Fic: Without Words (1/2)
Title: Without Words (1/2)
Author: she_burns1
Word Count: 2,567
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence, vague sexy times
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: All of London is quiet thanks to a weapon that steals voices.
Disclaimers: I own nothing.
Author's Note: To no one's surprise, a Prompt on Sherlock BBC Kink Meme. Prompt was: Because it is my favorite episode of Buffy EVER ('Hush') - Sherlock and Co. lose the ability to speak. What happens?
John wakes up to a cold, grey morning.
He sighs and stretches in bed, happy to have this blissful moment of quiet. No telling what direction his day will go in. Ever since moving in with Sherlock, he's come to expect the unexpected.
He could go downstairs to find his flatmate lounging on the sofa, wallowing in the despair of boredom, or he could find him testing the tensile strength of piano wire. Anything goes, really.
John walks down the stairs, wincing at how cold the floor is against his bare feet, and, seeing Sherlock hunched over his microscope in the kitchen, says 'hello'.
Except there is no sound.
John frowns, tries again, this time with a 'hello, Sherlock'. Again, nothing. He rubs at both his ears. He stretches his jaw, moves his tongue about in his mouth, tries once more. Nothing.
He goes to Sherlock and taps him on the shoulder. Sherlock ignores him. He taps him again, harder this time. Still Sherlock ignores him. John uses both hands and just continues tip tapping repeatedly on his shoulder until Sherlock turns, face contorted in annoyance and snaps something John can't hear.
And, with mixed emotions, John recognizes that Sherlock can't hear it either.
Sherlock clears his throat soundlessly, tries again, head thoughtfully tilting to one side. John holds up both hands, eyes wide, a sort of 'now do you see?'. Sherlock opens his mouth but, before he can try speaking again, a knock rings out.
Being actual sound, both men go towards it, drawn like moths to flame. They open to see Mrs. Hudson, who is fanning herself and clutching her chest, she is talking, mouth moving, but neither one can hear and, it becomes clear, neither can Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock abandons both John and Mrs. Hudson, feet loudly pounding down the stairs, the front door banging open as he exits out onto the street. John, concerned with his landlady, helps her to a chair, and tries to be as consoling as possible.
He hears his mobile beep and picks it up, sees he has a new text message and swiftly reads:
Not just us. Entire street suffering same phenomenon. - SH
John doesn't know whether or not this is a good thing. He debates showing Mrs. Hudson his mobile, because she seems quite beside herself, her eyes watery. The choice is taken away from him as Sherlock dashes back into the flat and clicks on the television.
A breaking news story is blazing across the screen, subtitles at the bottom explaining that the entire London area has been effected by, what the media is currently dubbing, 'The Great Silence'.
Sherlock's posture becomes rigid.
Mrs. Hudson rubs at her forehead, moaning silently.
John just blinks.
Then, much to John and Mrs. Hudson's alarm, Sherlock begins clapping and jumping around. John shakes his head. Of course.
*
Text messaging is the new form of communication.
John grips his phone tightly, eyes already tired from reading so much. Sherlock sits next to him in the cab, happily typing away and honestly, John thinks he should have known better.
Once the shock wore off and he settled into the knowledge that he, nor anyone else, would be speaking for a while, he thought that Sherlock would somehow talk less. How wrong he was. Not being able to vocalize his thoughts and opinions did not deter the younger man in the least.
In fact, being able to simply write them out seems to bring him nothing less than the purest joy. John is beginning to wonder exactly how many text messages his phone can hold.
Sherlock keeps sending them rapid fire.
Not magic. Obviously. Science. But how? - SH
Was up all night - noticed no change. - SH
Can go days on end without speech, may be difficult for others, inherent psychology behind technology fascinating. - SH
Sherlock then begins to expound upon the kind of technology this must be and, truly, John doesn't comprehend a word of it. Oh, he can pick up on some of the things Sherlock tosses out - white noise, spectrogram, frequency, and so on - but the overall knowledge behind it baffles him.
He can't even begin to fathom how a single person could have created something that can cause this.
The Great Silence.
What a rubbish name for it.
John will certainly not be calling it that on his blog. Oh, he doesn't think of himself as an amazing writer or anything, but he is positive he can cook up a better title for this event than what the media has come up with.
