With emotions, and expectations? Even in his own head he knew it would never work.
And why the hell was he even thinking about this? Sherlock was married to his work! He'd said so himself. Even if the rule about mates didn't exist, John would never have had a chance with him. He just didn't feel things that way. Did he? John didn't know. God, why was he so wound up today? He'd only had four cups of tea in the past hour, it couldn't have been tha- oh no, the tea. Was Sherlock experimenting with the tea again? John was going to kill him. Sherlock had promised to leave the tea alone after the incident with the wellies, and the giraffe. Come to think of it, where was Sherlock? John hadn't seen him all da- oh. Look at that. Think of the devil and the... devil's brother will... call you.
"Finally run out of abandoned warehouses, Mycroft?"
"Humorous as always Dr. Watson. No I'm simply calling because I believed you would want to be informed that my brother has once again managed to land himself in the hospital."
"No he hasn't."
"Well then if it isn't Sherlock, someone ought to tell him his doppelganger is in surgery."
"I'm his emergency contact, the hospital would've called me if anything had happened."
"Dr. Watson, you're... not his emergency contact."
"What? Of course I am. Who else would be? I'm the closest thing he has to family... er no offence."
Long dramatic pause.
"My God he really never told you."
"Told me. Told me what?"
"John... I think it would be best if you went to the hospital."
"What for? Mycroft, what's going-"
-Click-
Reply
"Yes, yes I know. You can't release any information to me, but I am family. Just- just not by blood, or anything... legal. I live with him though, we're colleagues. I wash his pants for crying out loud! That on its own should warrant me some sort of right to know what the hell is going on. And it's Doctor, by the way, not sir."
"Well Doctor, as I said before, unless you are family, an emergency contact, or his doctor, I cannot give-"
"I am his doctor!"
"Then I am sure Dr. Williams will gladly fill you in once the paperwork has been approved. Now will you please go wait in the waiting room before I call security."
Sod this. Sod all of this. John was going over their heads. He was going over all their heads, and it doesn't matter what anyone has to say because he isn't listening, so there.
"Come on, come on. Pick up you bastard!"
"Ah John."
"Don't you John me, Mycroft Holmes! What bloody hell is going on? The hospital won't tell me because for whatever reason I'm not Sherlock's emergency contact. I deserve to know what's happening Mycroft, so tell me!"
"John, I"
"I just told you, don't John me! I thought after I moved in it was obvious I would take over being his emergency contact it just made sense! I mean we're practically- look will someone please just tell me what's going on? Please?"
"John if you'll just-"
"For God's sake what part of Don't. John. Me, do not understand?
Just please explain-"
"Dr. Watson that is what I'm trying to do! Or at least it was. Clearly this is one conversation we should not have over the phone. I'm on my way to the hospital. I suggest you do as the nurse says; I think she was serious about calling security."
John thinned his lips. Of course Mycroft had seen the altercation. He made his way inside a room designated for people waiting for loved ones in surgery. Like John expected the room wasn't overly busy. There was a young man of about thirty pacing in front of the vending machines while muttering anxiously into his phone, an elderly man was comforting an elderly woman as two small children scribbled 'Get Better Soon Mummy.' on paper by their feet, and finally two blonde haired men closer to John's age were sitting in the corner. One was slumped dead asleep while the other more anxious looking blonde man stared blankly ahead, and continuously twisted his wedding band around.
John dropped into a chair, burying his face into his hands. Why hadn't Sherlock called him? He must not have suspected whatever his plan was would be dangerous; surely he'd have called John if he had thought otherwise. But then again maybe he wouldn't have. The thing was John had no idea. They'd been living together for barely even a year. What did John really know about Sherlock, other than he had a flair for the dramatics, and that John was completely head over- we are not going there, inner monologue. We are so not even approaching there; there doesn't even exist. There will never exist, and everyone knows daydreaming about fantasy lands was a ridiculous notion. A harried looking nurse in surgical scrubs marched through the doors, causing everyone in the room to look up at her with hope in their eyes.
"Holmes. I'm looking for a Victor Holmes?"
Reply
There could be any number of people named Holmes in the hospital; everyone else in the room could be named Holmes for all John knew. The pacing man snapped his phone shut, and with two strides was at the nurse's side. She led him a few meters away from the larger group, and spoke to him in quiet tones. Almost against his will John found himself walking nearer to the pair under the pretence of getting a snack from the vending machine.
This man... this Victor wasn't terrible on the eyes John noted. He was tall; not as tall as Sherlock, but definitely taller than John. He had immaculately combed light brown hair, and green eye hidden behind a pair of dark framed glasses. He was dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a red jumper clearly thrown on last minute. The warning bell got louder.
"...lock is doing..." Lock? She just said lock. It's alright. It's still fine, lock could be anything. They're talking about hair. Of course that's what it meant. Lock as in hair. Perfect sense.
"... wound was deeper than..." Oh God, a wound? Sherlock was hurt. Sherlock was dying, and now John would never get the chance to tell him how he felt! This couldn't be happening, John needed Sherlock, what sort of justice was there in the world if Sherlock died, and John lived? John without Sherlock was like pizza without cheese, or a movie without popcorn. It was just sick, and wrong to have one without the other.
