More to come soon, would love to hear your thoughts!
John sighed. It was his own fault, really. He had, after all, told Sherlock that he needed to learn to rely on him more…assured Sherlock that he wasn't going anywhere…that they were a team. Though, in his defense, he hadn't expected the mad bastard to take him so literally as to actually handcuff the two of them together. The aftermath of the night with Moriarty at the pool had included what Mrs. Hudson would term 'a little domestic' between him and Sherlock. Once he and Sherlock had recovered from the minor injuries they had sustained during the incident, and John had gotten past the all encompassing relief he felt that Sherlock was okay (and as a side note that he himself was okay), he had let loose his less positive emotions on Sherlock.
As Sherlock lay in his usual fashion on the couch in the flat that they shared, no doubt lost in his own contemplation of the events, John had lectured him about how incredibly stupid it had been to go after Moriarty alone, how he'd thought that Sherlock was finally starting to trust him, to rely on him, then this? Didn't Sherlock realise how important it was that he stay alive and keeping doing what he's so good at? Sherlock had continued to lie motionless on the couch, his fingers steepled, letting John's rage flow over him without a word, making John even angrier. Then all of a sudden he had risen, giving John a strange look that John couldn't even begin to read, before retreating towards his bedroom. John was momentarily flabbergasted before remembering that he was annoyed.
"Sherlock, you can't just walk away when I'm trying to…" he had started, but something about Sherlock's face when he re-entered the room and approached John at the window abruptly shut him up.
Sherlock looked…not quite angry…defiant perhaps? But there had been something else, some unreadable quality in his expression that hinted at…amusement? Mischief even? And then Sherlock produced something shiny from one hand and, before John knew what was happening, they were handcuffed together. John had barely had time to react before Sherlock had shifted slightly towards the window, opened it a crack, and thrown a small object out of it. It took John several moments to adequately express his disbelief and outrage at the unexpected situation.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he finally managed to splutter.
Sherlock's face was a picture of calmness, though still with that barely identifiable hint of amusement.
"Was that the…key…that you just threw out the window?"
Sherlock gave John a small, smug, infuriating smile that made John momentarily want to punch him.
"You said you wanted us to work as a team, John. I'm merely attempting an experiment that will enable us to learn to work better together. Think of it as a team building exercise."
Ordinarily when Sherlock frustrated him John simply left the room, or the flat, rather than allow himself to become worked up. But this time he couldn't do either. He decided that the best way to handle it was by saying nothing at all. Eventually, John somehow managed to remain calm enough to convince Sherlock that they had to go downstairs to look for the key. Sherlock, who seemed to sense that John was on the edge of a very explosive reaction to his 'experiment', wisely agreed. John wasn't altogether surprised when their search turned up no results, and after twenty minutes of searching in the bitter cold, moonless night, John's exhaustion and numb extremities got the better of him and he conceded that they go back inside and try to get some sleep. Sherlock had agreed, still looking smug but knowing better than to further provoke John right at this moment.
Now John was lying in his bed, his wrist uncomfortably twisted in the handcuffs beside Sherlock's, wondering if these things really happened to him or if meeting Sherlock and everything since was all some kind of extremely vivid hallucination.
"John."
Sherlock's deep voice beside him pulled him from his reverie. John huffed and turned his head slightly in Sherlock's direction, but he was unable to make out his flatmate's expression through the velvet darkness of the room.
"What?" he replied in a tone of voice that he hoped reflected his frustration and exhaustion.
Sherlock paused.
"You're still angry with me," he stated.
"Another brilliant deduction," John snapped back at him.
"Look, I'm…"
Sherlock paused and sighed, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. Since when has Sherlock ever have trouble with words, John asked himself. For a split second John wondered if he was being too harsh, but he said nothing.
"I'm sorry, John."
John felt briefly shell-shocked at the genuine tone of Sherlock's voice. He had never heard Sherlock apologise before. Well, not in words at least. But he recovered quickly.
"Then why did you do it, Sherlock?" John asked, his tone a lot gentler than he'd intended it to be.
"No, I don't mean this," Sherlock replied, vaguely moving their handcuffed limbs to indicate the handcuffs. "Though I suppose I'm sorry for this too, but only because it's bothered you so much for some reason."
John ignored this last remark.
"What then?"
Another pause.
"For what happened at the pool. For not telling you my plans," came Sherlock's reply through the darkness.
Now it was John's turn to be lost for words. He felt most of his anger slip away, despite his determination to cling to it. He was slowly discovering that it was infuriatingly difficult to stay mad at Sherlock for any decent length of time.
"Just…don't do it again, okay? There's no point in us working together and being…friends…if we can't rely on each other." He paused, waiting for a response that didn't come. "Now let's just try to get some sleep. We can sort this out tomorrow." He gestured to the handcuffs, and rolled onto his side to try to get into a more comfortable sleeping position.
For a moment John's dark bedroom was silent, and then the peace was again broken by Sherlock's voice.
"Just so you know- I do consider you to be my friend, John. My only friend."
It was a simple enough statement- spoken in the same sensible tone that Sherlock often employed- but John froze, his throat suddenly feeling tight. He cleared it, licked his lips, turned onto his back again. His felt his face grow warm and was suddenly immensely relieved that the room was too dark for Sherlock to deduce his reaction to the words.
"Good to know," he finally said, affection painfully evident in his voice. "Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, John."
To be continued…
