My first fanfiction! Let me know what you think!
Sherlock has been back for months now John adjusted to life back with Sherlock rather quickly. Sherlock was back, and John slowly healed. Much after the complete and utter shock, that the detective had not committed his actual suicide all those years ago. John's limp disappeared once again, and his crippling depression went away, the moment his Sherlock came back into his life. Life without Sherlock was more than hard for John, it was barely possible. He has no idea how he even got through any of it. During Sherlock's time gone John had A LOT of time to himself and realized that Sherlock had been there when he needed him, he saved him after the war, and that he as much as he wouldn't want to admit to it, he loved him.
It was a quiet day on Baker Street, the sun was shining through the clouds, and the sky was a crisp blue. It was one of those rare days London saw, about once a year. I was coming home from work, completely exhausted; I stepped out of the cab, paid the cabbie and thanked him…. Where was Sherlock?
It was far too quiet with him not on a case, his usual shooting at the wall and violin playing usually filled the whole street with noise.
I walked up the stairs to our flat, and as I was walking I yelled "Sherlock!?" I waited for a response, and none came. "Where did he run off to?" Hmmm "Ms. Hudson, Sherlock, I'm home!" Ms. Hudson didn't seem to be in... Well that was odd, maybe she was out at the shop, we were getting low on milk. "Hey Sherlock, is Ms. Hudson in?" I got to the top of the stairs and stopped in my tracks.
The stinging smell of ammonia filled my nostrils and lungs, "Shit!" I ran into the kitchen screaming for Sherlock, another one of his damn experiments caught on fire in our oven. "Bloody Hell." What the heck? Grabbing the fire extinguisher off the wall I yelled "SHERLOCK!" but still nothing. Moving with urgency all I could think was I have to get this out. My lungs were on fire, and I started feeling dizzy. Still desperately trying to put out the fire, I called for Sherlock, who was nowhere to be found. I kept cursing under my breath, Where the hell is he. I kept calling for him, even though by now it was useless; he obviously wasn't here. By the time I had extinguished the fire, the oven had burnt to a charcoal black and the flat had an awful toxic smell to it.
I sighed, walked to the couch and sat down exhausted. Staring at the floor I kicked off my shoes and sat still for awhile. His coat and scarf weren't hanging up on the hook by the door, were the usually found a home. Still kind of light headed from the smell, I decided to texted Sherlock.
Where the hell are you? -JW
5 Minutes
I was getting really impatient
Sherlock? You almost burned down our flat! -JW
I waited 20 minutes for his reply.
Sherlock are you okay?-JW
Sherlock?-JW
Another 10 minutes.
I was getting nervous, Sherlock always had his phone, and it was very odd that he just left his experiment unattended. He was usually good about answering my texts fast… I hope he is okay… he must have just put his phone on silent…. Yeah that would explain it. He never silenced his phone though. He needs to pick up. What if he is in trouble? Did he get a case? Sherlock could be in trouble and I don't know where he is. My imagination took off, I started to have a panic attack, breathing became harder as my worries about Sherlock started to increase my heart rate. I can't lose him again. Sherlock was fine, he did cases all the time, he is a grown man he can leave the flat without telling me. Worrying this much was pointless, I knew Sherlock wasn't gonna leave me ever again. He promised. But the un-denying fear of losing him, was just too surreal. It gripped at my heart, and was an excruciating pain, just the pure thought of Sherlock not being in his life, killed him.
Its okay.
He is fine. I just need to calm down.
Nervously still waiting for a reply, I walked up the stairs to my room and through the door to find a sleeping Sherlock tucked into my bed. I mumbled under my breath, "Sherlock, what are you doing? I sighed with big relief, not caring he was in my bed, but that he was okay, more than okay, he was safe. He looked cute sleeping. I surprised myself with that, I wasn't spouse to think that, he is Sherlock Holmes, my best friend, and flatmate, but he did look so adorable. I smiled, at least he was okay, not off somewhere getting in trouble.
Walking over to Sherlock, who was facing the door, I squatted down at the edge of my bed; I looked down at Sherlock's sleeping face and smiled. I reached out and touched his cheek, then ran my hand through his thick hair; he smelled of tea and sugar. I couldn't keep myself from smiling, he looked so peaceful sleeping. Even though he almost unknowingly burned down our flat; I knew I could easily forgive him. Who am I kidding I already did... I decided to just let him sleep, Sherlock never sleeps anymore, it may be in my bed but at least he is getting some rest, when was the last time he slept anyways? Gosh it has been days, maybe a week.
I smiled, stood back up and left him to sleep. As I started to walk out the room, Sherlock muttered something in his sleep. What was that? I turned back around and looked at him. Sherlock had stirred in his sleep, and moved around on the bed.
"John" he moaned
Thanks for reading!