Silent night
Notes: This is the eighth part of Eating us alive, again and my favourite chapter. It was extremely difficult to write because Sherlock and John just did not cooperate with me! Perhaps that’s why I like it?
As always, a huge thanks to Laura for help and support.
Summary: 221b Baker Street is full of demons and nightmares and doubt, both Sherlock’s and John’s.
-x-
A lot of things were unsettling in John’s life at the moment; waking up from a nightmare in an empty bed and a silent flat before sunrise was just one of them. The scenarios that always started playing in John’s head when it happened were terrible, the best being Sherlock sitting on the bathroom floor, the worst having him dead with a needle still in his arm.
Being woken by some stupid experiment or the Moonlight Sonata was always better, because it meant Sherlock was all right. Or at least alive.
Feeling uneasy, John got up and made sure to step on every squeaky floorboards on his way down to the sitting-room to warn Sherlock that he was coming. John couldn’t say why he did it, but he had taken up the habit to not sneak up on Sherlock (not that he’d ever been able to do that). Sometimes he wondered if he did it to help Sherlock fool him because he didn’t want to know the truth.
Sherlock stood in front of the fireplace and stared at himself in the mirror but turned his head to be able to look at John through it when he reached the sitting-room.
“Hey….” John said in a low voice, a yawn trying to break through his tired smile. Disturbing as it was to see Sherlock fully dressed, pondering something in silence in the middle of the night, it was still very comforting to have him standing there. Just standing there. Not doing anything…stupid.
“Did I wake you?” Sherlock asked, sounding concerned and John couldn’t help but wonder if he felt busted.
“You? No,” John shook his head, “you’re as quiet as laboratory rat tonight. It was a…blast mine, I think.”
“Are you okay?” Sherlock wondered and actually turned look at him over the shoulder as John walked up behind him.
“I’m fine,” John murmured and burrowed his face between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
Ha! John didn’t believe him for a moment. He took a deep breath, inhaling the mix of cologne and sweat - the scent of Sherlock. The effect Sherlock had on him in post-episodes-situations was wonderfully soothing. That knowledge might be the only good thing emerging from the last time they’d struggled with Sherlock’s eating disorder.
John softly kissed Sherlock’s back and wrapped his arms around his waist, closing the distance between them completely.
“John….” Sherlock moved uncomfortably in the light embrace, trying to get away from it without denying John the comfort from their closeness.
“Let me….” John murmured, “Please? I just watched one of my friends get blown up. I need to know you’re here.”
Sherlock stopped moving and placed his cold hands on top on John’s.
“I thought you said you were fine,” Sherlock murmured and traced small circles on top of John’s hand. He tried - and failed - to relax, but the fact that he endured was the greatest sign of affection John could imagine. The sacrifice was amazing and made every struggle worth fighting.
“I lie, you lie…. It’s our thing,” John closed his eyes for a moment and just stood there, resting, enjoying the fact that Sherlock hadn’t been the one he lost tonight. Sherlock was still there, he still had Sherlock, and he let him hold him, even though he really didn’t want to.
“We should get a new thing,” Sherlock tipped his head back, resting it against John’s.
“We should,” John couldn’t help that he chuckled. It was hard to argue with that and he squeezed Sherlock’s hand lightly before he removed his arms. Personally, he wouldn’t have had anything against standing like that for the rest of the night - or at least some five more minutes - but it wasn’t worth keeping Sherlock uncomfortable.
A trembling breath left Sherlock, but he didn’t step away. Instead he reached behind his back in and took John’s hand. John smiled.
“Going to tell me what’s keeping you up?” John whispered when they had been standing there in silence for a while.
“It’s nothing.”
“Thought you said we needed a new thing,” John murmured into Sherlock’s shirt and that earned his hand a tight squeeze. He wondered if this meant that he wouldn’t get an answer, but decided to just stay exactly where he was. If Sherlock didn’t want to tell him what he was over-thinking tonight, than at least he wouldn’t have to be alone.
“What if I can’t do it this time?” Sherlock whispered after a few minutes.
“Then….” John cut off as his mouth became dry. There was nothing with substance to end that sentence with. An indescribable panic spread through him, leaving him cold. What if Sherlock didn’t win this time? What if they lost? John preferred a blast mine to be honest, but he wasn’t going to place that thought in Sherlock’s head.
