On a quick trip to the Tesco on the way home from work, John had no idea of just what was going on back at Baker Street, but ideas ran through his mind alongside his list of things to get. After their moment at the pool, John seemed more keen than ever to keep his eyes more open and observant than usual. It'd been too long, nearly a month now and no contact from Jim. It was as if he was waiting for them to let their guard down. John never would, but somehow he thought that wouldn't stop Jim.
Loaded up with basic necessities, including some well overdue tea, John returned to the flat to find it ... empty. This wasn't a completely unusual event, Sherlock deciding he needed to check on something or find the nearest hoodlum to catch because he was bored waiting for John to get back. He didn't think much of it.
Four hours passed and John was honestly beginning to worry. The need to know where Sherlock could be was grinding at him, knotting up a wonderful anxious ball in his stomach. No texts, he'd usually say something if he was gone
( ... )
Sherlock takes a long sip of tea, flicking his eyes over to John when he heard him stand with an exasperated sigh. He waits for the inevitable proclamation 'I need some air!' before John storms down the stairs, though it doesn't come. He tilts his head to meet John's gaze, not quite expecting that line of questioning, nor the pang of guilt he felt at his last sentence. This had certainly come out of nowhere, as Sherlock couldn't recall giving John any reason to suspect him. He hadn't lied to him yet, technically, but the mere fact that John already seemed to accept it as an inevitability that Sherlock would lie to him was off-putting. Not entirely inaccurate, but still. Most people would get the compulsion to be offended at the very idea that they would lie. But then, Sherlock wasn't most people. He took it in another direction, using the rationalization that John already thought he was hiding something, so he would think he was lying no matter what he said. The distrust was already there, out in the open, and it had done it's
( ... )
That wasn't the answer, nor the look John was expecting. No? The man furrowed his brow deeply and set his hands hard on his hips. Perhaps it was the way he said that last bit, he'd sent Sherlock on the defensive. That wasn't the right trail he wanted to go down. He had more, he was certain of it now from that reaction. The unblinking stare, the experiment was on. Yes, Sherlock had a certain air about him, even drugged he could see it
( ... )
Sherlock's lip twitched slightly in displeasure. John didn't trust him. Well, he had lied to him, but it seemed like John wouldn't have believed him regardless. Or maybe John was able to recognize the subtle changes in Sherlock that happened whenever he lied. It was too little for the average idiot to notice, but John spent too much time and energy trying to figure Sherlock out to not realize when he was lying
( ... )
Oh Lord, I never planned to leave ... John thought with a small twist in his chest. The proximity didn't bother him in the least, for some reason or another. It didn't matter, because Sherlock was there, right there, right in front of him, breathing on him. He wasn't laying curled up in a sweaty ball on the floor of the water closet. John blinked that image from his past away, his eyes glossed over for a moment before they were brought to his fist. When he focused on the familiar syringe fitted top of the bottle, John's chest caved in a touch
( ... )
Sherlock gave John a leveled gaze, unperturbed as he allowed the vial to be taken from him. There was a moment where he wanted to take it back, wrest the vial from him and lock himself in his room to take the next dose. He really didn't want to admit it to himself, but the looming threat of withdrawal had him terrified. He didn't make the move, and indeed didn't have the chance before John was heaving it against the wall and he felt the tensity leave his shoulders that he hadn't realized was there. The yearning had been like a physical weight that was lifted now that the temptation was alleviated
( ... )
Automatically answering that generic observation, John gave a curt not and a 'yeah' in response, still watching the shards of glass still stuck to the wall, the paint of the smiley face was beginning to run a touch
( ... )
Sherlock took a long drink of tea, eying John over the cup as he did so. John was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, it seemed, so it was hardly a surprise when he said he needed to get some rest. At the question, Sherlock mulled it over for a moment. He honestly had no idea. He'd done some desperate and crazy things to get his fix the last time, and he didn't want to go through that again. He could tell by the clamminess of his hands around the by now lukewarm tea that the chills and desperation of detoxing wasn't far off, and would likely get bad enough for Sherlock to do something crazy before John woke up. He doesn't answer, instead setting his tea down and standing to consider John
( ... )
The out of the blue question threw John for a loop, wondering how Sherlock figured that out about him. John blinked a few times as he started this random chain of thoughts before it started to dawn on him what he was saying. His brain wasn't quite up to the task of saying anything to stop it
( ... )
Sherlock caught the bemused look on John's face as he rattled off his plan, the way he was ten steps ahead of him never failing to give him a smug sense of satisfaction. He could almost hear John's brain working as it strained to comprehend what he was trying to say. He stood to the side of the door and watched him expectantly, wondering if he was going to protest this at all. He raised his eyebrows as he spoke in a 'yes, go on' expression, finally dissolving into a smirk when he couldn't quite articulate an answer
( ... )
It was the drugs. It was the drugs, and your exhaustion John. The Doctor barely moved past the threshold as he watched Sherlock peer around his room. He suddenly felt a little wary at the way those deductive eyes were passing over his few things. It was as if he was letting Sherlock see him naked, and that didn't really make him feel any better right now
( ... )
Sherlock watched in idle interest as John got dressed, his curiosity piqued a bit when he saw the scar on his shoulder when he removed hi shirt. He had always wanted to see it since he found out it was there, and the little glimpse he got of it wasn't enough. He almost wanted to ask him to leave his shirt off so he could get a proper look at it, but refrained, thinking that would fall under the 'not good' category
( ... )
It seemed to take a good deal longer to fall asleep than he thought. When John was this exhausted, sleep should come easily. But the eyes at the back of his head seemed to keep him from really drifting off. Eventually, John turns over and looks at Sherlock, the detective just expectantly staring at him. It was more than a little unnerving to see that rather than just think he felt eyes on him.
