Hello! this is a little short fic because i wanted to write fluff!
includes fluffiness! yay!
first time putting any of my work on a big site like this!
kinda nervous! please read it and tell me what you think!
Disclaimers: i do not own Sherlock or any of it's character. all rights go to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
John was late home that night.
Sherlock rocked restlessly in his chair, his long arms wrapped up around his knees and he tried to ignore the ticking of the clock in the far corner of the room.
It was late. Too late.
'What is he doing?' his mind was spinning out of control.
John had left to go shopping, as usual, but the doctor hadn't returned in a long while and Sherlock was starting to get worried.
The curly haired man stood from his seat anxiously and wandered around the empty flat, busying his hands with bits and pieces he picked off table tops and counters to keep his mind off it.
Nevertheless, he could feel a swelling sense of dread fill his stomach, and that, wasn't normal.
Could it be the detective had developed a protective instinct over john?
Sherlock would have smirked at the possibility if he hadn't of been chewing his lower lip and fretting like a mad man.
'pull yourself together Holmes' he mentally cursed as he paced up and down in front of the tall window, every now and then a car driving past would spill orange into the flat and throw shadows around the room.
Tick…tock…tick…tock
Sherlock could hardly take it anymore! That stupid doctor! He reminded himself to give him a grand telling off when he returned.
If he returned.
A sudden stab of sadness shot through his gut, knocking the very wind out of him.
Suddenly, he felt like crying, panic was rising in his chest at the very thought of john…his john… beaten up in an alley somewhere.
Sherlock made a small helpless noise in the back of his throat and felt his chest become tight,
'No, Sherlock Holmes…you are not going to stress…you are not going to cry! Pull yourself together!' his intelligent mind screamed at him but even as it did he could feel the warm tears roll down his cheeks.
'STOP IT!', 'John is fine YOU ARE BETTER THAN THIS!'
He felt like he couldn't breathe. All the stupid little thoughts he was trying to block out, all the terrifying possibilities that could have happened to John, they all came caving in on him, suffocating him.
Hot tears streaked down his face and he tried to wipe them away. Tried to be strong, but it was useless and now here he was, the world's greatest detective, in floods of tears, reaching out for comfort, for reassurance.
For his John to come home.
He felt stupid and disgusted with himself all at once and it made him want to be sick.
The detective clenched his shaking hands and forced himself to concentrate,
'Sherlock Holmes. Get. Up.' His mind numbly tried to connect with his body again as the suit clad man forced himself up on shaking legs. His eyes were sore and still full of tears.
There is no point in pathetically crying for John.
Sherlock decided he needed to go and look for him.
Shakily, he stretched into his long coat, his eyes still blurry and out of focus and he sniffed heavily through his runny nose.
He was such a mess. This is probably why he reminded himself never to cry again.
Sherlock stalled for a second, basking in the warmth and comfort of his coat, he found himself wishing it was john providing that warmth and comfort but he hastily banned that from his mind,
'What the hell am I thinking!? I don't need John's comfort…he's just a friend…' he tried to convince himself as he left the flat into the cool night air.
The cold hit his tear tracks and the nippy breeze against his sore eyes made him wince.
There was a wonderfully calming orange glow just outside his flat from an over towering street lamp above him. It was quiet outside with only the distant sounds of cars from some far off roads and Sherlock indulged in it for a few seconds before panic made another stab at his gut and reminded him of what he was doing.
This was no time to be admiring the scenery.
He was just about to set off walking when he collided with another body which let out a small yelp in surprise. Sherlock whirled around with wide eyes to observe the intruder,
"Jesus Christ Sherlock!" The smaller man mumbled, steadying himself on small garden wall. The plastic carrier bag that had been in his hand was now on the pavement with its contents spread around it.
Sherlock could have screamed. It took him a while to catch his breath before his emotion of surprise was flooded over with the foulest temper anyone could imagine.
'That…that BASTARD! Making me worry like that!' He screamed at himself 'I was scared shitless and here he was! Dawdling!'
