Here For You

May 01, 2011 14:47

Title: Here For You
Prompt: (from sherlockbbc_fic.livejournal.com ) "Has there been any H/C where John is the one hurt, but emotionally instead of physically? And Sherlock is comforting him instead of playing the guilty party? 'Cause I'd like some of that. Just some good ol' upset or insecure John being reassured and maybe held by Sherlock. Bonus points if John actually cries. Extra super bonus points if Sherlock noticed something was wrong without John having to tell him."
Pairing: can be seen as general or established Sherlock/John
Genre: hurt/comfort, angst
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Spoiler/Slightly AU, in that at the end of 'The Great Game' Moriarty doesn't return to try and kill them after Sherlock gets the bomb vest off of John.

---

The police arrived some time later, armed with a bomb squad, an ambulance and the forensics team. Moriarty and his men would be long gone by now; hopefully they could find some clues to lead them to their hideaway. However, given Moriarty's efficiency and overall evasion prowess, hopes among the crowd were low.

The EMT's checked out John and Sherlock from head to toe before they would allow Detective Inspector Lestrade to question them. John gave a quick statement, his voice shaky as the rush of adrenaline began to wear off. He needed to take a moment to calm down. Everything had happened far too suddenly and seemed to blend together in his mind. If he could only have a few minutes to himself to simply breathe the crisp, fresh air, he'd be able to give Lestrade a more stable account of what had happened before Sherlock arrived.

It was easy to see that the doctor, calm and confident as he usually came off, was still just like any other person who'd gone through a traumatic experience. Once John was finished with his preliminary statement, Lestrade granted him leave. The D.I. gave the shorter man a comforting pat on the shoulder as he and Sherlock walked off for a private conversation, no doubt to discuss all of the details the doctor had left out. Sherlock glanced back at John with an unreadable expression -- John figured it was concern -- before turning to address Lestrade.

John leaned against a police cruiser, taking in the people bustling about the scene. Blue and red lights flashed from the rescue vehicles, lighting the otherwise dark parking lot. His hands shook uncontrollably, even as his breathing evened out. His heart no longer quite pounded in his ear, though its beat was certainly still noticeable in his chest. He desperately tried to calm his nerves, constantly reminding himself: he was fine, Sherlock was fine, everybody was fine.

Then why the hell didn't he feel like it?

"Doctor."

That sounded like Sergeant Donovan. Hurriedly, John crossed his arms in hopes of hiding his hands before he turned to face her. "Sergeant."

She had a look of concern masked with annoyance. "I see you're alright then."

He nodded, taking in a deep breath, "I'm alive, at least."

"That's... good."

They both shifted uncomfortably as words failed them. It had been awkward between them ever since she had warned him about Sherlock. They remained polite, certainly, but it was as if they realized they would never quite be on the same page.

In an attempt to ignore the awkward silence between herself and John, Donovan's eyes began to wander around. Her face immediately contorted into a look of disgust.

"He's off again."

"Who?" John tried to follow her gaze.

"The freak." As soon as the words left her mouth, the doctor spotted Sherlock. He was talking excitedly to Lestrade, his hands waving around in grand gestures as he paced about in a small circle. "You'd think he'd at least try and appear a bit less excited, seeing as how his only mate almost died. Then again, this is the freak we're talking about. I'd be surprised if he actually seemed to give a shit."

She continued on, but John was no longer listening. He stood there, eyes fixated on the energetic consulting detective as her words sunk in. He knew in his mind, knew in his heart, that that wasn't the case. His friend cared for him. Of course he did. But something Donovan said just pushed him over the edge. Suddenly, all of the terror and anxiety he'd endured that evening came rushing out of him like a dam that had burst.

"I need to go." John murmured, unsure of whether or not she had heard him as he turned and started down the street. He headed for a main road to hail a cab, set on returning to his and Sherlock's flat before he broke down.

Sometime later, things around the scene were coming to an end. The bomb had been properly deactivated before being taken away for examination, the forensics team had dusted every surface for prints and other viable samples, and the police had finished putting together their own reports. There was nothing left to do but clean up and go home.

Sherlock searched the area for John. He hadn't liked the idea of leaving the other man alone; even he could tell he was upset over what had happened. When he failed to locate the doctor, he decided his best bet would be to go home. If John wasn't there yet, Sherlock could at least be there waiting for him when he did return.

-----

Baker Street was incredibly quiet, Sherlock noted as he exited the taxi that had brought him home. A quick glance at the cab's clock as he paid the driver told him it was 3.27. He vaguely wondered if John had gotten home alright. There was no way the man would still be up and around at such an hour.

He stepped into the building, loosening his scarf before starting up the stairs. The door to their flat was slightly ajar, letting out a small stream of the dim light from the lamp. He pushed the door open the rest of the way, spotting John seated on the couch, laptop balancing on his knees as he slowly typed away. The keys clacked softly as he did, filling the otherwise quiet air in the room.

John gave a slight sniffle, lifting his head at the door's movement. He tried to keep his face impassive, almost succeeding.

"Oh, you're home?" His voice sounded a bit off. Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Lestrade had a lot of questions."

"Oh." They stared at one another for a few silent moments until John averted his gaze, turning his attention back to his computer screen.

Sherlock finished removing his coat and shoes, taking in the sight of the shorter man. He was slouching, something his military training hardly ever permitted him to do, and his eyes seemed a bit red. The lanky man was almost certain it wasn't from exhaustion; he'd seen John when he needed to sleep, after all.

He made his way over to the couch, gingerly sitting next to his friend. He could see John's email was opened. "Doing anything important?"

"Just updating Harry." The doctor replied shortly.

"John." Sherlock's hand reached over to rest on top of one of John's.

The man stopped typing, gave a sigh and shut his laptop before setting it down. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Talk to me." Sherlock took his hand again.

"About what?"

"What's bothering you, obviously."

"Nothing's bothering me, Sherlock, I'm just tired." John insisted, pulling his hand away.

"Is that why you've been crying?"

John seemed horrified at the very thought. "I haven't--"

"Relax." Sherlock took his hand again, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it. "Would you like to talk?"

"No, I--" He broke off, trying to find the right words. When nothing came to him, he merely repeated, "No."

Sherlock nodded his acceptance and they sat quietly for a few uncalculated minutes.

"I'd like to hug you anyways." The lanky man informed him a while later.

"... Why?"

"That's what people normally do when they're trying to comfort one another, isn't it?"

John couldn't help but smile, "Yeah, it is."

"Alright then."

Sherlock released John's hand in favor of lifting his entire arm, bringing it to rest around the doctor's shoulders. He hugged him close, and John gladly accepted, laying his head to rest against Sherlock's person.

"You're okay, John." Sherlock stated softly as he pressed a quick kiss to the shorter man's hair.

"I know." And finally, after feeling so horribly helpless for a good part of the day, John believed it.

meme fill, john, sherlock, fluff, bbc sherlock

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