Yes, thinking about his blog helps, thinking about anything that doesn't revolve around the abounding silence certainly helps. Because if he slows down to think about it, he is quite positive he'll end up just like Mrs. Hudson, hand over one heart, eyes wet, hysteria predominate.
The cab pulls to a stop and the driver turns, arms waving, one finger pointing forward, his face unhappy. John and Sherlock both look forward to see the driver can go no further, the road blocked with cars.
Sherlock nods sharply, pays the man, and exits the vehicle. John follows after him. They do their best to pick their way through the crowds on the street. The silence has brought on an overwhelming panic, people dashing wildly about like marbles loosened on a tile floor.
They manage to make their way to an area that the police have cordoned off. Sally stands by the rope, arms crossed, glaring daggers at them. Sherlock just raises his eyebrows and looks at the tape cutting off their path. She seethes, words not needed, as she raises it up so they can pass under.
Once under, Sherlock actually gives her a thumbs up, her returning hand gesture is no where near as kind. They walk over to find Lestrade standing next to an elaborate looking metal device.
John says 'bomb?' but of course nothing comes out.
Sherlock looks like a child on Christmas day, the object in front of him the toy he always longed for, as he begins fawning all over it.
Lestrade waves his hands at him, grips his shoulder and tries to pull him away, but Sherlock does his best to combat it, his curiosity too strong. Lestrade looks worried, probably afraid that, somehow, Sherlock will make this worse by tinkering with the very thing that may have caused this catastrophe.
John texts Lestrade, who finally leaves off Sherlock long enough to read it, his face perpetually grumpy.
This caused silence? -JW
Message we received suggested such, yes. - L
Message say anything else? - JW
No. Just gave this address. Barmy bit about 'silence is golden'. No clues - hence you lot. - L
John nods and looks at Sherlock, who seems very preoccupied with the ground beneath the object. John's first thought was 'bomb' but, looking at it now, he thinks it looks more like a lunar lander with its' four propped metal legs and its' overly intricate base.
Sherlock is just in the process of inspecting said base when a fleet of sleek, black cars roll close to their vicinity. John doesn't know how they got around the traffic or the tape, but out of each car spills a team of well dressed individuals, each one managing to cart off a member of the Yard as if it's child's play.
Lestrade is the only one who manages to brush them off - shouting at them even though there's no real point to it. John tries to get Sherlock's attention when suddenly there is a loud tap tapping noise and John knows immediately who it is.
Sherlock must know too, because he finally stops examining the base of the object, and turns to see Mycroft standing there, the tip of his umbrella still raised slightly off the pavement.
Sherlock glares balefully at him and Mycroft merely smiles, letting his umbrella tap against the ground once more before leaning against it, his hand dipping gracefully into his suit pocket to produce his mobile, which he tips from side to side in his hand.
Sherlock sighs deeply, pulls out his mobile, and looks to both John and Lestrade, who do the same. Mycroft types so swiftly, so smoothly, that it seems almost inhuman.
We'll take it from here. -MH
Who the bloody hell are you? - L
My brother. - SH
Oh god. There's more than one of you? - L
John chuckles and avoids the temptation to send everyone an emoticon of his amusement.
I'm afraid so, Inspector. Mummy was an amorous woman. - MH
Thanks for that. Taste of bile in my mouth revolting. - SH
You shouldn't begrudge our mother her passions. - MH
Don't know the woman, but about to be sick myself. Can we get to point? - L
This is a government matter, Mister Lestrade. As such, sorry to say we must usurp your authority and take over this investigation. - MH
MH? - L
Oh, dear, yes, I've forgotten, we've never been formally introduced. I am Mycroft Holmes. - MH
He's also a bloody great git. - SH
Most unbecoming. You should be as eloquent in your texts as in your speech. - MH
Considering you're taking over my investigation, I'm inclined to agree with him - L
Ladies, can we all behave, please? - JW
Voice of reason. Excellent, John! Again I see why my brother has become so attached - MH
Everyone pauses at this - Sherlock because he's glaring at Mycroft, Lestrade because now it's his turn to chuckle, and John because his mouth is flapping, tips of his ears turning pink.
Mycroft continues on, unperturbed by his remark.