God, Sherlock, don’t give up! Don’t give up!
Don’t give up…. Don’t…. Please?
“Then….” John tried again, wanting desperately to offer comfort - or at least a whole sentence - but all he had was suddenly the shared terror that kept Sherlock awake.
“John?” Sherlock pleaded, his voice sounded so broken that the air was knocked out of John. “What if I can’t?”
“I’ll be here,” John finally whispered, because it was the only thing he was sure of, “Whatever happens, I’ll always be here. I’ll never leave you.”
Sherlock squeezed his hand so hard that he wanted to scream, but he bit his lip to resist and waited it out. When Sherlock finally loosened the grip, there was a taste of blood in John’s mouth and tears of pain in his eyes. At least he pretended that it was just because of physical pain.
Until Sherlock sobbed.
Until Sherlock sobbed and John’s own eyes spilled over; it wasn’t physical pain that did that. He was so scared, they both were, of the possible answers to Sherlock’s question.
Tentatively, but not hesitantly, John untwined their hands and turned Sherlock around to be able to hug him properly. Sherlock didn’t protest and disappeared into his arms - it amazed John from time to time how Sherlock was able to do that - and John burrowed his face in Sherlock’s neck to not start crying. It was a good thing he did, because when Sherlock sobbed again it took a lot of strength to just keep standing.
“I’ve got you….” John stroked his back, trying hard to not pay any attention to whether or not he was able to feel Sherlock’s ribs as he did so. “We’ll manage, I promise.”
Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he could, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. The cold hands against his bare skin gave John goose bumps and his heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Sherlock murmured and John swallowed hard as the memories of fear mixed with the fears of the present. To keep them all at bay he held Sherlock a little bit tighter.
“Thank you,” he whispered when he was sure he had control of his voice again and he pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s jawline. Sherlock’s words didn’t comfort as much as his will to do so and John wondered if Sherlock was as eager to protect him from his demons as John was to protect Sherlock from his.
Either way, it felt oddly peaceful standing there in the dark, being afraid and insecure together; protecting each other and waiting for the sun to come and chase away their fears.
-x-
Part IX: Just tomato soup
As always, a huge thanks to Laura for help and support.
Summary: 221b Baker Street is full of demons and nightmares and doubt, both Sherlock’s and John’s.
-x-
A lot of things were unsettling in John’s life at the moment; waking up from a nightmare in an empty bed and a silent flat before sunrise was just one of them. The scenarios that always started playing in John’s head when it happened were terrible, the best being Sherlock sitting on the bathroom floor, the worst having him dead with a needle still in his arm.
Being woken by some stupid experiment or the Moonlight Sonata was always better, because it meant Sherlock was all right. Or at least alive.
Feeling uneasy, John got up and made sure to step on every squeaky floorboards on his way down to the sitting-room to warn Sherlock that he was coming. John couldn’t say why he did it, but he had taken up the habit to not sneak up on Sherlock (not that he’d ever been able to do that). Sometimes he wondered if he did it to help Sherlock fool him because he didn’t want to know the truth.
Sherlock stood in front of the fireplace and stared at himself in the mirror but turned his head to be able to look at John through it when he reached the sitting-room.
“Hey….” John said in a low voice, a yawn trying to break through his tired smile. Disturbing as it was to see Sherlock fully dressed, pondering something in silence in the middle of the night, it was still very comforting to have him standing there. Just standing there. Not doing anything…stupid.
“Did I wake you?” Sherlock asked, sounding concerned and John couldn’t help but wonder if he felt busted.
“You? No,” John shook his head, “you’re as quiet as laboratory rat tonight. It was a…blast mine, I think.”
“Are you okay?” Sherlock wondered and actually turned look at him over the shoulder as John walked up behind him.
“I’m fine,” John murmured and burrowed his face between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
Ha! John didn’t believe him for a moment. He took a deep breath, inhaling the mix of cologne and sweat - the scent of Sherlock. The effect Sherlock had on him in post-episodes-situations was wonderfully soothing. That knowledge might be the only good thing emerging from the last time they’d struggled with Sherlock’s eating disorder.
John softly kissed Sherlock’s back and wrapped his arms around his waist, closing the distance between them completely.