He strode towards the small, confused man in the shape of John and roughly grasped him by the collar, anger blinding him as he slammed the doctor against the opposite lamppost, creating a painful thud as his head collided with it. John cried out, desperately grappling at Sherlock's gloved hands to get him to let go,
"SH-SHERLOCK!" his flat mate let out a strangled shout but the detective was having none of it! After everything he put him through, even an emotion he wasn't used to for Christ's sake!
"JOHN!" Sherlock hollered and John stared at him with wide eyes, "WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU!?" he didn't care if the neighbours could hear him, let them hear.
He felt John squirm under him and he gritted his teeth, looming nearer,
"TELL ME!" He roared in the terrified doctor's face.
John flinched away from his furious flat mate; he was utterly confused about the way his friend was acting. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears and risked a glance at Sherlock,
Sherlock flickered his gaze away from Johns self-consciously and that's when john saw it.
"Sh-Sherlock? Have you been crying?" John asked timidly, the very thought breaking his heart but he wasn't prepared to admit that right now.
The detective felt as though and iron bar had just been plunged into his chest and pulled out, leaving a massive hole. He didn't know why but he felt the vulnerability of tears creeping up on him again,
'No Sherlock, don't cry now. Anytime but now. Not in front of your flat mate!' the man urged as he stared into his friend's warm eyes, completely dumbstruck like a deer in the headlights,
"Sherlock…" John said sadly, reaching up a gloved hand and hesitantly placing it upon the detective's cheek, unconsciously wiping away a fresh tear with his thumb. A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine at the warm touch of the army doctor, "Sherlock, why were you crying?" John continued his voice rich and comforting as he moving closer, his deep blue eyes searching Sherlock's face.
The detective's normally witty tongue was now numb in his mouth. His mind had gone completely blank as he tried to figure out what was going on, his eyes blurry once more and uncontrollable tears flooded his face as he pathetically hic-coughed into john's hand, shoulders trembling.
He heard john make some comforting cooing noises as he wiped away tears from both sides of his face now, both of the doctor's hands on either side of Sherlock's face as he cried and clutched onto John's coat blindly. Sobbing and wailing like a small child and it got to the point where he forgot what he was even crying about, he just couldn't stop, and he had to let it all out.
"It's all okay now, sshhh…it's all okay" John's voice whispered into his ear, his arms wrapping around Sherlock, encasing him in warmth and comfort and they swayed slightly in the orange light of the street lamp. Just holding each other.
Sherlock buried his head into the crook of John's neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne. His scent.
"It's all going to be fine now…it's all over now…I'm here now Sherlock" John purred into his ear, his warm breath stroking Sherlock's neck and making him shiver, "it's all okay now…I promise" he trailed off as his hands went to attentively caressing the back of Sherlock's neck and base of his hairline.
Sherlock leaned comfortably into the touch, trembling hands grasping John tightly and holding him closer, nudging deeper into the crook of his neck. John's soothing voice cooed in his ear, telling him it was all okay and calming him, still stroking his curly hair and Sherlock sighed sleepily in his arms.
Sherlock and John were silent for a long while. Just happy to be with each other, holding each other, wrapped in each other's warmth and swaying gently from side to side. The night enclosed around them apart from for the orange glow of the street lamp above them.
After a while, Sherlock wasn't sure if he had been asleep or dozing off but John had stopped his petting and was manoeuvring Sherlock back into 221b,
"Come on…let's get inside shall we…it's getting late" he whispered in soft tones as they both sleepily padded into the flat.
"What about the shopping?" Sherlock's mouth felt sticky and his tongue felt tired,
"It can wait" John yawned, snuggling back onto Sherlock and toppling them over onto the sofa.
Sherlock's reaction to sleep was almost immediate and he twined his arms around John, burrowing into his warmth and caressing his hair, both of them interlocked by almost every limb as they drifted off into a peaceful, stress less slumber.
'All this cuddling can all be explained in the morning…' Sherlock echoed and fell asleep. His john safely beside him.
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