I have a collection of Teenlock fanfictions that I have been writing recently, I decided to post them.
They're aren't titled and they won't be posted in any particular order.
Nor do I know how many of them there will be.
Sorry for any mistakes.
"No!" John Watson felt his heart break as the chemistry student hiccoughed, a single tear making a track down his pale cheek as his trembling hands snaked up to his head, gathering his curls into balled fists and tugging at them. His notes had been forgotten, his laptop discarded on the floor as he had risen to his feet, feeling the onset of panic. His breath became ragged as his tears sped up, gathering at his chin and dropping onto the front of his shirt.
"Sherlock," John rose from his bedroom carpet also, reaching out to his friend who was walking backwards, dangerously close to the stairs that led down from his attic bedroom, "Sherlock stop." He intercepted his friend as he changed his course, instead walking forwards, trying to pass John who placed a hand on the small of his back, steering the lanky teen towards his unmade bed and helping him sit down on the crumpled bedding. He crouched in front of him as he doubled over, a sound that resembled a pained sob escaped him as John gently pulled his hands away from his head.
"Breathe, Sherlock," The aspiring doctor soothed as he helped the shaking scientist move backwards so that he was leaning against the headboard. His legs were shaky as he propped them up into a triangular position, his pale hands now resting on his thighs, his fingers splayed. John instinctively placed his pillow behind Sherlock's head as his frame continued to tremble painfully. John knew that his friend's muscles must be beginning to ache from the uncontrollable movement as he watched his heaving chest, fighting to take in a substantial amount of air, failing miserably as another sob escaped him.
"Can," He gently prodded Sherlock's chest to get his attention, "you name all of the elements in the periodic table, in order?" John asked casually as he joined him on the bed, sitting beside him and instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders. John knew that focusing Sherlock's mind on something that he enjoyed and having him list the elements would help Sherlock gain control over his breathing, needing it to speak fluently.
"Hydrogen," Sherlock breathed, glancing at John who nodded encouragingly at him, "Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron," Sherlock paused his shaky speech, taking in a deep breath which was released moments later as a strained gasp, "Carbon," he continued, staring at the wall opposite him, "Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium..."
John was nodding as Sherlock kept up his list, glancing around the room in the hopes that he would find something to calm the distressed teen. Finding nothing, he carefully threw his duvet over his friend to add a sense of warmth and comfort and, taking in the dark circles around his friend's eyes, asked "how much sleep did you get last night?"
"None." Sherlock admitted, avoiding eye contact with the medical student beside him. "I couldn't sleep. I was worrying." Sherlock sniffed, rubbing away the tears that had come to a stop on his cheeks.
"Oh, Sherlock!" John reprimanded in a soft voice, handing his friend a tissue. "Why on earth didn't you ring me?"
"I didn't want to disturb you." Sherlock murmured.
"Any time," John furrowed his eyebrows, gently poking his friend's bony knee, "are you listening?" Sherlock pulled his attention away from the bedding he had been scrutinising and met John's gaze. "Any time you need someone to talk to, I'm always on the end of the phone. Text me if you'd rather. Please don't suffer in silence."
John knew that his friend was so used to being bullied, so used to being hated and ridiculed by anyone who met him that he didn't trust easily. In fact, John felt honoured that the aspiring detective had felt safe enough in his presence to allow him to see him in such a state. To anyone who didn't know him, Sherlock was an unfeeling, stone-hearted freak. To John, Sherlock was a troubled teen with severe anxiety. A friend. Some might say he was John's best friend. The poor boy was being tormented daily by a group of bullies and, despite his calm exterior around them, he knew that they were greatly affecting him.
"Hey." John breathed. "Would you like to stay the night?" He questioned, placing his hand on the knee that he had just poked. He didn't want his friend to be alone. He didn't want him to be at home, keeping himself awake with his own thoughts when he could be here with his friend, comforted and cared for. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before nodding his head. "Are you feeling better?" John questioned, noting that Sherlock's breathing had evened out. "Here." He reached over to his bedside table, picking up a water bottle and handing it to Sherlock, ordering him to drink.
Sherlock's cheeks were still flushed and his skin was still clammy, but he was significantly calmer than he had been. He was still subdued and his eyes were still glistening but, as he sipped at John's water, there were no more physical tears.
Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think.
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