"Sherlock wanted so badly to take care of John. He just didn't know how yet."
Story collection concerning the nuances of Sherlock and John's daily lives. How problematic is it to join together such despairingly different companions? Where are the lines of compromise drawn? And who gets left short? Friendship/platonic partnership, possible angst to come. No slash, but plenty of bromance. Further installments…?
These characters are not and will not, sadly, ever be any possession of mine. They are the original creative property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and are currently being leased to the lovely Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
A/N: This first chapter serves as as a bit of an intro. Future installments will most likely be longer/in a different format.
1. Narcolepsy
It wasn't at all uncommon for John to fall asleep while they were working a case. It didn't matter where they were, either: 221B, a restaurant, the back of a cab, an active crime scene. There had to be a breaking point somewhere. After days of chasing after Sherlock and his damn long legs, of being dragged back and forth across every corner of London, of not coming within five feet of anything resembling a mattress, a breaking point must eventually be reached.
Sherlock had paid witness to John's breaking point several times. Those occasions were imprinted indelibly on his precious memory space, for being delectable as well as horrid. Continuously operating alongside a calm, predictable, steady John made watching his occasional outbursts all the more delightful. It also made his rare (make that very rare) breakdowns almost impossible to bear.
Once, he'd punched a suspect. Some time after that, he jacked a cab in order to follow a captive Sherlock. He'd sworn out an unsuspecting witness with surprising energy and creativity, though lacking any observable provocation.
But mostly, he just fell asleep. Sherlock couldn't help but blame himself whenever this happened. He'd be texting Lestrade at his desk, only to look up and find John knocked dead away in his chair, case studies spilling from his lap. They'd be traveling in a cab in broad daylight, and Sherlock would feel John's head tumble against his shoulder as he passed out. Once, he'd turned around at a murder scene to see John propped upright against a wall, snoring like a buzz saw.
He tried, he honestly did. He worked harder every week to make sure he stopped at least twice every day to get John something to eat. He did his best to refrain from grabbing John when he was on his way to bed, even if there was a family member who desperately needed to be questioned. He'd gone so far as timing their restaurant visits, just so he was sure John actually received his order before they rushed out again.
But he couldn't think about that stuff all the time. He was out of practice, having never made a habit of fussing over his own personal maintenance. Sometimes things slipped through the cracks.
That was all fine and good, of course, back when he'd been alone. Now, when something slipped through the cracks, John missed a meal. John got so dehydrated, he nearly passed out trying to walk up the stairs. John got a small stomach bug and ended up in bed for a week because he'd failed to address it for days.
Sherlock wanted so badly to take care of John. He just didn't know how yet.
But he was trying. And, when a Holmes sets his mind to trying, he inevitably succeeds.
A/N: Good reviews are fun. Honest reviews are useful.