Title: Kindle My Heart
Pairing: John and Sherlock
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Reviews are love!
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Toes, fingers, nose and ears, oh how they stung. It felt as though the tips of hundreds of needles pricked these areas and vibrated violently. The room was dark, muted light filtering through the half-closed shades and thin maroon curtains. The room was dead silent, nothing but the sound of his labored hitched breathing as he tried to ease the tight, cold ball in the pit of his stomach. His skin, his body, wrapped in layers of clothing and blankets and arms and legs. An arm that was looped under his neck and around his chest flexed, a large pale hand grabbed his own at his shoulder and squeezed lightly around his finger tips. The man glued to his back cursed under his breath, the nose squished to the back of his neck pulled away and a chin was now pressed into the back of his shoulder as that large pale hand held his fingers in place. Gusts of warm breath engulfed his digits, shaking and stiff, several times until they loosened and curled on their own. A kiss on his shoulder and the nose was back against his neck, breathing warm and long.
"Sherlock." His voice came out much weaker than he had intended. "Why can't I move my toes? Did they…?"
"No. They're fine. I put six pairs of socks on you when we came home." No response. More silence.
"I knew you'd find me."
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It seems as if it had only been minutes ago when he woke up in that meat freezer, head stinging, in nothing but his pants and socks. He remembered the first words out of his mouth, "This is new". He hadn't been worried at first, he'd have a couple hours at this temperature, Sherlock would figure it out in no time, absolutely nothing to worry about. It wasn't until he felt his heart beat steadily slowing, his sight persistently fading in and out, and his violent trembling fading into spaced out small convulsions that he knew his luck had run short this time. Somewhere in the time that he had finally blacked out and woke up, in a sense, to volts of electricity coursing through his body from these two warm things on his chest and Sherlock yelling at him, unnecessarily crudely John might add, he had realized that he had, in fact, died. For the following hour and a half, fading in and out of consciousness, all John could comprehend was that the curve of Sherlock's neck, jaw, and shoulder was shaped perfectly for him to rest head in as Lestrade drove them home. Sherlock had John in the back seat with him, sitting sideways in his lap, wrapped up in several blankets and his own jacket, one leg hooked over both of John's, the other leg wrapped around his hip, one arm pulling him close around his torso and the other cradling his head and smoothing out his hair.
Sherlock had refused to take him to the hospital. He claimed he didn't trust the trained professionals and knew he was better for John anyhow.
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John smiled into the pillow his face was buried into. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow and reached around with his free hand, tilting John's head to look up at him.
"I will always find you, John. That is not a promise, that is a fact." Their eyes were locked, Sherlock's hand warmly caressing John's clammy cheek as he leaned down slowly. John and Sherlock were flat mates, best friends, colleagues, John even considered them soul mates, they'd give their lives for each other, Sherlock already had in fact. They were nothing more until this moment. Yes, small affections were granted between the two, but nothing that would title them lovers. Partners, maybe, in a subtle sense of the word. They had never kissed on the lips before, Sherlock never understood the appeal of it, how was putting your mouth on someone a sign of love or affection? It honestly made no sense to him until now. He was truly, with every bone and muscle in his body, happy that John was alive and in his arms at this moment, and all he felt like doing was putting his mouth on John's for some stupid reason. John was still at first, relaxed and at ease, simply watched Sherlock close his eyes, which surprised John more than the kiss itself, and plant his lips on his own. After a short moment, John closed his own eyes happily and pressed back into the touch without a care in the world. It was the most wonderful kiss John had ever experienced, his heart beat fluttered and the needle pricks in his toes, fingers, nose and ears were washed away with the most beautiful warmth he'd ever felt. They kissed again. And again. And one more time for good measure. "Are you hungry?"
John smiled, teeth and all, and nodded his head. "I could go for some Chinese. Beef lo mein, white rice and dim sum. The usual." Sherlock smiled and kissed John again, resting his forehead on the one beneath him and relishing everything that is 'right now'. Before he pulled away to leave, John snatched his arm and blushed, looking away koishly. "Don't go. Call it in. It'll be too cold if you leave." Sherlock nodded and pulled out his phone, letting John punch in the number to their favorite Chinese carry out restaurant.
"Yes, beef lo mein, steamed rice, and dim sum. No, that is all." John back-handed Sherlock's bicep and glared at him.
"Get something." It came out as a growl, he wasn't sure if he meant to do that or not.
"I'm not hu-"
"I said. Get. Something." Okay, this time he meant it. With a dramatic sigh and heaving shoulders, Sherlock placed his order.
"Let me add an order of chicken and broccoli to that. Yes. Sherlock and Joh- That is correct. Goodbye." Sherlock shut the phone off and tossed it on the nightstand. He laid down on his back and wrapped one arm under John's neck, pulling him close. John wrapped himself around Sherlock, arms and legs and all, while Sherlock tucked the covers around them both to keep John as warm as possible. The doctor sighed happily as his head rested back in that perfectly shaped neck. But before he could drift off in total bliss, he looked up at Sherlock and gave him a quick glare.
"And tip the poor kid this time or I'll hide your stupid violin."
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