By now the warning bell had morphed into a large clanging cowbell, and John was feeling sick to his stomach. He was the one who cared for Sherlock, he was the one who had always been there for Sherlock, he was the one who loved Sherlock, where did this Victor character get off getting in between them?
"..few more hours." The nurse gave the man a gentle squeeze on the arm before exiting the room. John looked back at the line of crisp bags he had been thoroughly inspecting. He had just made the decision about actually purchasing a bag when someone grabbed a hold of him and threw John forcefully back against the wall.
Instinctively John pushed his weight forward offsetting his would-be attacker, giving him the chance to spin them around and pin the other man against the wall with his arms.
The face of Victor Holmes glared back at him. "Who the hell are you?"
"Who the hell am I? You're the one grabbing people!"
"I saw you eavesdropping on the nurse, and I. You're one of them aren't you? One of the gang members." Victor's attempted to push
John's arm away, but he held firm.
"What are you talking about? What gang members?"
"The ones who attacked my idiot husband! Here to finish off the job? You're going to have to bloody well go through me first!" This would have been much more powerful, if John hadn't already proven he could easily get the upper hand on the man.
"Husband? Look there's been some sort of misunderstanding."
The blonde man previously sleeping was beginning to stand. "I think we go should find a nurse."
"Oh I don't think that will be necessary Mr. Brown." Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway, leaning casually against his ever present umbrella. He peered at the two squabbling men with something akin to amusement. "Victor. John, if you'll follow me."
Mycroft turned leaving a befuddled Mr. Brown asking how he knew his name, behind him.
Reply
"Introductions first I believe. Victor Holmes this is the infamous Dr. John Watson you've heard so much about. John this is-"
"Oh. You're the flatmate?"m.
"Quite. Now about Sherlock; from we can tell, it appears that early this morning Sherlock was called in by DI Lestrade. While he was inspecting the crime scene Sherlock found evidence that, quote, 'any imbecilic four year old can see it points straight to the whereabouts of the criminals'. Unquote. He decided against waiting for the police and went after the gang himself. Unfortunately his opponent got the upper hand, and Sherlock had a knife in his abdomen. This is the part where it gets... delicate. John, it appears my brother neglected to mention a rather vital piece of information about himself. You see Sherlock has been in a committed civil partnership for the past three and a half years to Victor. They are by every right... married to one another.""
"Oh come on. Sherlock's not married! He would've- well actually he is, he's married to his work, he told me that practically the day we met!"
Victor snorted. "He really said that?" A softer expression passed over his face. "That was sort of a private joke. When we first met, I was just starting out in the world of politics. A rather dangerous criminal organizations decided I must've been worth something. Lucky for myself, so did the British government. He took my kidnapping case as a favour to Mycroft."
"...You were his work."
"I was his work."
John continued to frown. "If he's married to you, why did Sherlock need a flatmate?"
"The thing about Sherlock is, he's... not good... on his own. He needs someone. A year after we exchanged vows, I got promoted. The position, it involves a lot of traveling. My career would've been over if I didn't accept it. If I had my way Sher would have come with me, but... he wouldn't have been happy with a life on the road like that. "
"But-"
"You've seen Sherlock's work, yeah? The sort of people it attracts? The ones in my life aren't much better. We had a lot of close calls. And because we were both men, the danger was that much worse. It made it difficult for us to trust many people with the knowledge of us."
"He trusts me enough to live with but not-"
"May I point out that this is Sherlock. There's every chance he told you in minute detail about his marriage to Victor, John. You simply... may not have been home at the time."
"That's really very plausible isn't it?"
"It is. I'm going to kill him. I'm really going to kill him. He shouldn't have gone off on his own like that!"
"You really do love him don't you?"
"Wouldn't have married the git if I didn't."
At that moment a nurse appeared at the door. "Oh Mr. Holmes there you are. Sherlock's just come out of surgery, he'll be waking up in a few minutes if you want to go see him."
The nurse led them along to a private room.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock's bleary eyes settled on the two men. He let out a pleased hum. "Victor."
"I can't leave you alone for five minutes can I?"
"No. Don't ever do it again."
"I won't I promise." Victor pulled the chair up as close as he could to Sherlock, placing a tender kiss on his forehead.
John felt like he was intruding on a reunion that could be labeled as intimate. He watched them for a moment longer trying desperately to ignore the want, the need to be the one on the receiving end of those loving tender looks Sherlock gave to Victor. Swallowing back his feelings John left the room.
"They're very happy John."
"I know."
Mycroft stepped from the shadows he had been lurking in. "Their relationship may not be ideal, but they've made it work."
"I know."
"I can only imagine what harm it would do to Sherlock if anyone was to try and get between them."
John turned to stare Mycroft straight in the eye. "I know." With that John took his leave. No matter what John feelings for the detective were, John knew he would never try anything now that he understood the truth. Victor was the one Sherlock had chosen. John was just the friend.
It was better this way.
Really.
It was.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment