The Adventure of the Civil Partnership Chapter 7 Tension
Sherlock and John are hunting a kidnapper who has been taking newlywed couples across the Greater London Area and Sherlock has the perfect way to flush him out. Warning: Pre-Slash/Slash of Sherlock/John Work in Progress - Very Slow Updates
Disclaimers: I certainly do not own Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s amazing creation of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Hamish Watson. I also do not own Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC’s adaptations of those works.
Spoiler Warnings: Series 1 and 2 of Sherlock
Ratings: M Warning Pre-Slash/Slash.
Beta: Ivory Winter
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Chapter 7 Tension
The rest of Saturday would have been extremely trying for John if he wasn’t still reeling from the knowledge of the trust Sherlock had shown him by adding John to his financial accounts. Judging by Sherlock’s violin playing, or rather meditative strumming, his flatmate was deeply withdrawn into himself, either unable to draw any conclusion, or perhaps drawing far too many, from the information they had gathered. If Sherlock had not been on a case that he obviously found fascinating, John would have been worried about his behavior and wondering if this would be a danger night. As it was, John just considered himself lucky that the case, at least thus far, didn’t require any experiments that would end up damaging the flat thus increasing their rent, (although apparently the detective the funds to cover it), or to use John as a test subject for dangerous hallucinogens.
John tried to entertain himself for a while by watching a Bond flick again with the subtitles on, something he had long since had adjusted to using, having learned that the discordant violin playing would only get worse and last longer if Sherlock was distracted or irritated by what he considered excessive noise. That wasn’t to say if Sherlock was playing while they weren’t on a case that John wouldn’t turn on the volume even if Sherlock disliked the movie or TV show; John wasn’t a doormat after all. John gave up on the flick after a while though, Bond movies just weren’t the same when you couldn’t hear all the explosions, and continued working on a blog post about their recent case involving a missing race horse, a non-barking watchdog, and a murdered horse trainer. He still needed to come up with a final title, The Silver Blaze just wasn’t working for him.
After eating dinner, which John had been unsuccessful in tempting Sherlock to even taste or in fact even respond to his attempts, John settled in his chair to peruse one of the new forensic pathology journals. John always had to rush to read them before Sherlock got a hold of them and marked the journal up with critical notes across the margins and sometimes directly on top of the articles themselves. Since Sherlock’s return John had started using some of his disposable income to try and refresh his memory on the forensic pathology basics he had learned in med school and read up on some of the more recent research to try and make himself more useful to Sherlock in the field. John was by no means a trained pathologist, or even a criminologist, but he had successfully managed to improve his diagnostic abilities during cases and most of the research articles were absolutely fascinating. Tonight he entertained and enlightened himself with an intriguing article by Dr. William Bass from the Knoxville, Tennessee Body Farm about detecting decomposition in air samples in the trunk of a car after the body had been removed by criminals multiple weeks prior.
John finally decided around eleven that if he was going to have to run the next day with Jeremy the trainer, he needed a decent night sleep. “Sherlock,” John called, unsurprised when there was no response as the man hadn’t spoken in several hours and was obviously deep in thought about the case. “Sherlock. Sherlock!” John barked at the third repetition, prodding the bottom of the consulting detective’s foot.
“What!” The detective finally snapped in reply, throwing John a dark glare.
“I am heading up for the night, you might want to consider getting a least a few hours sleep. Jeremy is likely going to put us through the ringer a bit tomorrow. Some sleep might prevent me from needing to scrape your scrawny arse up off the ground,” John replied, his tone dropping into his captain’s voice without him noticing. “You have been sleeping at least a little, right Sherlock?”
“John, you are my husband not my mother.”
“Yeah and as your husband, not to mention the flatmate who is going to have to take care of you if you make yourself sick, I will ask again. When was the last time you slept?” John retorted almost before Sherlock finished his verbal attempt to deflect him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and made a deep grumpy sigh, before finally responding, “I have been sleeping four to six hours nightly since Tuesday evening when I informed you of our pending civil partnership ceremony. I was aware that the case would last an extended period of time, consequently I had already planned to ensure that I could have at least four complete sleep cycles a night. It would hardly help my ability to solve the case if I damaged my brain by depriving it of necessary sleep. Satisfied?” Sherlock finished sharply, clearly annoyed at having to justify himself.
