Sherlock Fanfiction: If I Caught You
Title: If I Caught You
Author: Saki101
Genre: slash
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1100 words
Warning: AU, post The Reichenbach Fall
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock and no money is being made.
Author's notes: This is a continuation of The Other Experiments Series which forms an AU frame for the Experiments Series. If I Caught You follows after Fevers.
Excerpt: The sheet Sherlock had half-wrapped around himself wasn’t much whiter than his skin and his bones were prominent underneath both. The sheet slipped when he got up.
If I Caught You
“As far as any test we can run can verify, you’re clear, Sherlock,” Mike said. He handed the sheaf of papers to Sherlock.
“Blood serum, bone marrow, skin, saliva, urine…” Sherlock’s voice faded away, but his lips were still moving as his eyes moved laser-like over the pages. “Short of drugging him, I can’t see any way we could do the same with John right now,” he said, mostly to himself.
Mike waited, observing clinically as Sherlock sat reading on the edge of the examination table. The sheet Sherlock had half-wrapped around himself wasn’t much whiter than his skin and his bones were prominent underneath both. The sheet slipped when he got up. Sherlock let it fall to the floor, continued reading as he walked to the lab table. “Let me look at the blood slides again,” Sherlock said, holding out his hand.
Mike snatched a clean sheet from the supply cupboard and draped it over Sherlock’s shoulders before selecting a slide from the tray by Sherlock’s elbow and fitting it on the platform.
“You need to eat something now,” Mike said.
Sherlock appeared not to hear. He extended his hand again, motioning faintly with his fingers. “There’s one test we haven’t run yet,” he said, leaning back as Mike changed slides.
“Oh? What?” Mike asked and then it occurred to him. He glanced at Sherlock.
“If you bring me breakfast in forty-five minutes, I’ll eat it,” Sherlock said, looking at Mike and smiling that smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Mike straightened. “I’ll call when I’m on my way back ,” he said.
“No need,” Sherlock replied. He stretched across the lab table and dragged the box of slides marked with a “J” towards him. The jersey had had a wealth of biological material in its fibres, most of it John’s. “Forty-five minutes will be fine.”
Mike nodded and left. The laboratory door locked behind him. Sherlock didn’t look up.
****************
The air felt cold on John's face. He rolled onto his stomach, nestled further and further under the covers, his cheek grateful for the warmth of the sheets. He took deeper breaths. It was sweeter beneath the blankets. He needed to get closer.
The emotion became clearer with each word Sherlock said. John needed to get closer, but Sherlock asked him to stay.
“Oh, God.” John saw Sherlock outlined against the sky.
John drew more air into his lungs, adrenalin washing through his system, muscles ready to act. He clutched the sheets, drew one knee up.
Sherlock’s voice was at his ear, flooding his mind. His words said to stay away and his voice cried for help. This time John was going to run.
As Sherlock’s feet left the ledge, John’s left the pavement, skimming over the road. Nothing would stop him this time. He would be there.
He was there. In Sherlock’s shadow. John looked up and opened his arms.
The pain exploded like a nova through John’s body, brilliant, blinding, obliterating. The impact drove him through the pavement into the earth. It was soft, newly dug. It extinguished the light. In the cool dark beneath the soil, the pain sang to John, its voice like the high, sharp notes of Sherlock's violin. It reverberated along John’s bones. But Sherlock, Sherlock was safe in John’s arms and John was happy.
The harshness of John’s cry didn’t wake him or the wet sheets beneath his face and groin. His fingers unclenched and his breathing slowed and the pain faded.
John slept past noon.
***********
Mike rapped sharply on the door before he keyed in the code under the biohazard sign. He picked up the food trays from the cabinet by the door and pushed the door open with his foot.
Sherlock lifted his eyes from the microscope and smiled at Mike. It almost halted Mike in his tracks. A real smile. “Right on time, Mike,” Sherlock said and reached out to lift the top tray from Mike’s precarious stack. Mike set his tray down and studied Sherlock. He had the sheet tucked about himself in some life-sized origami-like configuration partway between a toga and a sari. Sherlock reached for one of the bundles of plastic cutlery on Mike’s tray and began to unwrap it. “It would appear that John’s neutrophils are as deadly as he can be,” Sherlock said.
