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solrosanNotes: I wrote this because got a bad phone call. Life sucks and there is nothing I can do about it. I don’t want this to be the sequel to Eating us alive, but I think it is.
Summary: Sherlock relapses, but at least John can hold him.
Come home.
Please.
SH
John hoped Sherlock had no idea just how quickly that ‘please’ at the end of the text had made him drop everything and rush home. If he did, he would surely misuse it, like the boy who cried wolf. John would have been more bothered by how easily manipulated he was if he hadn’t been worrying so much about what he would find when he got home.
“Sherlock?” he yelled as he entered the flat, but there was no answer whatsoever. Strangely, this didn’t add to his worry, but reduced it to irritation. If Sherlock had left, after John had dragged himself home from work….
The sitting room was empty. So was the kitchen. John continued looking in the bedrooms, and then, finally, the bathroom.
There he was, the world’s only consulting detective, curled up on the dirty tile floor opposite the toilet. John’s heart and stomach dropped queasily. Not again.... No....
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” he asked, getting down between Sherlock and the toilet. John noted that the lid of the toilet was down and that the water wasn’t running, but he still wasn’t optimistic about the situation.
At first, Sherlock did nothing to indicate that he was even aware of John’s presence, but when John placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, two tearstained eyes looked back up at him. It made John wonder how many times a heart could break before it could no longer repair itself.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, getting to his feet and pulling Sherlock up as he did. As soon as they both were standing, he gave Sherlock a quick hug (more for his own sake than for Sherlock’s) and led him to the sitting room.
Sherlock sat down on the sofa and covered his face with both hands. John stood beside him, hesitating for a moment, before finally beginning to rub slow, soothing circles on Sherlock back. It was hard to say if it was more reassuring or worrying that Sherlock let him.
After a while, John moved to sit next to Sherlock on the sofa. The only point of contact between them was John’s hand on Sherlock’s thigh.
“I’m glad you told me,” John whispered. It was true, even though happiness was far from what he was feeling right now. ‘Gratitude’ might be a better word to describe the feeling; he was grateful that Sherlock had texted him.
Sherlock removed his hands from his face and looked at John’s, still lying on his leg. “Are you disappointed in me?”
“No. No, I’m…. I’m sad,” John confessed, moving his thumb back and forth.
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered. Suddenly unable to respond verbally, John pulled him into his arms and held him as close as the uncomfortable position would let him.
“Has it been going on for long?” John asked when he trusted his voice again.
Sherlock nodded and a lump formed in John’s throat. He rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, in sudden need for comfort and support that he didn’t feel justified in seeking. Not from Sherlock. Not now.
They said nothing more that day, but at least John could hold him.
-x-
Part II: Closeness and darkness.
Summary: Sherlock relapses, but at least John can hold him.
Come home.
Please.
SH
John hoped Sherlock had no idea just how quickly that ‘please’ at the end of the text had made him drop everything and rush home. If he did, he would surely misuse it, like the boy who cried wolf. John would have been more bothered by how easily manipulated he was if he hadn’t been worrying so much about what he would find when he got home.
“Sherlock?” he yelled as he entered the flat, but there was no answer whatsoever. Strangely, this didn’t add to his worry, but reduced it to irritation. If Sherlock had left, after John had dragged himself home from work….
The sitting room was empty. So was the kitchen. John continued looking in the bedrooms, and then, finally, the bathroom.
There he was, the world’s only consulting detective, curled up on the dirty tile floor opposite the toilet. John’s heart and stomach dropped queasily. Not again.... No....
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” he asked, getting down between Sherlock and the toilet. John noted that the lid of the toilet was down and that the water wasn’t running, but he still wasn’t optimistic about the situation.
At first, Sherlock did nothing to indicate that he was even aware of John’s presence, but when John placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, two tearstained eyes looked back up at him. It made John wonder how many times a heart could break before it could no longer repair itself.
“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, getting to his feet and pulling Sherlock up as he did. As soon as they both were standing, he gave Sherlock a quick hug (more for his own sake than for Sherlock’s) and led him to the sitting room.
Sherlock sat down on the sofa and covered his face with both hands. John stood beside him, hesitating for a moment, before finally beginning to rub slow, soothing circles on Sherlock back. It was hard to say if it was more reassuring or worrying that Sherlock let him.
After a while, John moved to sit next to Sherlock on the sofa. The only point of contact between them was John’s hand on Sherlock’s thigh.
“I’m glad you told me,” John whispered. It was true, even though happiness was far from what he was feeling right now. ‘Gratitude’ might be a better word to describe the feeling; he was grateful that Sherlock had texted him.
Sherlock removed his hands from his face and looked at John’s, still lying on his leg. “Are you disappointed in me?”
“No. No, I’m…. I’m sad,” John confessed, moving his thumb back and forth.
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered. Suddenly unable to respond verbally, John pulled him into his arms and held him as close as the uncomfortable position would let him.
“Has it been going on for long?” John asked when he trusted his voice again.
Sherlock nodded and a lump formed in John’s throat. He rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, in sudden need for comfort and support that he didn’t feel justified in seeking. Not from Sherlock. Not now.
They said nothing more that day, but at least John could hold him.
-x-
Part II: Closeness and darkness.
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Date: 2011-11-24 07:41 am (UTC)