“Yes,” John answered honestly, impressed that Sherlock was taking good care of himself on this case. Although admittedly John supposed that Sherlock was being logical about his health, for once. It occurred to John that the consulting genius hadn’t had a case that was easily going to last several weeks since they had started working together, so he supposed he should have expected slightly different habits. “As your husband and doctor, I must admit that it is a huge concern off my mind. I’ll let you get back to your meditation. Breakfast at eight, Sherlock, since we are meeting Jeremy at nine am at the Y.”
“Yes, yes, fine,” Sherlock replied, waving a hand at John as he stood up and started puttering in front of his case wall, as John trotted upstairs to bed.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Sherlock was grumbling the next morning even before they had arrived at the YMCA on Tottenham. He had eaten the breakfast John had placed in front of him, but Sherlock had been muttering all morning about lack of connections and irrelevant data. The case wall was now covered in push pins, which had different colored strands of thread running between the pins. John didn’t have a clue what connections the threads were supposed to indicate, but the sheer number of different colors made John think that Sherlock was still looking for that vital link. John could only hope the eccentric genius hadn’t pilfered the thread unasked from Mrs. Hudson for his case wall. Their landlady enjoyed watching Sherlock on a good case as much as John but it bothered her when the detective nicked stuff from her flat without asking.
John was more than a little worried that the irritated genius might be upset enough to just try cornering Jeremy Walsh and demanding the information he wanted rather than being subtle about it and thus blow their cover. He shouldn’t have worried. As they moved out of the changing room towards Jeremy it was as if a different Sherlock suddenly existed. The tension left the line of his shoulders, the snappy looking frown lines on his forehead smoothed out, and Sherlock even walked differently.
“Good morning Jeremy,” Sherlock said, shaking the trainer’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
John nodded at Jeremy and shook his hand but didn’t add anything to the greeting as he was busy trying to keep his irritation with the temperamental detective from causing him to bark at him in public while they were out on a case.
“I would like to say the same to you gentlemen, but instead I find I would rather beat the two of you into the pavement,” Jeremy replied in a dangerously calm tone, causing John to sharpen his focus on the man and the surrounding environment, fighting down the need to step between Sherlock and the man who had just defined himself as a threat. “I would’ve appreciated you telling me that you are investigating the disappearance of my friends,” Jeremy bit out in frigid tone.
“And what led you to reach this conclusion?” Sherlock inquired before John could get his mouth open to deny the accusation.
“I have to admit that it took me a while but once I calmed down it was easy to see that you had been pushing me for information when you were here on Thursday. A famous detective and his husband join a club, and request a trainer who just happens to have been friends with a couple that disappeared. Then when they show up for their first training run, the detective conveniently brings a supposedly random getting-to-know-you conversation around to my friends who have disappeared, one of whom is under suspicion for murder. Really wasn’t all that difficult of a conclusion to make,” Jeremy finished in an irritated voice.
Sherlock looked at the man for a long moment while John shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot all the while, keeping a close eye on Jeremy to make sure the man wasn’t going to become more aggressive. Sherlock finally responded, “You are correct. I am looking into your friends’ disappearance.”
“And why didn’t you just tell me that?”
“I believed that I could receive more accurate and complete information if you did not know I was researching your friends’ case. Additionally I feared that you would might mention my interest in the case to other people and thus possibly tip off the real criminal,” Sherlock expounded, giving the trainer a hard look.
“You honestly thought I would lie if I knew you were researching their disappearance?” Jeremy asked, sounding offended.
“Perhaps not intentionally, but it is not uncommon for people to conceal information they consider damaging from investigators,” Sherlock answered, continuing to watch the trainer closely.
