This is my first Sherlock story so it is a a short one-shot, which I may elaborate more on or add more one-shots around this idea to, but for now I'm just testing out writing for this fandom because I love it!
An alternate scene for "The Great Game" where Sherlock shoots the wall.
The world swirled along with sand being blown around in the wind, tans and hunter greens bled into blues, browns and whites. The sound of gunfire filtered out into a silence he never thought he would appreciate before picking up the sounds of soft humming and murmuring. He felt the morphing world grow taller due to the weakness in his knees and he closed his eyes against the vertigo, finding bliss in the darkness if only for a moment.
The sound of humming became distinctive in the darkness, kept in rhythm by a slow, but steady pulse beneath his ear. The texture of soft cotton against his face chased away the feel of blistering heat and grimy sand on his skin, while he felt himself being swayed slightly but in an non-dizzying way.
Upon sudden realization of the true world he was in, the heat he had felt earlier was back in a ghosting flush upon his cheeks and the tips of his ears, but a light pressure was placed against the side of his face as the humming stopped momentarily for a soft and sweet, but commanding, "Oh, none of that dear. It's alright," before the humming started once more.
He cracked an eye open, forcing himself out of the paradise of darkness and into the flat of 221b Baker Street where he was cradled against Mrs. Hudson on the floor of the living area as Sherlock stood from his chair while quickly disposing of his smoking gun he had used against the wall in his attempt to rid himself of boredom.
He let out a gruff chuckle despite it all as he tensed under Mrs. Hudson's embrace. The landlady's hand was once again placed against the side of his face and he knew she was quite prepared to tell him again that everything was alright, but he reached up and grasped her hand in his, pulling it away with appreciation, before she could lie again.
He sat up, slowly maneuvering himself out of her comforting embrace, just as Sherlock came to stand in front of him. The consulting detective wore a neutral expression, yet guilt was slowly seeping through the seams. He cleared his throat, following it with a hard swallow while Sherlock squatted down in front of him.
"No more talk of skipping sessions with your therapist, and I won't fire inside the flat again. Hmm?" Sherlock proposed as a silent apology and a concerned inquiry.
He stared at him, momentarily debating whether to try and play it off, or just agree with a curt nod, but his friend was characteristically ahead of him.
Sherlock held out a hand which he accepted as he was helped up from the floor, but once they were standing face to face, with Mrs. Hudson busying herself with standing up as well, Sherlock looked at him steadily and said, "You've been the hero for far too long, John. It's time to come home to family."
John followed Sherlock's gaze across the room to Mrs. Hudson, before glancing back at his friend and gave a curt nod.
AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!