Perpetrator of crime merely contacted local law enforcement to make this more difficult for all parties. Trivial position I hold requires I pave way for transition of power in these matters. - MH
Power transferring to you, naturally. - SH
Sherlock, you flatter me. I am merely a cog in the machine. - MH
Bullshit - L
Language, Inspector. - MH
I concur with Lestrade. - SH
Ah, unity. Fine front, but it will do you little good, issue is settled. Now, if you would be so kind... - MH
Mycroft lowers his mobile and waves a hand as Anthea walks over. Lestrade looks at her with some interest but is still visibly upset. Sherlock starts typing. Everyone peeks at their mobiles again.
Device in your possession first. Clearly stolen, ergo inside job. Advanced weapon. Top secret. You'll work through several pints of ice cream. Can recommend flavors. - SH
Cheeky. - MH
You forgot 'bastard' - JW
Humor is another of your fine traits, John. Sherlock, best not lose him. Can provide engagement ring if necessary. - MH
The text following this one is private - between only Sherlock and Mycroft - Sherlock appears to be gnashing his teeth while Mycroft merely laughs. The tips of John's ears have gone from pink to red. Lestrade seems to be conversing with Anthea without words, merely glances, and then, as covertly as possible, she passes him a slip of paper. He takes it, reads it, then grins.
She hold up her mobile and waves it at him, a seductive smile in place. John watches this exchange and mutely grouses.
*
Soil under weapon was mechanically aerated. - SH
John looks at his mobile and sighs, he's sitting rather comfortably in their flat and really doesn't feel like typing a response. He puts the mobile down and returns his attention to the paper he is reading.
He hears his phone beep and beep again. Finally Sherlock walks over, picks up the mobile and pats it against John's arm. John sighs, picks it up, and reads it.
Stop ignoring me. -SH
If I could speak, would express my surprise at how silence has made you more insufferable - JW
If I could speak, would do same - but would be for your lack of ambition. - SH
Your brother is handling it - JW
Never text me anything like that ever again. - SH
John rolls his eyes, rubs at his face and looks at Sherlock, who has his arms crossed and is pouting - pouting - at what John has sent. John doesn't know why, but he smiles as he types.
I'm sorry - JW
Sherlock doesn't respond at first. He looks at the message, clicks some buttons, and John gets the strangest impression that he's saving it. Which is funny, because, out of the two of them, it makes far more sense for John to save a message including an apology, rather than Sherlock.
Of course, he will never get the chance, because Sherlock never apologizes.
Sherlock has returned to texting him.
The soil is of a specific texture and composition. Nicked it from the weapon before ushered away. Could examine it again with better equipment but unnecessary. I know where it came from. - SH
So? - JW
Sherlock let out a frustrated breath, noisily mashing the buttons on his phone as he replied.
I know where the culprits are! - SH
Soil might have come from where we found weapon. - JW
Don't be absurd! Wouldn't have texted you in first place if that was true! - SH
John hesitated, then:
Don't think we should go - JW
Sherlock just stared at him. Finally:
You can't be serious. - SH
Sherlock, dangerous people. Terrorists. Stole classified weapon from government. Don't know motivations, arsenal, how many in party, etc - JW
Could be dangerous. Very dangerous. - SH
Not going to work - JW
Sherlock stamped his foot on the ground.
Why ever not? - SH
Don't want another Moriarty/Pool fiasco - JW
Survived that! - SH
Barely - JW
Barely survive all the time! Why should this be different? - SH
John pauses on this because, honestly, he has no idea why it should be different. He should be excited to go. Instead he feels sort of sick at the idea. There's something about the whole case that has him feeling on edge.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that they can't speak about it. Maybe if he could just hear Sherlock's voice again, he wouldn't be so apprehensive. He's surprised by how much he actually misses the man's voice. The deep timbre of it. So many times he's been angry with him, on the verge of telling him to just shut it and now...
He would give anything to hear one syllable.
Instead he hears his mobile beep again.
Case has nothing to do with murder but must be solved. - SH
You just want to know how weapon works - JW
Scientific curiosity is a factor. - SH
You want to show up your brother - JW
Not that petty. - SH
Exactly that petty - JW
Sherlock's lips twitch and John knows he's fighting off a smile. John lets out a heavy breath. If he ever wants to hear Sherlock's voice again, if he ever wants to hear his own, there is only one option available.
He doesn't even bother to text, instead rising to his feet, finding his coat and pulling it on slowly. The smile Sherlock has been fighting blooms in full force and he actually pumps his arm in triumph. John can't help but smile.