Jeremy stood there just staring at the both of them, obviously trying to decide how to take that statement, when John stepped in. “Sherlock doesn’t mean that as an accusation, Mr. Walsh. He is just stating a fact. Many people try, rightly or wrongly, to cover up details of their or their friends’ lives when they are being investigated by the police because they worry that those details will make the wrong person look guilty. Sherlock solves cases using tiny details, so getting accurate information is highly important to him, especially in a case as cold as your friends’,” John finished, trying to calm the man down so that the trainer might listen to reason.
Jeremy turned his glare at John, before actually taking in his words and nodding abruptly. “So what do you need to know?”
“I know that you weren’t having an affair with either Pamela or Derek, but are you aware if either of them was currently having or previously had an affair?” Sherlock asked immediately, never one to miss an opportunity.
“No,” Jeremy ground out, “neither of them was having an affair. I thought you were supposed to be a genius. Didn’t you hear me tell you last time that they were trying to adopt?”
“Adoption does not necessarily preclude an affair, but your body language indicates that despite your offense at my question, you clearly believe that neither one was currently having an affair at the time of their disappearance,” Sherlock responded. “How about in the past? Did either of them mention previous marital issues?”
Jeremy glared at Sherlock, but answered, “No. Neither Pam nor Derek mentioned a past affair or even previous problems between them.” Jeremy paused for a moment before adding in a slightly softer tone, “Derek did mention that an argument with his father is why they moved to London from Bishop’s Stortford and cut ties with his family. I don’t remember him ever mentioning any specifics of the fight.”
“And Pam’s family?” Sherlock pressed.
“I know Pam’s mother died when she was a child and her father died shortly after they were married. I only remember that because they were both very fond of him, and were sad that he wouldn’t get to see his adopted grandchildren,” Jeremy replied. “I don’t know if that’s any help.”
“Impossible to say at this juncture, but it is new data to create a more accurate representation of their lives,” Sherlock answered.
“I still don’t see why you couldn’t have just asked, it’s not like I wouldn’t have told you this information,” Jeremy countered.
John actually stepped in again to answer Jeremy’s accusation, assuming that Sherlock would just unintentionally rile the trainer back up, “We didn’t know how involved you were with the Ashdowns when we first met you. Until Sherlock had a chance to interview you we couldn’t be sure that you weren’t having an affair with one of them. Additionally, even though Sherlock considered it highly unlikely, there was always a remote possibility that you were involved in Derek and Pam’s disappearance.”
Jeremy just huffed in irritation at this statement but didn’t actually reply, so John continued. “I know you are annoyed with us Jeremy, and I do understand, but it is important that you don’t tell anyone Sherlock is investigating your friends’ case. Other people knowing that Sherlock is investigating may alert the actual criminal.”
Jeremy continued to scowl at both Sherlock and John, obviously highly upset, before apparently coming to a decision and responding, “Fine, I won’t say anything as long as you ask any questions directly rather than attempt to hoodwink me to get any more information you might need. Deal?”
“Acceptable,” Sherlock said. “I am aware that you informed DI Morton when asked that neither Pam nor Derek mentioned any threats or appeared nervous about their safety, I am curious however if the passage of time has caused you to change your opinion?”
Jeremy actually paused to consider the question before replying, “No, they seemed pretty open and honest, I never saw them looking over their shoulders or hesitant to answer questions about their activities. Pam was always volunteering what they were up to and I would think if they were worried about someone, they would start with being more discrete about day to day plans and would be less social and outgoing.”
“Theoretically yes, that would appear to indicate that they were not feeling threatened, supposing they were not so foolish as to fail to choose a logical response to a known threat,” Sherlock responded, John rolled his eyes at this response. Sherlock never was able to understand that absolute truth and unadorned logic wasn’t always the correct emotional response when someone was angry.
Jeremy practically growled at this response, “God you are an utter bastard aren’t you. My friends were not rash and Derek was highly protective of Pam. If there was a threat to her, he would have done whatever was necessary to protect her.”
