Hello. I had this idea a little while ago, but I've been too low and stressed to even write it. Here we go anyway.
The handcuffs bit into the skin of Sherlock's wrists, leaving red weals and cuts that had begun to bleed sluggishly. John could feel the tug on his wrists as Sherlock tried to angle it so it wouldn't hurt. He may seem impervious, insolent, but with every move of his hand there was a sharp inhalation and he stiffened. The silvery metal was dulled with blood, the tacky liquid staining it a dark brown.
John felt the tug on his wrist as Sherlock reached into his pocket, John saw the way Sherlock shrank away from the pain, ultimately causing more to spike along his arm. Silently, he placed his arm alongside Sherlock's, lessening the tension in the chain. Sherlock nodded, a brief thanks for it. He dug out his phone and groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked.
"Can't you use your lock picking skills?" John ventured, and Sherlock turned to him.
"I can't. My right hand is attached to your left, we both need those hands as they are more dominant. I am more than competent with my left hand but it would cause you pain so I can't." John looked away.
"If it makes it easier for you, a little pain doesn't bother me."
"I would have to break your hand in three places to release you from the handcuffs in order to make it easier for me. I am not willing to do so." The ice that had been in Sherlock's eyes since Moriarty had first appeared was gone now, replaced by an almost forlorn look.
"Sherlock..." Sherlock shook his head and winced as the movement shuddered through him.
"We need to keep moving." John looked at his ruined wrist and felt a short burst empathy.
"Where?"
"Just keep moving. Moriarty will find us if we don't keep moving."
"Sherlock." Sherlock ignored him and the dull throbbing sensation in his right wrist. The flesh was badly lacerated, there was extensive tissue damage and he could feel blood trickling down his hand and dropping off his fingertips.
"Not 221B... Scotland Yard? No, obvious. Nowhere public, not with the handcuffs on..." John moved closer to Sherlock again, slackening the chain that pulled the handcuffs against Sherlock's skin.
"How about the riverbank? Plenty of people, easy to blend in, not obvious." Sherlock looked John over.
"Yes... That would work." Sherlock tugged John forwards, walking a little faster than normal, John's lag causing the clotting blood to be ripped off again. John felt every flinch that Sherlock gave, heard the tiniest of cries escape his lips and could see every wince.
"You're doing well." He murmured as he picked up the pace and drew closer to Sherlock, relaxing the chain.
"Why doesn't it hurt you?" Sherlock asked, seemingly impulsively.
"It's looser. Yours are tight enough so that every move you make will hurt." John had seen the method of torture before and it chilled his blood.
"I understand." Sherlock nodded tersely, slowing his pace as they reached the river, the lights sparkling on the water. John hadn't noticed the change in pace and jolted forwards a little, earning a pained hiss from Sherlock.
"Sorry."
"It's fine." Minutes passed in silence as they leant over the concrete barrier. John looked at Sherlock askance, took in his stance and how his face was set. He observed his profile and saw that his jaw was clenched with every move of their hands.
"This is insane." He spoke after a few more minutes of thought.
"What is?" Came the tired reply from his left.
"This, you hurting. It could be so much less."
"I had thought of it, I deemed it inappropriate."
"You're an idiot." John extended his fingers and curled them around Sherlock's, closing his hand around the consulting detective's. "There."
"Thank you, John." They stood like that for a while, until a chill wind swirled around them, cutting through John's thin shirt. Upon instinct, a pure and basic idea of homeostasis, he shivered. Sherlock flinched a little. "Are you okay?"
"Cold." John wanted to blow on his fingers but he couldn't without dragging Sherlock's injured wrist up. Instead of speaking, Sherlock squeezed his hand, rubbing tiny circles on the skin.
"Better?"
"A little." John brought Sherlock over to the light, and laid both their hands on the concrete wall.
"It needs medical attention."
"No shit." John carefully peeled back Sherlock's sleeve with his right hand and examined the angry red marks both above and below the tight silver ring. Sherlock winced as he poked it, examining the extent of the damage. "Does that hurt?" John pressed his forefinger against the handcuff. Sherlock pushed him as away as he could, and it brought tears to his eyes when the chain snapped taught.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry." They stood together again, John itching to reach for Sherlock's hand, and Sherlock trying to ignore the spidery shoots of pain along his arm. It took them a few moments before they were standing shoulder to shoulder again, and when Sherlock reached for John's hand, it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Ready to run?" He asked quietly, his sharp eyes noting the people that should have left his peripheral vision a few minutes ago.
"When you are." Sherlock squeezed John's hand tightly, and then, together, they ran until they were back at 221B, until they could barely breathe.
It seemed perfectly natural to find the keys to the handcuffs in Sherlock's bedroom, they were, after all, standard police issue. And after that, it seemed natural that John fixed Sherlock's wrist and forearm. And so, when Sherlock kissed John, half dead from exhaustion and pain, that too was perfectly natural.
I hope you liked it. Drop a review if you did (:
Erin xx