Words weren't needed here.
Sherlock was in John's arms. Intertwined limbs. Breathing evened. There was peace here. Peace found after an explosion rocked their foundation and sent them tumbling into the darkness. Sherlock placed his face on the curve of John's neck, and let his hands splay out over his back. He counted the ribs he could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt in time with his heart. Sherlock's skin seeping in the warmth that was John.
Words weren't needed here.
John ran his hands through Sherlock's raven curls and closed his eyes. The brutality of the event resting heavily on his shoulders reminding him of sirens and stretchers. He squeezed as tight as he could and held on as if Sherlock would simply whisk away from him on a whisper. He ran his hands over Sherlock's vertebrae and inhaled deeply, taking in all he could. The remnance of a tremor running over Sherlock's body. He kept his hands moving. Pulling that energy from Sherlock. Taking it on for himself. Holding on to it. Keeping his friend safe.
But words weren't needed here.
They would simply be causalities in the chaos.
The conversation was silent. Intricate. Meaningful.
Words became useless, a waste of space, meaningless.
Sherlock sighed and pulled gently away. He let his eyes connect with John's and held them there. The clockwork within his mind stalling time. He was convinced he could stay there forever, and he wouldn't mind. He wouldn't mind counting all the lines on John's face (wouldn't mind apologizing for putting some of them there). He wouldn't mind counting all the specks of olive gold in John's eyes. He wouldn't mind tracing his jaw line with his lips and thanking him with his eyelashes.
But words weren't needed here.
John waved lowly, gently
(hello)
Sherlock held one hand out
(I was scared)
John took his hand
(I was scared too)
Sherlock placed two fingers gently on John's temple
(I'm sorry)
John covers Sherlock's hand
(I forgive you)
Sherlock moves his hand slowly over to John's chest and rests it there
(I love you)
John raises his left hand and lets his pointer finger graze Sherlock's hairline
(I love you too)
A more personal language was born. One they would only understand if they were willing to do so. If they were willing to sit with another. To study subtle movements. A head nod, a wave, a contortion, an embrace. A sentiment of trust. How brave one must be to teach another their own language. How brave one must be to learn.
John sighed and gently pulled Sherlock's head down to rest on his on. What if the silence was bearable?, He thought. Could they stand that? Nothing but the sound of each others breathing. Softness, emptiness. Could it be beautiful? It could be. It is. Silence is forever more endearing than noise. You can learn far more in silence than you can learn while submerged in noise. Notice the way Sherlock looks at the world. Notice the way they look at one another. The mutual understanding of silence. Unknown worlds sitting right behind their eyes. Their world only. No one has access, because no one would understand. Solace in the silence. Safety. A wordless agreement between millions of thoughts and shadows of emotion.
Sherlock leaned forward and placed a soft chaste kiss upon John's lips. He let their foreheads stay together as if sharing headspace. John lifted his head slightly and held Sherlock's face within his hands. He placed a kiss on each closed eye and let his own eyes drifted shut.
(We are safe now)
A warm buzz extinguishing his skin. They didn't want to let go. Staying in this world for a little longer was needed. Staying rooted to each other was no longer a choice.
Sherlock kissed John's cheeks, forehead, temples, chin, ears, shoulders.
(I can't tell you, but I understand)
And maybe that would be enough.
Words weren't needed here.