“Of course he would have, any good husband would, and from what you have said Derek was a very good husband,” John said hastily. Jeremy looked at him closely before nodding sharply, John continuing quickly before he lost the trainer’s sympathy, “I’m sorry Jeremy. I know that you probably would prefer not to deal with us anymore but we need you to keep training us. Sherlock has some leads, but if the man realizes Sherlock is onto him he may disappear. We can’t risk breaking our cover. Will you continue to help us for Pam and Derek’s sake?”
“For Pam and Derek,” the trainer confirmed. “Any more questions, Mr. Consulting Detective?”
Sherlock shook his head in response, and Jeremy went on, “In that case, let’s get with it. You have a warm up session to complete. Then I want to take the two of you on a two-mile run, followed by a cool down session. Once you have finished recovering from the run, I am going to have both of you work with me on developing a strength training program for yourselves, it’s important to keep the body balanced.” Jeremy paused for a moment before finishing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I’m guessing you aren’t even going to be competing in a marathon are you?”
John said apologetically, “No. I’m sorry, we needed a reason to meet with you. If it’s of any consolation, we both do a lot of running around the city after criminals, so it will likely be good for us to work with an actual trainer and pick up some tips.”
Jeremy barked out an exasperated laugh. “Well at least the training won’t be a complete waste of time. Alright we might as well get this farce on the road.” And with that the trainer abruptly turned away and strode further into the YMCA.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
That evening found John groaning as he stood in a steaming hot shower, allowing the hot water to cascade down his stiff back. Jeremy had given them a rather extensive work out during the morning session. John thought the man had actually pushed them a little harder than he would have normally as a punishment for their actions. Jeremy hadn’t done anything to put their health at risk or cause them injury, but this was the hardest John had worked out since leaving the military. John had been fine until they finished the run, but then Jeremy had worked with the two of them to develop an upper and lower body strength-training program. John had done extensive physical therapy on his left shoulder after recovering from surgery and had continued with a home exercise program to keep mobility in the shoulder, but he hadn’t worked it this hard ever.
John had noticed that he was slightly sore on their way home, but throughout the day the shoulder had continued to tighten up despite his repeated stretching exercises. John knew he hadn’t helped himself out by doing extensive computer research during the afternoon to assist Sherlock. The consulting genius was working to eliminate some of the employees, DJs and bands that worked at the clubs, but it was a slow, frustrating process. Eliminating suspects from the huge pool of possibilities meant proving that they weren’t available for one or more of the disappearances, which meant John spent hours online surfing social networking sites and nightclub websites, trying to confirm locations, work and travel history. John thought it was both fortunate and frightening how much he was able to find online for complete strangers. He didn’t even want to know what kind of sites Sherlock was hacking into to determine other people’s alibies. John was pretty sure Sherlock was using another of Mycroft’s all access passes to check passport travel, and lord knew what else.
One of the difficulties lay in the fact that none of the three couples who had attended the nightclubs had an exact disappearance time. They all been given a 48-72 hour window in which they were taken according to the police, and even Sherlock hadn’t been able to narrow down the time any more than that, which made eliminating suspects difficult. Two of the other couples, Police Constable Davidson and his wife, as well as the first couple, the Turpin’s, had disappeared in twelve hour windows, so Sherlock was able to use those cases to eliminate some of the employees, but lack of specifics in the disappearances was rapidly irritating both the detective and his blogger, as it massively increased their workload.
John sighed as the water continued to flow across his shoulders, the heat soaking in and soothing sore muscles and joints. The day hadn't been made any easier by the intrepid Ms. Riley. Her article had spurned the gutter press, which had been thankfully absent since shortly after Sherlock's return, to reappear outside Mrs. Hudson's door again, looking for another headline. They had exited the taxi at 221 Baker Street after returning from the YMCA into a crowd of screaming reporters and flashbulbs, all of them asking rude questions. John had led the way, as the two had pushed their way through the crowd in their attempt to reach the safety of the flat, when Sherlock's rude, random deductions about people had surprisingly helped instead of hindered a situation for once.