“Final test results satisfactory, I take it,” Mike asked, ripping a sugar packet open and pouring its contents into his coffee.
Sherlock smiled around a mouthful of toast and nodded. He took a sip of coffee and swallowed before adding, “If only we could get a sample from John.”
Mike speared a sausage without taking his eyes completely off Sherlock who appeared to be considering exactly how to do that. “Without drugs,” Mike said.
Sherlock’s fingers drummed gently on the countertop as he lifted a fried mushroom towards his mouth. “Preferably,” he replied with a wave of his fork.
***********
When Mike gathered up the detritus of their meal and left for his afternoon class by way of the main door to the laboratory, Sherlock exited via the spiral staircase behind the glassware cupboard in the supply room. He could have gone down to the morgue from there, up to the library or all the way to the roof. Sherlock chose up, pulling the sheet over his arm so as not to trip on the metal grillwork of the stairs. His smile was gone, the endorphins dissipating already. The solitary release had served its function and provided a sample to test. The chemical boost had been a bonus. He told himself he could live without that until he had John back. Sherlock sighed noisily as he shut the bookcase behind him and went to his computer. He needed to access the Yard’s records and see how much progress Lestrade had made tracking the other two assassins. It had been fairly good work their nabbing the one at Gatwick as quickly as they had. Well, good for them.
Sherlock swivelled in the desk chair while the computer started up far too slowly. He made a mental note to upgrade Bart's system soon, it really was extremely irritating to have to wait so long just because of the extra security features he had installed. Eventually, he logged into the Yard's network using the chief superintendent’s details, which seemed only fitting, and waited for their database to churn. He considered upgrading their system as well.
While he stared at the sluggish progress on the monitor, Sherlock whistled the violin part of a certain string quartet. He tapped his steepled fingers against his chin in time to the music and tried not to think of where he had found John's DNA spliced into his own because he couldn't whistle when he smiled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The music Sherlock played for John the evening they returned from Dartmoor, may he listened to here.)
The next part of the series, Original Research, may be read here.
Author: Saki101
Genre: slash
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1100 words
Warning: AU, post The Reichenbach Fall
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock and no money is being made.
Author's notes: This is a continuation of The Other Experiments Series which forms an AU frame for the Experiments Series. If I Caught You follows after Fevers.
Excerpt: The sheet Sherlock had half-wrapped around himself wasn’t much whiter than his skin and his bones were prominent underneath both. The sheet slipped when he got up.
If I Caught You
“As far as any test we can run can verify, you’re clear, Sherlock,” Mike said. He handed the sheaf of papers to Sherlock.
“Blood serum, bone marrow, skin, saliva, urine…” Sherlock’s voice faded away, but his lips were still moving as his eyes moved laser-like over the pages. “Short of drugging him, I can’t see any way we could do the same with John right now,” he said, mostly to himself.
Mike waited, observing clinically as Sherlock sat reading on the edge of the examination table. The sheet Sherlock had half-wrapped around himself wasn’t much whiter than his skin and his bones were prominent underneath both. The sheet slipped when he got up. Sherlock let it fall to the floor, continued reading as he walked to the lab table. “Let me look at the blood slides again,” Sherlock said, holding out his hand.
Mike snatched a clean sheet from the supply cupboard and draped it over Sherlock’s shoulders before selecting a slide from the tray by Sherlock’s elbow and fitting it on the platform.
“You need to eat something now,” Mike said.
Sherlock appeared not to hear. He extended his hand again, motioning faintly with his fingers. “There’s one test we haven’t run yet,” he said, leaning back as Mike changed slides.
“Oh? What?” Mike asked and then it occurred to him. He glanced at Sherlock.
“If you bring me breakfast in forty-five minutes, I’ll eat it,” Sherlock said, looking at Mike and smiling that smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Mike straightened. “I’ll call when I’m on my way back ,” he said.
“No need,” Sherlock replied. He stretched across the lab table and dragged the box of slides marked with a “J” towards him. The jersey had had a wealth of biological material in its fibres, most of it John’s. “Forty-five minutes will be fine.”