"What, d'you ... need another blanket?" John shifted a tiny bit more. Sherlock shifted as well, closer even and started to unravel the blanket between them. John gave up on modesty then and noticed the slight shivers. Trying to blink a bit of the sleep from his eyes, he shifted to face him and press the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead. He was cold to the touch. John finally took pity.
Flinging his blanket up, he invited Sherlock closer to share his warmth. But this was temporary. Very, very temporary. Extremely. One time only.
Sherlock just waited and watched John's back, wondering idly just how long it would take him to drift off. He blinks in vague surprise when he turns to face him, unsure of what was keeping him from his sleep, considering how tired he seemed when he mentioned the need for a nap. He shrugs when asked if he needed a blanket, subtly edging closer when John moved a bit. There's a soft exhale when John touches his forehead, not realizing how cold he was nor how warm John was until that moment. He shivered once again when a chill hit him, somewhat worried by the fact that he didn't have to wonder how much worse the chills would get, considering he'd been through this once already
( ... )
John was shocked at how fast Sherlock melted against him. Much like a cat finding the best way to nest against you, John felt the man just settle into the perfect little spot against his side. John was used to sleeping on his back, the extra weight of Sherlock's head on his shoulder didn't bother him yet, and it most likely wouldn't. Because he didn't want to lose this. It was incredible.
John reached his free hand towards the one on his chest, grasping it and offering a light squeeze to it before letting it settle again against his chest. His fingers slid away and John turned then to switch off the light. The dark made his eyelids extremely heavy and he found himself drifting off rather quickly just then. He tilted his head just enough to feel his brunet curls against his lips again.
Sherlock's eyelids flickered when he felt John's hand on his, a sleepy smile gracing his face as he gave his hand a gentle squeeze back. He was distantly surprised by just how easy this was. He had never been so close to someone, and it was strange just how natural it felt, like he somehow instinctively knew exactly what to do despite how completely foreign this situation was. He was still surprised that he had ended up here, but then in this moment he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. It was going to be decidedly more difficult to sleep in his own bed, that was for certain. He could already feel his eyelids pulling themselves closed again right away as he settled against him. This was the quickest he'd fallen asleep in recent memory, possibly ever. How was his own bed supposed to compare after this? Barely moments after the light was out, he was too.
Loaded up with basic necessities, including some well overdue tea, John returned to the flat to find it ... empty. This wasn't a completely unusual event, Sherlock deciding he needed to check on something or find the nearest hoodlum to catch because he was bored waiting for John to get back. He didn't think much of it.
Four hours passed and John was honestly beginning to worry. The need to know where Sherlock could be was grinding at him, knotting up a wonderful anxious ball in his stomach. No texts, he'd usually say something if he was gone ( ... )
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"What, d'you ... need another blanket?" John shifted a tiny bit more. Sherlock shifted as well, closer even and started to unravel the blanket between them. John gave up on modesty then and noticed the slight shivers. Trying to blink a bit of the sleep from his eyes, he shifted to face him and press the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead. He was cold to the touch. John finally took pity.
Flinging his blanket up, he invited Sherlock closer to share his warmth. But this was temporary. Very, very temporary. Extremely. One time only.
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John reached his free hand towards the one on his chest, grasping it and offering a light squeeze to it before letting it settle again against his chest. His fingers slid away and John turned then to switch off the light. The dark made his eyelids extremely heavy and he found himself drifting off rather quickly just then. He tilted his head just enough to feel his brunet curls against his lips again.
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