A twenty-something year old photographer had been standing directly in front of the door to 221, his camera flash going off directly and repeatedly in John's face and refusing to move until Sherlock announced rather loudly that he thought it was a fascinating comment on human behavior that the man was sleeping with both the thirty-something female reporter to his left, and the young male photographer that Sherlock pointed out further back in the crowd. The observation caused the rest of the reporters in the crowd to start shouting out for Sherlock to explain his deduction, and rudely inquiring of the three if it was the truth. The two photographers and the reporter took off in three different directions, taking a significant portion of the crowd with them, finally allowing John and Sherlock to escape behind their door.
Now late in the evening after managing to feed Sherlock his second meal of a workout day, John was standing in the shower, wondering how much help he was going to be to Sherlock if this case suddenly got dangerous. His shoulder was frozen up and flash fires of pain and numbness were running down his arm. Eventually John climbed out of the shower, dried off and pulled on his briefs and pajama bottoms. He groaned in pain at the thought of pulling on his top or his dressing gown. Instead John downed a couple of paracetamol with some water, grabbed his wintergreen muscle cream and headed out into the sitting room.
Sherlock was playing a soft tune on the violin as he stared contemplatively into the fire. John groaned as he dropped into his chair, causing Sherlock’s head to snap around and focus on him, Sherlock’s eye’s narrowing as he scrutinized John’s posture.
“Shoulder’s just a little sore, Sherlock,” John said, preempting the quiz about how John had injured himself as Sherlock lowered his bow. John squirted some of the wintergreen cream onto his right palm and reached over and started to one handed massage the cream into his left shoulder and neck, sighing and closing his eyes as the cream heated and soothed the sore muscles. John breathed in deeply, finding the wintergreen scent relaxing instead of offensive as many of his patients claimed.
John started halfway out of his chair when a warm pair of hands landed softy on his tense shoulder and started kneading. “Christ, Sherlock! What are you doing?” John yelped as he turned abruptly to the detective standing behind his chair, Sherlock’s hands falling off his shoulder as John twisted around to face the detective, his upper back objecting to the motion, making John wince.
“I would have thought that was obvious, John,” Sherlock replied, “Your shoulder has stiffened up from the unaccustomed strength training, not to mention the tension caused by our unexpected encounter with the reporters this morning. Unless you have additional limbs of which I am unaware, you are unable to adequately massage your shoulder and neck to loosen the joint. Now without a good massage, I have no doubt that your shoulder will be considerably worse in the morning. The amount of pain you are currently in and the decreased mobility in your shoulder joint means that you would be unable to handle a fight, much less properly shoot your gun if either was required. Additionally the pain and stiffness in your shoulder would interfere with your ability to work tomorrow, which would lead to irritability on your part, which may further hinder your ability or willingness to help with the work. Now may I be allowed to continue or are you going to carry on being a stereotypically difficult doctor?” Sherlock finished, clearly exasperated at having to explain himself.
John closed his eyes in frustration, unable to debate Sherlock’s logic with the throbbing pain and spasms in his shoulder. John nodded as he settled back into his chair, giving his unvoiced consent to the massage, the pain overriding his concerns about his response to such personal contact with Sherlock, and convincing him to give in to his flatmate’s reasoning. Sherlock reached over his good shoulder and snagged the wintergreen cream and a brief moment later, warm fingertips were gently messaging tense muscles, working over knots, the cream continuing to warm the skin. John relaxed back into the chair as the pain in his shoulder slowly eased, groaning when Sherlock would hit a particularly tense area.
“So what’s the plan for the next several days?” John inquired after a while as he continued to relax into the massage, the muscle spasms decreasing.
“Tomorrow morning we are going to go met DI Gregson,” Sherlock answered as his hands slid from John’s shoulder to his neck, which John allowed to loll forward as Sherlock’s fingers continued to apply pressure to exactly the right points.
“Gregson?” John asked, groaning softly again as Sherlock focused on a particularly tight knot at the base of his neck. “I don’t think I know him. How is he related to this case, or did he invite you in on a different case?”
