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
( ... )
This wasn't suppose to feel good, but it did. Oh it certainly did. John was out like the light, breathing Sherlock's shampoo scent while he slept. It would be a miracle if they spoke of this moment tomorrow, John not quite sure what this meant. It was far too wonderful a thing to only allow once. But how can he come off as 'not gay' when he liked sleeping next to Sherlock?
More than two hours passed and John shifted to let Sherlock's head drop to the pillow and move face to face with him. He was still completely asleep, sliding a hand up along the detective's side, bunching into his t-shirt a little as he pressed himself just a touch closer.
Unlike John, Sherlock slept like a rock. He didn't move at all after he fell asleep, at least not until John shifted and he squirmed in sleep as he tried to keep himself as close as possible. There was only one thing that could wake him in this state, and that was the shudder that wracked his body and threatened to rouse him just in time to become a shivering mess of detox symptoms. He kept his eyes closed defiantly as he tried to keep from being woken up by the chills he was experiencing. He whimpers softly in sleep, his fingers trembling as he gripped John's shirt and moves in to huddle against him and hope against hope that he'll stop shaking by the time John wakes up.
Realizing quite possibly that he hadn't set his alarm right, John didn't bother to wake after his two hour nap. It stretched a little longer but was rather quietly awakened by the feel of the detective's shivers.
Blinking his eyes open slowly, he's faced with Sherlock's scrunched up face with a smear of sweat across his brow and the man clinging to him with white knuckled fists in his shirt. Ever so gingerly, John reached his hand up between their extremely close bodies to press his palm to his cheek. He was absolutely burning up.
"Sh--Sherlock ... wake up for me. C'mon, please?" He whispered those words against the man's temple, hands inching down to feel for his pulse against his neck and just get a rough judge of it. His heart was pumping fast, a bit too fast he'd say. He tried again, "Sherlock ... you're crashing. You've got to wake up." Those words just sounded a little too desperate for his taste, but they'd been said and there was no going back.
Sherlock kept a firm grip on John's shirt with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, realizing that there would be no way to sleep through this after another moment. He stilled for a moment when John touched his face, hearing him speak without discerning the words for a moment. He caught the 'wake up' the second time, and he finally laboriously opened his eyes to see John, not liking the worry on his face that was instilled there.
He shook his head at nothing in particular, tugging himself closer to press his forehead against his chest in an effort to hide his pained expression from John. "I apologize for waking you." he said softly, trying anything to divert from focusing on how weak he felt at this moment. "I can relocate...if you'd like." he muttered, though he made no move to get up.
"You will certainly not relocate ... " John shifted a touch, digging a hand down to lift his chin up off his chest and look him in the face without going cross eyed. His pupils were completely blown, his eyes restlessly moving back and forth, hands clammy against his shirt. He could do nothing more than tug him in closer and rest his chin atop Sherlock's sweaty head.
"I expected this ... I was waiting for it ... I know the worst is about to start, so I'm on call the rest of the night." Sherlock was dead weight against him, but John felt almost safe when he was being crushed by Sherlock. At least he was sure the man was not able to physically move now without assistance, he was safe against his own addiction.
Once the initial tremors began to level off into just a restless writhe, John loosened up his arms if only to observe him a bit better. His skin was bordering on ashy, his lips were completely dry. John had to get him some water and perhaps some nausea medication. It was bound to appear soon.