Part 2
Author: she_burns1
Word Count: 2,567
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, violence, vague sexy times
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: All of London is quiet thanks to a weapon that steals voices.
Disclaimers: I own nothing.
Author's Note: To no one's surprise, a Prompt on Sherlock BBC Kink Meme. Prompt was: Because it is my favorite episode of Buffy EVER ('Hush') - Sherlock and Co. lose the ability to speak. What happens?
John wakes up to a cold, grey morning.
He sighs and stretches in bed, happy to have this blissful moment of quiet. No telling what direction his day will go in. Ever since moving in with Sherlock, he's come to expect the unexpected.
He could go downstairs to find his flatmate lounging on the sofa, wallowing in the despair of boredom, or he could find him testing the tensile strength of piano wire. Anything goes, really.
John walks down the stairs, wincing at how cold the floor is against his bare feet, and, seeing Sherlock hunched over his microscope in the kitchen, says 'hello'.
Except there is no sound.
John frowns, tries again, this time with a 'hello, Sherlock'. Again, nothing. He rubs at both his ears. He stretches his jaw, moves his tongue about in his mouth, tries once more. Nothing.
He goes to Sherlock and taps him on the shoulder. Sherlock ignores him. He taps him again, harder this time. Still Sherlock ignores him. John uses both hands and just continues tip tapping repeatedly on his shoulder until Sherlock turns, face contorted in annoyance and snaps something John can't hear.
And, with mixed emotions, John recognizes that Sherlock can't hear it either.
Sherlock clears his throat soundlessly, tries again, head thoughtfully tilting to one side. John holds up both hands, eyes wide, a sort of 'now do you see?'. Sherlock opens his mouth but, before he can try speaking again, a knock rings out.
Being actual sound, both men go towards it, drawn like moths to flame. They open to see Mrs. Hudson, who is fanning herself and clutching her chest, she is talking, mouth moving, but neither one can hear and, it becomes clear, neither can Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock abandons both John and Mrs. Hudson, feet loudly pounding down the stairs, the front door banging open as he exits out onto the street. John, concerned with his landlady, helps her to a chair, and tries to be as consoling as possible.
He hears his mobile beep and picks it up, sees he has a new text message and swiftly reads:
Not just us. Entire street suffering same phenomenon. - SH
John doesn't know whether or not this is a good thing. He debates showing Mrs. Hudson his mobile, because she seems quite beside herself, her eyes watery. The choice is taken away from him as Sherlock dashes back into the flat and clicks on the television.
A breaking news story is blazing across the screen, subtitles at the bottom explaining that the entire London area has been effected by, what the media is currently dubbing, 'The Great Silence'.
Sherlock's posture becomes rigid.
Mrs. Hudson rubs at her forehead, moaning silently.
John just blinks.
Then, much to John and Mrs. Hudson's alarm, Sherlock begins clapping and jumping around. John shakes his head. Of course.
*
Text messaging is the new form of communication.
John grips his phone tightly, eyes already tired from reading so much. Sherlock sits next to him in the cab, happily typing away and honestly, John thinks he should have known better.
Once the shock wore off and he settled into the knowledge that he, nor anyone else, would be speaking for a while, he thought that Sherlock would somehow talk less. How wrong he was. Not being able to vocalize his thoughts and opinions did not deter the younger man in the least.
In fact, being able to simply write them out seems to bring him nothing less than the purest joy. John is beginning to wonder exactly how many text messages his phone can hold.
Sherlock keeps sending them rapid fire.
Not magic. Obviously. Science. But how? - SH
Was up all night - noticed no change. - SH
Can go days on end without speech, may be difficult for others, inherent psychology behind technology fascinating. - SH
Sherlock then begins to expound upon the kind of technology this must be and, truly, John doesn't comprehend a word of it. Oh, he can pick up on some of the things Sherlock tosses out - white noise, spectrogram, frequency, and so on - but the overall knowledge behind it baffles him.
He can't even begin to fathom how a single person could have created something that can cause this.
The Great Silence.
What a rubbish name for it.
John will certainly not be calling it that on his blog. Oh, he doesn't think of himself as an amazing writer or anything, but he is positive he can cook up a better title for this event than what the media has come up with.
