Walking Together Part 23
Title: Walking Together
Characters: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,050
Summary: AU where everyone has one soul mate that they usually meet early in life. Sherlock Holmes never had a soul mate and never wanted one... until he met John Watson.
This was created for a prompt on the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme.
---
John woke up slowly. Sleep was reluctant to let him go, clinging to him in great sticky webs, but he felt a pressing need to wake up because something... something was happening, though he wasn’t sure what. Everything felt blurry and hazy. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but a blinding whiteness that immediately convinced him that this had all been a poor idea. He must have made a sound, groaned or something, because a moment later the brilliance behind his eyelids had dimmed and he sensed that there was someone standing beside him.
“John? Do you want me to fetch the nurse?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” John squinted, dimly recognizing Lestrade. The man had been sitting beside his bed but was now standing, shielding John from some of the annoying light that was still filling the room. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes, wincing as the back of his knuckles came into contact with swollen, bruised skin. Gently he felt around the area, his fingers encountering bandages. Slowly memory started coming back to him. Soo Lin and the office and the man who’d come out of the shadows without warning. He didn’t really remember much more after that. He looked up at Lestrade.
“You’re at the hospital. Sherlock figured out where you were being held and we were able to arrest most of the Black Lotus gang,” Lestrade told him.
“Oh. That’s good.” It took him a minute to realize that there was something else. Lestrade’s face was lined with worry and he seemed to be unusually tense. John stared at him. “What’s going on? You’re not just here to take my statement.” He glanced around the room, suddenly alarmed by the realization that there was a pressing emptiness in the back of his mind, and sat up. “Oh my god, where’s Sherlock?”
“John, relax,” Lestrade ordered, putting up a calming hand. “Sherlock is fine. Last I saw he was still being an absolute git. You were drugged. That’s why you can’t feel Sherlock through your bond. It’s only temporary and now that you’re awake you should begin picking up on him again in no time. I didn’t want you to worry.” He sighed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but I didn’t want you to see it on the news. There was an explosion last night at 221.”
John was fairly certain his heart skipped a beat. An explosion? “Sherlock was home, wasn’t he?” For a moment his mind whirled dizzily, remembering what had happened to all of the men in Afghanistan who had been caught in explosions. Death was only the beginning; he’d seen countless injuries and the thought of Sherlock with any of them was enough to make him feel sick. A monitor began beeping rapidly.
“John! For fuck’s sake, calm down. Yes he was home but like I said he’s fine. They think it was a gas leak. He’s still there but Mycroft is with him. They were fighting when I left.” Lestrade watched John relax a little and sighed.
“Fine. He’s... fine. Right.” There was no way John was willing to just take Lestrade’s word for it. He closed his eyes and began focusing on Sherlock, struggling to push away the looming fuzziness and exhaustion that he now recognized as partly head trauma and partly the effects of being drugged. It made him feel sluggish but he determinedly shoved through it, straining to reach Sherlock.
Sherlock! Sherlock, can you hear me? Oh god please answer me.
---
The explosion had been an unwelcome shock, not in the least because it brought Mycroft to his door. Sherlock sat back in his chair and glared at his brother, who was sitting in John’s chair like he owned it. He plucked at one of the strings of his violin, enjoying the way Mycroft flinched minutely in response. “You can feel free to leave at any time,” he said pointedly. “I doubt you were here because you were actually concerned but on the off hand chance you felt like you needed to pretend you were you can see that I’m fine. And if you were here for any other reason...” His eyes cut across to the folder on the table between them. “You should know my answer is no.”
“Sherlock,” Mycroft said reprovingly. “I was quite concerned about you. I didn’t come here purely for the case. That was merely an added bonus.” He thumped his umbrella lightly against the floor. “You know, the reconstruction of 221 could be done very quickly or very slowly. I’m sure that your injured mate would vastly prefer the former.”
Sherlock glared at him. “Get out, Mycroft,” he hissed. There was no warmth left in his voice and he spoke the words in a clipped manner that belayed the genuine anger he was feeling. The very idea that Mycroft would deny John the right to heal in comfort was... well. “Get. Out.”
Mycroft’s eyes had widened slightly in surprise and then in understanding. “Sherlock,” he began.
But Sherlock was no longer paying attention. A familiar sensation, one that had been desperately missed in light of what had recently happened, had risen in the back of his mind. He knew what it was immediately: John. John was awake and trying to contact him. Disregarding his brother, Sherlock turned his attention inward, reaching out towards John. Distantly, he heard John speaking to him, felt the panic rushing through them both, and realized that Lestrade must have been at the hospital.
John, I’m fine. He returned, something that might have been relief flooding through him. Are you?
Yes, I’m fine too. Lestrade told me about the explosion. Only you, Sherlock Holmes, could be involved in something like that after the week we’ve had! John replied. Though the words were meant to be a scold, they were accompanied by a rush of relief/gratitude/warmth that made Sherlock feel dizzy.
It wasn’t my idea, he said, unable to keep the small smile from his lips. God it was good to hear John’s voice again, to feel his presence and know that John was safe from harm.
Sherlock, John said, and too late Sherlock realized that John had heard that as well. A couple of nights with his mind to himself and he’d nearly forgotten how their bond worked. Stupid! Don’t say that. I missed you too and I’m glad that you’re alright. Could you... John hesitated slightly, embarrassed. Would you... come to the hospital? I know this sounds stupid but I need to see you to make sure that you’re okay. Even though you and Lestrade said you were, I... I need to be sure.
I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Sherlock glanced up, intending to tell his brother that he had alternate plans, but Mycroft was already gone. Surprisingly, he had taken the file of work with him. It was odd for Mycroft to give up so easily and Sherlock suspected he would be back again, but he didn’t really care. John was waiting.