“He was the DI in charge of PC Davidson’s case. I am hoping to gather more information than is listed in the report,” Sherlock answered, his hands now working the muscles on either side of John’s neck. “The case notes seem relatively extensive compared to the other cases we are investigating, presumably due to the fact that Davidson was a PC, but DI’s often have impressions about cases that they do not necessarily mention in the official records.”
“Okay. Anything we are going to do in the evening? You remember I have a four hour shift of locum work for Sarah tomorrow afternoon, right?”
“Yes, John,” Sherlock responded and John could practically hear the eye roll. “As for the evening, I have no specific plans for Monday, although Tuesday afternoon we are going to the bowling alley that Mr. Williams’ daughter routinely visited. It is too obvious to join one of the teams so soon after their disappearance, but I believe I can extrapolate some data just by visiting the venue. I have done some online research, and learned the rules of the game and some of the basic principles. We can rent a lane and use some of the alley’s balls, so that you can pretend to give me lessons while I observe,” Sherlock concluded, his fingers now massaging John’s upper spine.
John nodded bonelessly, as he allowed Sherlock to continue to knead the rapidly relaxing muscles. As Sherlock’s hands moved back up to John’s left shoulder, John felt them stop and one finger stroke around where John knew the small entry wound existed on his upper back.
“Were you kneeling to tend to a patient, or were you investigating something on the ground when the sniper shot you?” Sherlock asked almost inaudibly.
John didn’t even ask how Sherlock figured out that John was kneeling when he was shot. He figured the locations of the entry wound on his upper left shoulder, and the much larger exit wound on his chest, were probably a pretty easy mathematical calculation for the detective. John didn’t often move around the cool flat with the scars exposed, but it was far from the first time they had been visible to the detective. John was actually surprised that Sherlock had never asked about the injury before, or that he hadn’t just stolen his service file and read the details for himself.
“I am surprised you haven’t already read my service file,” John admitted, avoiding the question for a moment, not really wanting to talk about Afghanistan or the injury that had so dramatically altered his life. When Sherlock didn’t say anything, just continued to stand behind him with one fingertip just touching the entry wound, John finally answered, deciding to get it over with. “Kneeling over a patient, behind what we thought was good cover. Unfortunately there was a sniper behind us, along with the insurgents in front of us. The insurgents had actually set a pretty smart trap. They exploded an IED driving us back towards a fallen wall, and then a few of them laid down covering fire, forcing us behind the wall and right into the sniper’s line of sight. Unfortunately for the insurgents we had a sniper of our own, and he was able to find real cover and spot the insurgents’ hide. It took a couple of shots but he got the insurgent’s sniper.”
John took a deep breath, feeling the remembered pain bringing some tension back into his shoulder, before Sherlock’s hands started up the massage again, probably in response to his body language. John allowed the silence in the flat to continue for a moment before finishing the story, “I wasn’t the only one wounded, so I talked Murray through applying bandages and medicating the rest of the wounded. That’s actually the last thing I remember from that day, I was talking Murray through putting a wrap on my lieutenant’s leg, the IED had driven a huge chunk of shrapnel through his thigh, and I had to get Murray to help me one-handed tie off the femoral vein. I learned much later I stopped him from bleeding out but I passed out before I could clean out the wound properly, and the man developed gangrene forcing his surgeons to amputate his leg. The next thing I was aware of was twenty-four hours later and I was in the field hospital, and the surgeon was explaining what he had done to correct the damage to my shoulder, and when I was expected to be shipped back to England.”
John sat in the chair unwilling to turn around to see Sherlock’s response to his history, unsure how the consulting genius would process the information. After a moment when Sherlock still hadn’t said anything, John started talking out of desperation to change the topic. “So what kind of case were you on that caused you to learn how to give a massage? I can’t imagine how else you would learn such a skill.”