“John….” Sherlock moved uncomfortably in the light embrace, trying to get away from it without denying John the comfort from their closeness.
“Let me….” John murmured, “Please? I just watched one of my friends get blown up. I need to know you’re here.”
Sherlock stopped moving and placed his cold hands on top on John’s.
“I thought you said you were fine,” Sherlock murmured and traced small circles on top of John’s hand. He tried - and failed - to relax, but the fact that he endured was the greatest sign of affection John could imagine. The sacrifice was amazing and made every struggle worth fighting.
“I lie, you lie…. It’s our thing,” John closed his eyes for a moment and just stood there, resting, enjoying the fact that Sherlock hadn’t been the one he lost tonight. Sherlock was still there, he still had Sherlock, and he let him hold him, even though he really didn’t want to.
“We should get a new thing,” Sherlock tipped his head back, resting it against John’s.
“We should,” John couldn’t help that he chuckled. It was hard to argue with that and he squeezed Sherlock’s hand lightly before he removed his arms. Personally, he wouldn’t have had anything against standing like that for the rest of the night - or at least some five more minutes - but it wasn’t worth keeping Sherlock uncomfortable.
A trembling breath left Sherlock, but he didn’t step away. Instead he reached behind his back in and took John’s hand. John smiled.
“Going to tell me what’s keeping you up?” John whispered when they had been standing there in silence for a while.
“It’s nothing.”
“Thought you said we needed a new thing,” John murmured into Sherlock’s shirt and that earned his hand a tight squeeze. He wondered if this meant that he wouldn’t get an answer, but decided to just stay exactly where he was. If Sherlock didn’t want to tell him what he was over-thinking tonight, than at least he wouldn’t have to be alone.
“What if I can’t do it this time?” Sherlock whispered after a few minutes.
“Then….” John cut off as his mouth became dry. There was nothing with substance to end that sentence with. An indescribable panic spread through him, leaving him cold. What if Sherlock didn’t win this time? What if they lost? John preferred a blast mine to be honest, but he wasn’t going to place that thought in Sherlock’s head.
God, Sherlock, don’t give up! Don’t give up!
Don’t give up…. Don’t…. Please?
“Then….” John tried again, wanting desperately to offer comfort - or at least a whole sentence - but all he had was suddenly the shared terror that kept Sherlock awake.
“John?” Sherlock pleaded, his voice sounded so broken that the air was knocked out of John. “What if I can’t?”
“I’ll be here,” John finally whispered, because it was the only thing he was sure of, “Whatever happens, I’ll always be here. I’ll never leave you.”
Sherlock squeezed his hand so hard that he wanted to scream, but he bit his lip to resist and waited it out. When Sherlock finally loosened the grip, there was a taste of blood in John’s mouth and tears of pain in his eyes. At least he pretended that it was just because of physical pain.
Until Sherlock sobbed.
Until Sherlock sobbed and John’s own eyes spilled over; it wasn’t physical pain that did that. He was so scared, they both were, of the possible answers to Sherlock’s question.
Tentatively, but not hesitantly, John untwined their hands and turned Sherlock around to be able to hug him properly. Sherlock didn’t protest and disappeared into his arms - it amazed John from time to time how Sherlock was able to do that - and John burrowed his face in Sherlock’s neck to not start crying. It was a good thing he did, because when Sherlock sobbed again it took a lot of strength to just keep standing.
“I’ve got you….” John stroked his back, trying hard to not pay any attention to whether or not he was able to feel Sherlock’s ribs as he did so. “We’ll manage, I promise.”
Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he could, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. The cold hands against his bare skin gave John goose bumps and his heart skipped a beat.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Sherlock murmured and John swallowed hard as the memories of fear mixed with the fears of the present. To keep them all at bay he held Sherlock a little bit tighter.
“Thank you,” he whispered when he was sure he had control of his voice again and he pressed a kiss against Sherlock’s jawline. Sherlock’s words didn’t comfort as much as his will to do so and John wondered if Sherlock was as eager to protect him from his demons as John was to protect Sherlock from his.
Either way, it felt oddly peaceful standing there in the dark, being afraid and insecure together; protecting each other and waiting for the sun to come and chase away their fears.
-x-
Part IX: Just tomato soup