Sherlock nodded, that having been the retort he'd been hoping for. He honestly didn't even think he could muster the energy to get up if he wanted to (and he certainly didn't want to). He made a soft noise of disapproval when John lifted his head, immediately returning to resting it against John's chest as soon as he got the opportunity
( ... )
John was just about to get out of bed and get him those pills and some water when he felt an arm slip around his back and force John toward Sherlock again. The man pressed his ear right on his chest and went completely still. John's heart began to race just a little at the sudden proximity and rather intimate embrace, John hoping that it wasn't showing as a blush on his cheeks right now
( ... )
Sherlock closed his eyes and listened intently to John's heartbeat, hearing it jump in tempo after a moment. He wasn't exactly sure why John's heart quickened so suddenly, but he didn't have it in him to consider it as he focused on just trying to get his own breathing under control. The iron grip he had on John's shirt relaxed slightly, calming down a bit thanks to the apparent healing properties of John's presence
( ... )
The soft scrape of his dull nails against Sherlock's scalp seemed more like something a feline would appreciate more than a human, but it only seemed to make the doctor grin sleepily at the idea that Sherlock was more cat than human anyways. Sherlock's hands flattened out against his shirt, arms circling his waist and he felt the lanky man unravel a touch more.
He pressed his lips once more to Sherlock's forehead, letting them settle there again like they had in the cab ride home. John's free hand wiped the sweat off of his cheek with a long sleeve. The fingers through his hair continued at a steady, slow pace while John silently prayed to any god available out there to help his flatmate through this, mouthing the words silently against his warm brow.
Sherlock went boneless against him when his fingers started their work again, never imagining that something so simple could feel so good. He still wasn't sure what any of this meant. Was John just being a caring doctor with this show of affection? Was it special treatment just because Sherlock was his friend and unexpectedly tactile? Or...something else? He had absolutely no idea what the explanation could be, but he pushed aside his interminable curiosity for a moment in favor of just enjoying whatever it happened to be.
He kept his eyes closed and nuzzled his chest, his hands keeping a hold on him as though to assure himself that John wasn't going anywhere (not that he thought for a moment that he would). He exhaled softly with another shiver of approval, fingers flexing for purchase on his back as he pressed in impossibly close.
The shivering stopped, the sweating still remained. He was physically allowing the drug out of his system by it, so John didn't really mind the fact that Sherlock was soaking him in their close proximity. He could hear every whimper and groan Sherlock made while he was pressed to his chest, fingers slowly coming to a stand still, still in his hair, as John felt the moment quiet enough to allow him a bit more rest
( ... )
Sherlock sighed complacently as he got comfortable again, actually relaxing enough to drift off against him again. John was apparently some miraculous cure for insomnia, to the point where Sherlock would later wonder if he would have a regular sleep schedule if he slept curled up against John every night. At the moment, though, all thought was gone in favor of sleep.
He managed to stay asleep for a few hours before making a drowsy grumble of protest when John moved slightly, burying his face in his chest again for another moment. He stayed like that for a second before opening his eyes and glancing up at John. He actually felt alright for the moment, and he gave him a sleepy smile to show it. "Do you do this for all your patients, doctor?" he asked sardonically, giving him a quick squeeze of a hug before unlatching his arms and stretching them over his head with a soft hum of contentment.
When Sherlock gazed up at him like that, John felt his breath catch in his throat, swallowing it back and quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "No, only accidentally drugged ones ... which is to say, only you
( ... )
Sherlock managed a soft chuckle at that, groaning as he stretched out his stiff limbs. He huffed a sigh when John pulled away, tugging the blanket up to his chin to make up for the lost warmth until John returned. He let his eyes fall shut momentarily when John touched his cheek, a slight smile still present on his face as he leaned into the touch. He opened his eyes again, meeting John's gaze with an expression of uncharacteristic but genuine warmth. "I feel better." he replied, unperturbed by the banality of the exchange. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." he said sheepishly, moving his hand to rest it on John's side, flicking his eyes back up to his face as though to make sure it was still okay. "Thank you
( ... )
Their eyes locked and John didn't feel that overwhelming power of Sherlock trying to figure out his intentions. Right now, his only intention was to smile and stretch and enjoy this moment.
When Sherlock thanked him, he realized just how much he wanted to kiss him. "You are very welcome ... the pleasure's been all mine ... " Brushing his curls back from his forehead, John pursed his lips and let his eyes wander to the detective's very distinctive lips. Often, when Sherlock goes on a rant, all John will do is zone out and watch his lips move, because they are some of the most unique lips he'd ever seen on a bloke.