John was surprised when Sherlock didn’t answer immediately; he usually loved to show off both how he solved cases and how he had obtained odd skills. After a while Sherlock replied, “I fear John that as much as your powers of deduction have improved, in this case you are rather off base. Mummy had issues one summer with slipped discs when I was a teenager and routine massage relieved her symptoms most effectively. Mycroft was away at university and father was overseas, therefore I felt that it was my obligation to find a way to provide Mummy some relief when she was unable to visit the masseuse. I arranged for lessons with the masseuse, the techniques were relatively simple to learn and Mummy appreciated the gesture, which of course galled Mycroft,” Sherlock finished, his voice slowly changing from subdued to very subtly warmth. John thought you would have to know Sherlock very well to notice the change in tone, but for Sherlock this was obviously a happy memory.
John smothered a smile, able to picture a slightly shorter, serious faced young Sherlock determined to help out his beloved mother. “Well if you ever get tired of the consulting detective business, my formerly locked up shoulder can attest to your abilities in massage therapy.”
Sherlock chuckled softly, gave one final rub to John’s now thoroughly relaxed shoulder muscles, before moving around John’s chair and settling back in his own. “I will keep that in mind, John, although I suspect others might find you slightly biased as you are my husband.”
John joined Sherlock in his laughter, before standing and stretching, now nicely exhausted. “So DI Gregson in the morning. I am guessing he is not at New Scotland Yard headquarters if I haven’t met him before, so where are we meeting him?”
“Actually he works out of the City of Westminster station house, as did PC Davidson prior to his disappearance,” Sherlock answered.
“Alright then, see you in the morning,” John said as he moved towards the hallway.
“John,” Sherlock said softly behind him.
“Hmmm…?” John questioned as he turned partially to look at his flatmate-come-husband.
"You earned that medal that you keep hidden," Sherlock said softly. "Your fellow soldiers would be hurt that you consider your actions that day as something that needs to be kept concealed."
John froze as Sherlock's words surprised him, both the sentiment and the fact that Sherlock had found the medal he despised, although John supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Sherlock had gone looking for it. Bill had mentioned it on John's blog shortly after the Pink case and Sherlock always hated not knowing every detail. John's brain eventually unfroze and he replied, "Medals are for heroes, Sherlock, not surgeons who passed out in the middle of doing their job."
Sherlock frowned at John's reply, "Your scar would indicate that there was a high likelihood you should not have survived that injury. Yet in spite of what had to be mind numbing pain, blood loss, and terror at the possibility your own death, you managed to stay focused, and talk a fellow solider through triage treatments that saved others' lives and limbs. I believe that fits the normal definition for heroic behavior."
John swallowed around the lump in his throat, “I thought heroes didn’t exist.”
"They don't, but I must admit that I have learned that heroic actions do occur and some of those action merit some form of recognition," Sherlock said, smiling slightly. "Just something for you to mull over in your funny little brain. Good night John," Sherlock finished as he placed his violin in his lap and started to strum contemplatively.
John didn’t know how to respond to this, unable to believe that his actions that day were worthy of the medal he had received, but unwilling to talk about that day any more with his flatmate. John finally just nodded slowly, before turning and moving up to his bedroom. As he settled into bed, his nicely relaxed shoulder and back making no protest at any of his movements, a small odd sliver of warmth started curling in his gut from Sherlock’s words and John smiled as he closed his eyes and drifted away.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
FanFiction Writer Notes: To any readers who don't know about snipers the term "hide" refers to a covered and concealed position from which a sniper (and his team) can conduct surveillance and/or fire at targets. A good hide conceals and camouflages the sniper effectively, provides cover from enemy fire and allows a wide view of the surrounding area. So in my story the insurgent sniper had the less effective hide than the British Army Sniper.
I want to thank all my readers and reviews, who have been so supportive of my story efforts. I hope I can continue to meet your expectations and that you will continue to review and help me to improve with your constructive criticisms and support.
I want to give a shout out to my Beta Ivory Winter who had to put up with an insane amount of rewrites in this chapter.
Thanks,
Rairakku
First Previous Next