Yes, thinking about his blog helps, thinking about anything that doesn't revolve around the abounding silence certainly helps. Because if he slows down to think about it, he is quite positive he'll end up just like Mrs. Hudson, hand over one heart, eyes wet, hysteria predominate.
The cab pulls to a stop and the driver turns, arms waving, one finger pointing forward, his face unhappy. John and Sherlock both look forward to see the driver can go no further, the road blocked with cars.
Sherlock nods sharply, pays the man, and exits the vehicle. John follows after him. They do their best to pick their way through the crowds on the street. The silence has brought on an overwhelming panic, people dashing wildly about like marbles loosened on a tile floor.
They manage to make their way to an area that the police have cordoned off. Sally stands by the rope, arms crossed, glaring daggers at them. Sherlock just raises his eyebrows and looks at the tape cutting off their path. She seethes, words not needed, as she raises it up so they can pass under.
Once under, Sherlock actually gives her a thumbs up, her returning hand gesture is no where near as kind. They walk over to find Lestrade standing next to an elaborate looking metal device.
John says 'bomb?' but of course nothing comes out.
Sherlock looks like a child on Christmas day, the object in front of him the toy he always longed for, as he begins fawning all over it.
Lestrade waves his hands at him, grips his shoulder and tries to pull him away, but Sherlock does his best to combat it, his curiosity too strong. Lestrade looks worried, probably afraid that, somehow, Sherlock will make this worse by tinkering with the very thing that may have caused this catastrophe.
John texts Lestrade, who finally leaves off Sherlock long enough to read it, his face perpetually grumpy.
This caused silence? -JW
Message we received suggested such, yes. - L
Message say anything else? - JW
No. Just gave this address. Barmy bit about 'silence is golden'. No clues - hence you lot. - L
John nods and looks at Sherlock, who seems very preoccupied with the ground beneath the object. John's first thought was 'bomb' but, looking at it now, he thinks it looks more like a lunar lander with its' four propped metal legs and its' overly intricate base.
Sherlock is just in the process of inspecting said base when a fleet of sleek, black cars roll close to their vicinity. John doesn't know how they got around the traffic or the tape, but out of each car spills a team of well dressed individuals, each one managing to cart off a member of the Yard as if it's child's play.
Lestrade is the only one who manages to brush them off - shouting at them even though there's no real point to it. John tries to get Sherlock's attention when suddenly there is a loud tap tapping noise and John knows immediately who it is.
Sherlock must know too, because he finally stops examining the base of the object, and turns to see Mycroft standing there, the tip of his umbrella still raised slightly off the pavement.
Sherlock glares balefully at him and Mycroft merely smiles, letting his umbrella tap against the ground once more before leaning against it, his hand dipping gracefully into his suit pocket to produce his mobile, which he tips from side to side in his hand.
Sherlock sighs deeply, pulls out his mobile, and looks to both John and Lestrade, who do the same. Mycroft types so swiftly, so smoothly, that it seems almost inhuman.
We'll take it from here. -MH
Who the bloody hell are you? - L
My brother. - SH
Oh god. There's more than one of you? - L
John chuckles and avoids the temptation to send everyone an emoticon of his amusement.
I'm afraid so, Inspector. Mummy was an amorous woman. - MH
Thanks for that. Taste of bile in my mouth revolting. - SH
You shouldn't begrudge our mother her passions. - MH
Don't know the woman, but about to be sick myself. Can we get to point? - L
This is a government matter, Mister Lestrade. As such, sorry to say we must usurp your authority and take over this investigation. - MH
MH? - L
Oh, dear, yes, I've forgotten, we've never been formally introduced. I am Mycroft Holmes. - MH
He's also a bloody great git. - SH
Most unbecoming. You should be as eloquent in your texts as in your speech. - MH
Considering you're taking over my investigation, I'm inclined to agree with him - L
Ladies, can we all behave, please? - JW
Voice of reason. Excellent, John! Again I see why my brother has become so attached - MH
Everyone pauses at this - Sherlock because he's glaring at Mycroft, Lestrade because now it's his turn to chuckle, and John because his mouth is flapping, tips of his ears turning pink.
Mycroft continues on, unperturbed by his remark.