"Mmmn, no. I don't think you can. You look 'terrible' and deserve breakfast in bed. That is, if you feel like tea and toast?" John offering to make them breakfast wasn't out of the usual. What was out of the usual was that it was around 5 am and the sun hadn't come up yet. Making a pre-dawn breakfast was John's specialty. And for Sherlock, he'd make anything if the man was hungry.
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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More than two hours passed and John shifted to let Sherlock's head drop to the pillow and move face to face with him. He was still completely asleep, sliding a hand up along the detective's side, bunching into his t-shirt a little as he pressed himself just a touch closer.
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Blinking his eyes open slowly, he's faced with Sherlock's scrunched up face with a smear of sweat across his brow and the man clinging to him with white knuckled fists in his shirt. Ever so gingerly, John reached his hand up between their extremely close bodies to press his palm to his cheek. He was absolutely burning up.
"Sh--Sherlock ... wake up for me. C'mon, please?" He whispered those words against the man's temple, hands inching down to feel for his pulse against his neck and just get a rough judge of it. His heart was pumping fast, a bit too fast he'd say. He tried again, "Sherlock ... you're crashing. You've got to wake up." Those words just sounded a little too desperate for his taste, but they'd been said and there was no going back.
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He shook his head at nothing in particular, tugging himself closer to press his forehead against his chest in an effort to hide his pained expression from John. "I apologize for waking you." he said softly, trying anything to divert from focusing on how weak he felt at this moment. "I can relocate...if you'd like." he muttered, though he made no move to get up.
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"I expected this ... I was waiting for it ... I know the worst is about to start, so I'm on call the rest of the night." Sherlock was dead weight against him, but John felt almost safe when he was being crushed by Sherlock. At least he was sure the man was not able to physically move now without assistance, he was safe against his own addiction.
Once the initial tremors began to level off into just a restless writhe, John loosened up his arms if only to observe him a bit better. His skin was bordering on ashy, his lips were completely dry. John had to get him some water and perhaps some nausea medication. It was bound to appear soon.
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He pressed his lips once more to Sherlock's forehead, letting them settle there again like they had in the cab ride home. John's free hand wiped the sweat off of his cheek with a long sleeve. The fingers through his hair continued at a steady, slow pace while John silently prayed to any god available out there to help his flatmate through this, mouthing the words silently against his warm brow.
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He kept his eyes closed and nuzzled his chest, his hands keeping a hold on him as though to assure himself that John wasn't going anywhere (not that he thought for a moment that he would). He exhaled softly with another shiver of approval, fingers flexing for purchase on his back as he pressed in impossibly close.
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He managed to stay asleep for a few hours before making a drowsy grumble of protest when John moved slightly, burying his face in his chest again for another moment. He stayed like that for a second before opening his eyes and glancing up at John. He actually felt alright for the moment, and he gave him a sleepy smile to show it. "Do you do this for all your patients, doctor?" he asked sardonically, giving him a quick squeeze of a hug before unlatching his arms and stretching them over his head with a soft hum of contentment.
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When Sherlock thanked him, he realized just how much he wanted to kiss him. "You are very welcome ... the pleasure's been all mine ... " Brushing his curls back from his forehead, John pursed his lips and let his eyes wander to the detective's very distinctive lips. Often, when Sherlock goes on a rant, all John will do is zone out and watch his lips move, because they are some of the most unique lips he'd ever seen on a bloke.
"Mmmn, no. I don't think you can. You look 'terrible' and deserve breakfast in bed. That is, if you feel like tea and toast?" John offering to make them breakfast wasn't out of the usual. What was out of the usual was that it was around 5 am and the sun hadn't come up yet. Making a pre-dawn breakfast was John's specialty. And for Sherlock, he'd make anything if the man was hungry.
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