Mike nodded and left. The laboratory door locked behind him. Sherlock didn’t look up.
****************
The air felt cold on John's face. He rolled onto his stomach, nestled further and further under the covers, his cheek grateful for the warmth of the sheets. He took deeper breaths. It was sweeter beneath the blankets. He needed to get closer.
The emotion became clearer with each word Sherlock said. John needed to get closer, but Sherlock asked him to stay.
“Oh, God.” John saw Sherlock outlined against the sky.
John drew more air into his lungs, adrenalin washing through his system, muscles ready to act. He clutched the sheets, drew one knee up.
Sherlock’s voice was at his ear, flooding his mind. His words said to stay away and his voice cried for help. This time John was going to run.
As Sherlock’s feet left the ledge, John’s left the pavement, skimming over the road. Nothing would stop him this time. He would be there.
He was there. In Sherlock’s shadow. John looked up and opened his arms.
The pain exploded like a nova through John’s body, brilliant, blinding, obliterating. The impact drove him through the pavement into the earth. It was soft, newly dug. It extinguished the light. In the cool dark beneath the soil, the pain sang to John, its voice like the high, sharp notes of Sherlock's violin. It reverberated along John’s bones. But Sherlock, Sherlock was safe in John’s arms and John was happy.
The harshness of John’s cry didn’t wake him or the wet sheets beneath his face and groin. His fingers unclenched and his breathing slowed and the pain faded.
John slept past noon.
***********
Mike rapped sharply on the door before he keyed in the code under the biohazard sign. He picked up the food trays from the cabinet by the door and pushed the door open with his foot.
Sherlock lifted his eyes from the microscope and smiled at Mike. It almost halted Mike in his tracks. A real smile. “Right on time, Mike,” Sherlock said and reached out to lift the top tray from Mike’s precarious stack. Mike set his tray down and studied Sherlock. He had the sheet tucked about himself in some life-sized origami-like configuration partway between a toga and a sari. Sherlock reached for one of the bundles of plastic cutlery on Mike’s tray and began to unwrap it. “It would appear that John’s neutrophils are as deadly as he can be,” Sherlock said.
“Final test results satisfactory, I take it,” Mike asked, ripping a sugar packet open and pouring its contents into his coffee.
Sherlock smiled around a mouthful of toast and nodded. He took a sip of coffee and swallowed before adding, “If only we could get a sample from John.”
Mike speared a sausage without taking his eyes completely off Sherlock who appeared to be considering exactly how to do that. “Without drugs,” Mike said.
Sherlock’s fingers drummed gently on the countertop as he lifted a fried mushroom towards his mouth. “Preferably,” he replied with a wave of his fork.
***********
When Mike gathered up the detritus of their meal and left for his afternoon class by way of the main door to the laboratory, Sherlock exited via the spiral staircase behind the glassware cupboard in the supply room. He could have gone down to the morgue from there, up to the library or all the way to the roof. Sherlock chose up, pulling the sheet over his arm so as not to trip on the metal grillwork of the stairs. His smile was gone, the endorphins dissipating already. The solitary release had served its function and provided a sample to test. The chemical boost had been a bonus. He told himself he could live without that until he had John back. Sherlock sighed noisily as he shut the bookcase behind him and went to his computer. He needed to access the Yard’s records and see how much progress Lestrade had made tracking the other two assassins. It had been fairly good work their nabbing the one at Gatwick as quickly as they had. Well, good for them.
Sherlock swivelled in the desk chair while the computer started up far too slowly. He made a mental note to upgrade Bart's system soon, it really was extremely irritating to have to wait so long just because of the extra security features he had installed. Eventually, he logged into the Yard's network using the chief superintendent’s details, which seemed only fitting, and waited for their database to churn. He considered upgrading their system as well.
While he stared at the sluggish progress on the monitor, Sherlock whistled the violin part of a certain string quartet. He tapped his steepled fingers against his chin in time to the music and tried not to think of where he had found John's DNA spliced into his own because he couldn't whistle when he smiled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The music Sherlock played for John the evening they returned from Dartmoor, may he listened to here.)
The next part of the series, Original Research, may be read here.