"Spur of the Moment"
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Title: Spur of the Moment
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: John, Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Spoilers for "A Study in Pink"
Summary: He doesn't shoot people. It's just not what he does.
Author's Note: Written for episode 4x12 of tvrealm, in which we were asked to write any kind of AU consisting of at least 150 words. My apologies, cause this hasn't been beta'ed.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Conan Doyle, Moffat, Gatiss, the BBC and whoever else might wish to claim ownership. I'm just borrowing.
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No!
No, shit, no!
John watches the scene unfold like a movie. The weight of the gun in his hand is so familiar, and he knows what it feels like to pull the trigger. But every gun is different, and he realizes too late that he gravely misjudged the trajectory. The bullet whizzes through the window and misses its target.
John immediately knows this is not going to end well. His mistake is going to cost Sherlock. How could he miss?
He starts running even before his brain consciously tells his feet to move. It takes him minutes to get to the other building, minutes that might mean life or death.
What greets him in the deserted dining hall is hard to fathom. A body lies on the ground, a pool of blood slowly forming next to the lifeless torso.
“Sherlock,” he forces out between panted breaths.
“I shot him,” Sherlock states, his voice devoid of emotion, a trembling hand holding out the taxi driver’s gun. John wordlessly takes it from him, securing it in a practiced motion.
John crouches down next to the grey haired man’s unmoving form, feels for a pulse that’s clearly absent. He raises his eyes to meet Sherlock’s, then shakes his head.
“I don’t shoot people,” Sherlock states, and seems more fazed than John thought he would be.
“It was self-defense,” John says.
“You shot at him. You took a gun and shot at him. That’s what you do. I, on the other hand, I don’t shoot people,” Sherlock reiterates, then abruptly leaves the room.
John is left standing over a dead man’s body, and the absurdity hits him. He’d been more than ready to commit this crime-yet didn’t, and the result is still the same.
“Sherlock,” he half-heartedly calls after the tall man he realizes he might even be considering a friend. He starts jogging, trying to catching up. “Sherlock, what-“
He looks around, and finds… emptiness. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. “What now?” he asks into the empty hallway, and it’s only the afterthought of his own words echoing from the walls.
Some friend, he muses, trying to figure out what to do next.
“You would do well not to linger,” he hears Sherlock’s voice from somewhere at the far end of the corridor, and for some inexplicable reason, he follows it blindly, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that he might very well end up regretting this.
Title: Spur of the Moment
Author: TeeJay
Genre: Gen
Characters/Pairings: John, Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Spoilers for "A Study in Pink"
Summary: He doesn't shoot people. It's just not what he does.
Author's Note: Written for episode 4x12 of tvrealm, in which we were asked to write any kind of AU consisting of at least 150 words. My apologies, cause this hasn't been beta'ed.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Conan Doyle, Moffat, Gatiss, the BBC and whoever else might wish to claim ownership. I'm just borrowing.
+-+-+-+-+
No!
No, shit, no!
John watches the scene unfold like a movie. The weight of the gun in his hand is so familiar, and he knows what it feels like to pull the trigger. But every gun is different, and he realizes too late that he gravely misjudged the trajectory. The bullet whizzes through the window and misses its target.
John immediately knows this is not going to end well. His mistake is going to cost Sherlock. How could he miss?
He starts running even before his brain consciously tells his feet to move. It takes him minutes to get to the other building, minutes that might mean life or death.
What greets him in the deserted dining hall is hard to fathom. A body lies on the ground, a pool of blood slowly forming next to the lifeless torso.
“Sherlock,” he forces out between panted breaths.
“I shot him,” Sherlock states, his voice devoid of emotion, a trembling hand holding out the taxi driver’s gun. John wordlessly takes it from him, securing it in a practiced motion.
John crouches down next to the grey haired man’s unmoving form, feels for a pulse that’s clearly absent. He raises his eyes to meet Sherlock’s, then shakes his head.
“I don’t shoot people,” Sherlock states, and seems more fazed than John thought he would be.
“It was self-defense,” John says.
“You shot at him. You took a gun and shot at him. That’s what you do. I, on the other hand, I don’t shoot people,” Sherlock reiterates, then abruptly leaves the room.
John is left standing over a dead man’s body, and the absurdity hits him. He’d been more than ready to commit this crime-yet didn’t, and the result is still the same.
“Sherlock,” he half-heartedly calls after the tall man he realizes he might even be considering a friend. He starts jogging, trying to catching up. “Sherlock, what-“
He looks around, and finds… emptiness. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen. “What now?” he asks into the empty hallway, and it’s only the afterthought of his own words echoing from the walls.
Some friend, he muses, trying to figure out what to do next.
“You would do well not to linger,” he hears Sherlock’s voice from somewhere at the far end of the corridor, and for some inexplicable reason, he follows it blindly, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that he might very well end up regretting this.