#399: Contact (Sherlock BBC)
Title: Aversion and Therapy
Author: Jerel
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC 2010 series)
Rating: G
Challenge: #399 Contact.
Word count: 500
Sherlock didn't like people touching him. It wasn't a germ phobia. Lord knows if Sherlock did have an aversion to unsanitary conditions, John wouldn't constantly threaten to have the kitchen condemned as a national health hazard. No, that wasn't it.
True, the body didn't matter and was just transport. But it was still his, and he couldn't stand people touching his things. Or him. Especially him.
Of course, he knew he was being ridiculous on some level. He knew why certain people became averse to touch, abuse victims and the like, or children who'd grown up in homes without physical affection. Mummy and Father had not been overly demonstrative with Sherlock and his brother- merely reserved. And he knew on some level, he was probably being ridiculous. But it didn't change the fact that he hated it.
John, out of medical necessity, has had to touch Sherlock on more than one occasion: stitches, bandaging, picking glass splinters out of Sherlock's knuckles. John would have to repeat “would you hold still?” at least fifteen times and threatening to anesthetize him with a sledgehammer. “I could get this done a lot faster if you wouldn't fidget.”
Sherlock knows that. Which is why he continues to fidget.
Maybe it's because John's touch is impersonal and professional, that he doesn't "want" anything, that he isn't repulsed. Wounded soldiers, patients at the surgery, and Sherlock all felt the same steady, gentle hands. Maybe it's that he'd rather have someone he trusted fix him up than a stranger- someone he'd be forced to explain things to. John didn't need explanations. Usually because he'd been right there at Sherlock's side while Sherlock did something dangerous and not terribly wise.
He'd never felt this need to be in contact with another person before. Especially not physical contact. When he heard John awake from a nightmare, Sherlock wanted to go to him, squeeze his shoulders, pat his back, reassure him that everything was all right. But he never did. John would think it was weird. And Sherlock knew John put up with a lot of weirdness already; no need to tip the scale over, because Sherlock is quite sure he'd never be able to find another accommodating flatmate.
And he doesn't want to.
“Sherlock, are you all right?” John asks. He puts a hand on one of Sherlock's shoulders.
John has no real reason to put his hands on Sherlock. He's not injured or unconscious. And yet, John's hand. His shoulder. It must be that same thing that urges him to intrude in John's room after a nightmare. But he doesn't need reassurance or comfort. Does he?
He reaches one hand up and squeezes John's shoulder. “Fine. Everything's fine. Shall we see what New Scotland Yard has for us?”
John looks surprised at the unexpected contact. And yet he doesn't look repulsed or irate or, well, anything other than surprised. Pleasantly so, if Sherlock had to pin an adverb on it.
New data. More research needed.
Author: Jerel
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC 2010 series)
Rating: G
Challenge: #399 Contact.
Word count: 500
Sherlock didn't like people touching him. It wasn't a germ phobia. Lord knows if Sherlock did have an aversion to unsanitary conditions, John wouldn't constantly threaten to have the kitchen condemned as a national health hazard. No, that wasn't it.
True, the body didn't matter and was just transport. But it was still his, and he couldn't stand people touching his things. Or him. Especially him.
Of course, he knew he was being ridiculous on some level. He knew why certain people became averse to touch, abuse victims and the like, or children who'd grown up in homes without physical affection. Mummy and Father had not been overly demonstrative with Sherlock and his brother- merely reserved. And he knew on some level, he was probably being ridiculous. But it didn't change the fact that he hated it.
John, out of medical necessity, has had to touch Sherlock on more than one occasion: stitches, bandaging, picking glass splinters out of Sherlock's knuckles. John would have to repeat “would you hold still?” at least fifteen times and threatening to anesthetize him with a sledgehammer. “I could get this done a lot faster if you wouldn't fidget.”
Sherlock knows that. Which is why he continues to fidget.
Maybe it's because John's touch is impersonal and professional, that he doesn't "want" anything, that he isn't repulsed. Wounded soldiers, patients at the surgery, and Sherlock all felt the same steady, gentle hands. Maybe it's that he'd rather have someone he trusted fix him up than a stranger- someone he'd be forced to explain things to. John didn't need explanations. Usually because he'd been right there at Sherlock's side while Sherlock did something dangerous and not terribly wise.
He'd never felt this need to be in contact with another person before. Especially not physical contact. When he heard John awake from a nightmare, Sherlock wanted to go to him, squeeze his shoulders, pat his back, reassure him that everything was all right. But he never did. John would think it was weird. And Sherlock knew John put up with a lot of weirdness already; no need to tip the scale over, because Sherlock is quite sure he'd never be able to find another accommodating flatmate.
And he doesn't want to.
“Sherlock, are you all right?” John asks. He puts a hand on one of Sherlock's shoulders.
John has no real reason to put his hands on Sherlock. He's not injured or unconscious. And yet, John's hand. His shoulder. It must be that same thing that urges him to intrude in John's room after a nightmare. But he doesn't need reassurance or comfort. Does he?
He reaches one hand up and squeezes John's shoulder. “Fine. Everything's fine. Shall we see what New Scotland Yard has for us?”
John looks surprised at the unexpected contact. And yet he doesn't look repulsed or irate or, well, anything other than surprised. Pleasantly so, if Sherlock had to pin an adverb on it.
New data. More research needed.