This is my first Sherlock fanfiction so take it easy if its bad. I've had plenty of experience writing fanfictions in the past, so it shouldn't be too terrible. I tried to keep them all in character. Sherlock wasn't too difficult. I often have similar behavior to him. Anyway, I wasn't originally going to post this. It was only supposed to be for my own entertainment because I was bored and I wrote it my my 'crap' notebook. Then I caught my mother reading it and she said it was really good. So, I guess you can thank my mom. I continued it for her. I should also mention this is in no way a JohnLock fic. I like to think of their relationship more as being best friends. Anyway, I own no characters, BBC does. Enjoy!
Sherlock knew their case was nearing and end. He could feel it. Or so he thought. But John hadn't allowed for them to stay out much longer after the days events. Mostly because they had been attacked by a man with an animal which was trained to kill. The creature had made out for Sherlock but he had dodged narrowly. The killer and the creature had escaped, leaving behind a furious Sherlock and a tired and shocked John. It was also late. Nearing one A.M to be exact, which never had stopped Sherlock. That was why John was shocked at how easy it was to get Sherlock to agree to returning to the flat. They had just arrived inside 221B and John took off his coat but not Sherlock. He kept on the thick black trench coat.
"Why don't you take your coat of?" John asked him when he noticed, noting the second case of odd behavior from his flatmate.
"It's a bit chilled in here, don't you think?" Was Sherlock's immediate response.
"No.. You feelin' okay?" John eyed Sherlock warily.
"I'm fine." He replied, glancing at the morning paper that had been left sprawled on the table.
"Alright. I'll make up a pot of kea, k'?"
Sherlock only gave a muffled "Mm" before proceeding into the bathroom and shutting the door firmly behind him with the click of the lock.
John heard the shower turn on and continued to make the tea, wondering why Sherlock was acting funny.
Once shed of his coat, Sherlock moved his eyes to the mirror for confirmation. Sure enough warm crimson liquid was seeping through the shoulder and upper arm of his right sleeve. He sighed quietly. It will stain. He'll have to throw it out. If John has become observant enough, he might notice. He doubted it though. He continued to remove the sticky wet shirt to further examine his wound but the blood was flowing so thick it was impossible to see anything. Sherlock proceeded into the shower after he had stripped off his other garments and let the red tinted water wash down the drain. The liquid stung but he ignored it and it soon became a numb, pulsing soreness. He stayed there, pondering his options. He didn't want John to make a fuss over it, which he knew he would. He always did. It's only a scratch though... Sherlock thought. He'd just leave it there then. His body was just transport after all. Sherlock jumped when there was a sudden knock on the door.
"Sherlock, you okay?" John called through the door. "You've been in there an awfully long time."
"I'm fine, John. Absolutely fine."
He stepped out of the showed and turned it off, wrapping a off white towel around his waist. He reexamined his arm. It didn't look much better. The bleeding had stopped though.
John handed him a hot mug of tea when Sherlock reentered the room in his light blue dressing gown and t-shirt.
"Thank you." He said, taking the mug and sitting on the couch with it, turning his eyes up to stare at the many pieces of evidence they'd collected for the case. Most of them were hanging sloppily organized on the wall.
John still stood, leaning against the doorframe, sipping on his tea and examining Sherlock, like he did evidence.
"Sherlock," He said at last. "You should go to bed. I mean, get a bit of sleep before starting back up on the case again."
"Why?" Sherlock's usual response.
"Because you seem a bit... off..."
"I'm not off, John. You're the one who's tired. You've already started imagining things." Sherlock replied in an almost mocking tone.
"Ha, ha. Very funny." John retorted lamely. "Just try to get a bit of rest. You're still human."
"Just transport..." He muttered, pulling his knees up against his chest, resting his chin on them and staring intently at the wall of evidence.
John sighed, looking at his childish flatmate then finished off his tea. He went upstairs to his own bed with the very small hope that Sherlock would heed his advice.
When John woke, he was shocked to find it was nearly half past ten. He jumped up, despite his bodies still sleepy protests, and threw on his normal attire; a knitted jumper and a pair of thick jeans. Sherlock would be furious, or already gone. Or waiting impatiently. Whenever John slept in Sherlock would eventually come into his bedroom and throw something at him, complaining for him to 'Get up already'. John grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket and stumbled downstairs and into the sitting room. He was about to turn into the kitchen, expecting to find the detective doing some experiment but something caught his eyes. There was Sherlock, curled on the couch, sleeping soundly. Normally it wouldn't worry John but Sherlock rarely lets himself fall asleep on the couch if he can help himself, and nonetheless, was always awake when John got downstairs.
"You awake, Sherlock?" John questioned warily.
A few seconds went by before a muffled response.
"Mm.." Sherlock grunted, waving a lazy hand from under the blanket.
"You okay? Feeling a bit ill?" He asked and walked over to his flatmate.
"Fine. Why wouldn't I be fine. I'm fine.." Sherlock slurred, his voice still strewn with sleep.
The doctor in John was screaming at him to check the detectives temperature. Maybe he had overworked himself to much this time. He didn't doubt that.
"Well... You see pretty out of it today so we'll leave off the case-"
"No!" Sherlock sat up with a sudden burst of energy, and John didn't fail to notice him flinch. "We are so close to closing this case, John. One day off would be too many."
Sherlock stood and walked by John, who was looking at him, confused. He followed him into the kitchen and watched the detective put on the kettle. John leaned against the door frame.
"You do know what time it is, don't you?" He inquired blandly.
Sherlock only shrugged.
"It's," He pulled his sleeve to check his watch. "10:57."
Sherlock, for a second, wore a look of surprise. It vanished soon after and John raised an eyebrow.
"Yep, you're out of it. We're staying in today."
"Can't, John. I need to go look at the new body."
"What new body?"
As John finished his sentence there was a knock at the door. Sherlock shot John a satisfactory flare and turned off the kettle.
"Tell Lestrade we'll be right behind." He said and left an irritated John in the kitchen as he went into his room to put on his normal attire.
So what did you think? Good? Bad? I believe it starts to get better in chapter 2. I at one point had John say 'mate', but a friend who proofread it said all she could think was John as a pirate. So I changed it. Pirate!John? Ooh. Got some idea's now. I hope you enjoyed it and keep reading. I will try to post a chapter at least every week. A couple days apart at the minimum. I just get really busy with school and everything.