Perpetrator of crime merely contacted local law enforcement to make this more difficult for all parties. Trivial position I hold requires I pave way for transition of power in these matters. - MH
Power transferring to you, naturally. - SH
Sherlock, you flatter me. I am merely a cog in the machine. - MH
Bullshit - L
Language, Inspector. - MH
I concur with Lestrade. - SH
Ah, unity. Fine front, but it will do you little good, issue is settled. Now, if you would be so kind... - MH
Mycroft lowers his mobile and waves a hand as Anthea walks over. Lestrade looks at her with some interest but is still visibly upset. Sherlock starts typing. Everyone peeks at their mobiles again.
Device in your possession first. Clearly stolen, ergo inside job. Advanced weapon. Top secret. You'll work through several pints of ice cream. Can recommend flavors. - SH
Cheeky. - MH
You forgot 'bastard' - JW
Humor is another of your fine traits, John. Sherlock, best not lose him. Can provide engagement ring if necessary. - MH
The text following this one is private - between only Sherlock and Mycroft - Sherlock appears to be gnashing his teeth while Mycroft merely laughs. The tips of John's ears have gone from pink to red. Lestrade seems to be conversing with Anthea without words, merely glances, and then, as covertly as possible, she passes him a slip of paper. He takes it, reads it, then grins.
She hold up her mobile and waves it at him, a seductive smile in place. John watches this exchange and mutely grouses.
*
Soil under weapon was mechanically aerated. - SH
John looks at his mobile and sighs, he's sitting rather comfortably in their flat and really doesn't feel like typing a response. He puts the mobile down and returns his attention to the paper he is reading.
He hears his phone beep and beep again. Finally Sherlock walks over, picks up the mobile and pats it against John's arm. John sighs, picks it up, and reads it.
Stop ignoring me. -SH
If I could speak, would express my surprise at how silence has made you more insufferable - JW
If I could speak, would do same - but would be for your lack of ambition. - SH
Your brother is handling it - JW
Never text me anything like that ever again. - SH
John rolls his eyes, rubs at his face and looks at Sherlock, who has his arms crossed and is pouting - pouting - at what John has sent. John doesn't know why, but he smiles as he types.
I'm sorry - JW
Sherlock doesn't respond at first. He looks at the message, clicks some buttons, and John gets the strangest impression that he's saving it. Which is funny, because, out of the two of them, it makes far more sense for John to save a message including an apology, rather than Sherlock.
Of course, he will never get the chance, because Sherlock never apologizes.
Sherlock has returned to texting him.
The soil is of a specific texture and composition. Nicked it from the weapon before ushered away. Could examine it again with better equipment but unnecessary. I know where it came from. - SH
So? - JW
Sherlock let out a frustrated breath, noisily mashing the buttons on his phone as he replied.
I know where the culprits are! - SH
Soil might have come from where we found weapon. - JW
Don't be absurd! Wouldn't have texted you in first place if that was true! - SH
John hesitated, then:
Don't think we should go - JW
Sherlock just stared at him. Finally:
You can't be serious. - SH
Sherlock, dangerous people. Terrorists. Stole classified weapon from government. Don't know motivations, arsenal, how many in party, etc - JW
Could be dangerous. Very dangerous. - SH
Not going to work - JW
Sherlock stamped his foot on the ground.
Why ever not? - SH
Don't want another Moriarty/Pool fiasco - JW
Survived that! - SH
Barely - JW
Barely survive all the time! Why should this be different? - SH
John pauses on this because, honestly, he has no idea why it should be different. He should be excited to go. Instead he feels sort of sick at the idea. There's something about the whole case that has him feeling on edge.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that they can't speak about it. Maybe if he could just hear Sherlock's voice again, he wouldn't be so apprehensive. He's surprised by how much he actually misses the man's voice. The deep timbre of it. So many times he's been angry with him, on the verge of telling him to just shut it and now...
He would give anything to hear one syllable.
Instead he hears his mobile beep again.
Case has nothing to do with murder but must be solved. - SH
You just want to know how weapon works - JW
Scientific curiosity is a factor. - SH
You want to show up your brother - JW
Not that petty. - SH
Exactly that petty - JW
Sherlock's lips twitch and John knows he's fighting off a smile. John lets out a heavy breath. If he ever wants to hear Sherlock's voice again, if he ever wants to hear his own, there is only one option available.
He doesn't even bother to text, instead rising to his feet, finding his coat and pulling it on slowly. The smile Sherlock has been fighting blooms in full force and he actually pumps his arm in triumph. John can't help but smile.
Part 2