Part 24
Characters: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Gregory Lestrade
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,050
Summary: AU where everyone has one soul mate that they usually meet early in life. Sherlock Holmes never had a soul mate and never wanted one... until he met John Watson.
This was created for a prompt on the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme.
---
John woke up slowly. Sleep was reluctant to let him go, clinging to him in great sticky webs, but he felt a pressing need to wake up because something... something was happening, though he wasn’t sure what. Everything felt blurry and hazy. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but a blinding whiteness that immediately convinced him that this had all been a poor idea. He must have made a sound, groaned or something, because a moment later the brilliance behind his eyelids had dimmed and he sensed that there was someone standing beside him.
“John? Do you want me to fetch the nurse?”
“No. No, I’m fine.” John squinted, dimly recognizing Lestrade. The man had been sitting beside his bed but was now standing, shielding John from some of the annoying light that was still filling the room. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes, wincing as the back of his knuckles came into contact with swollen, bruised skin. Gently he felt around the area, his fingers encountering bandages. Slowly memory started coming back to him. Soo Lin and the office and the man who’d come out of the shadows without warning. He didn’t really remember much more after that. He looked up at Lestrade.
“You’re at the hospital. Sherlock figured out where you were being held and we were able to arrest most of the Black Lotus gang,” Lestrade told him.
“Oh. That’s good.” It took him a minute to realize that there was something else. Lestrade’s face was lined with worry and he seemed to be unusually tense. John stared at him. “What’s going on? You’re not just here to take my statement.” He glanced around the room, suddenly alarmed by the realization that there was a pressing emptiness in the back of his mind, and sat up. “Oh my god, where’s Sherlock?”
“John, relax,” Lestrade ordered, putting up a calming hand. “Sherlock is fine. Last I saw he was still being an absolute git. You were drugged. That’s why you can’t feel Sherlock through your bond. It’s only temporary and now that you’re awake you should begin picking up on him again in no time. I didn’t want you to worry.” He sighed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but I didn’t want you to see it on the news. There was an explosion last night at 221.”
John was fairly certain his heart skipped a beat. An explosion? “Sherlock was home, wasn’t he?” For a moment his mind whirled dizzily, remembering what had happened to all of the men in Afghanistan who had been caught in explosions. Death was only the beginning; he’d seen countless injuries and the thought of Sherlock with any of them was enough to make him feel sick. A monitor began beeping rapidly.
“John! For fuck’s sake, calm down. Yes he was home but like I said he’s fine. They think it was a gas leak. He’s still there but Mycroft is with him. They were fighting when I left.” Lestrade watched John relax a little and sighed.
“Fine. He’s... fine. Right.” There was no way John was willing to just take Lestrade’s word for it. He closed his eyes and began focusing on Sherlock, struggling to push away the looming fuzziness and exhaustion that he now recognized as partly head trauma and partly the effects of being drugged. It made him feel sluggish but he determinedly shoved through it, straining to reach Sherlock.
Sherlock! Sherlock, can you hear me? Oh god please answer me.
---
The explosion had been an unwelcome shock, not in the least because it brought Mycroft to his door. Sherlock sat back in his chair and glared at his brother, who was sitting in John’s chair like he owned it. He plucked at one of the strings of his violin, enjoying the way Mycroft flinched minutely in response. “You can feel free to leave at any time,” he said pointedly. “I doubt you were here because you were actually concerned but on the off hand chance you felt like you needed to pretend you were you can see that I’m fine. And if you were here for any other reason...” His eyes cut across to the folder on the table between them. “You should know my answer is no.”
“Sherlock,” Mycroft said reprovingly. “I was quite concerned about you. I didn’t come here purely for the case. That was merely an added bonus.” He thumped his umbrella lightly against the floor. “You know, the reconstruction of 221 could be done very quickly or very slowly. I’m sure that your injured mate would vastly prefer the former.”
Sherlock glared at him. “Get out, Mycroft,” he hissed. There was no warmth left in his voice and he spoke the words in a clipped manner that belayed the genuine anger he was feeling. The very idea that Mycroft would deny John the right to heal in comfort was... well. “Get. Out.”
Mycroft’s eyes had widened slightly in surprise and then in understanding. “Sherlock,” he began.
But Sherlock was no longer paying attention. A familiar sensation, one that had been desperately missed in light of what had recently happened, had risen in the back of his mind. He knew what it was immediately: John. John was awake and trying to contact him. Disregarding his brother, Sherlock turned his attention inward, reaching out towards John. Distantly, he heard John speaking to him, felt the panic rushing through them both, and realized that Lestrade must have been at the hospital.
John, I’m fine. He returned, something that might have been relief flooding through him. Are you?
Yes, I’m fine too. Lestrade told me about the explosion. Only you, Sherlock Holmes, could be involved in something like that after the week we’ve had! John replied. Though the words were meant to be a scold, they were accompanied by a rush of relief/gratitude/warmth that made Sherlock feel dizzy.
It wasn’t my idea, he said, unable to keep the small smile from his lips. God it was good to hear John’s voice again, to feel his presence and know that John was safe from harm.
Sherlock, John said, and too late Sherlock realized that John had heard that as well. A couple of nights with his mind to himself and he’d nearly forgotten how their bond worked. Stupid! Don’t say that. I missed you too and I’m glad that you’re alright. Could you... John hesitated slightly, embarrassed. Would you... come to the hospital? I know this sounds stupid but I need to see you to make sure that you’re okay. Even though you and Lestrade said you were, I... I need to be sure.
I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Sherlock glanced up, intending to tell his brother that he had alternate plans, but Mycroft was already gone. Surprisingly, he had taken the file of work with him. It was odd for Mycroft to give up so easily and Sherlock suspected he would be back again, but he didn’t really care. John was waiting.
Part 24