1
John Watson went out to get the shopping done, like every other time, and promised he would be back in twenty minutes with the special beans that Sherlock needed. He needed to pick up other things but Sherlock told him the beans were more important than food, the beans were the magical clue to a case, or at least that's what John told himself.
He walked as quick as he could down to the store so he could get back to the flat within his time limit, Sherlock told him that he couldn't make it to the store, get everything that he wanted to get, and get back in twenty minutes. John told Sherlock that of course he could, he's done it before. Sherlock just laughed at him and told him to try, and that he wasn't allowed to use cabs as transportation. John agreed that's why he was running quickly down the streets of London just to get "magic beans", some bread and milk.
John made it to the store with fifteen minutes to spare, which meant he had five minutes to get the bread and milk before he went off to find the beans, and not to mention the dreaded machines. He was raced around the store, grabbing his items before venturing down an aisle that he barely went down. He glanced down at the small piece of paper with the name of the beans on it. Having the name didn't even help him find them.
He looked on all the shelves for three minutes before going to someone who worked there. He showed them the name of the beans and they smiled. He looked at them confusing before they guided John back to the aisle he was just in. He tried saying that he couldn't find the beans there but they didn't listen. The worker just bent down a plucked a small can of beans off the shelf.
"These are what you're looking for," the worker told John. "They're not often called that so people get confused." He motioned towards the paper.
John scowled and stalked away from the guy after he said his thanks. He should have known Sherlock would give him some exotic name just to make John loose the bet. He went as quickly as he could through the checkout, making only a few mistakes and getting mad at the machine. Once he had his bags he ran out of the store.
By the time he reached the door to 221 B Baker Street he was out of breath and huffing for air. He pushed open the door and quickly made it up the steps. He jumped through the kitchen door triumphantly. "Take that Sherlock," his yelled died out halfway through. He saw Sherlock hunched over the microscope he was looking through, fast asleep. John set the groceries down and tiptoed over to the unconscious form. He leaned in close to his ear with a smile splitting his face in two. He took in a deep breath and yelled, "Sherlock wake up!"
Sherlock jerked forward, hitting his head on the microscope, and cursed. He leaned his head back and glared at John while he rubbed his forehead. "Uncalled for," he mumbled. "I was just shutting my eyes."
"And you didn't hear me come in?" John questioned sarcastically. "Seven days without sleep will dull your senses genius, but make you sick and not able to concentrate on your work. Oh, and I won." John smirked at him smugly.
"No you didn't," Sherlock told him as he went back to examining his slides. "You turned back the clocks when you noticed I was sleeping so you could fool me. You might want to change them back before someone is late to work again."
John hit him on the shoulder before walking to the other room. "You could have given me the common name to the beans," he said in defeat.
2
John couldn't sleep; he was in too much pain to sleep. Before the big gangly detective decided to come in to bed with him he could sleep, but with the man's sharp elbows poking at his fresh wound he knew it would be impossible to get back to sleep. He knew he should have taken the pain meds that he had from the last time he went to the hospital, now he was paying for it.
He groaned and tried to shift away from Sherlock but that hurt even more than just lying there. He grounded the heel of his palm in to his eyes as he mentally hit himself. He told Sherlock that if he was going to go to sleep that night that he should take either the spare bedroom or the couch, but no he wasn't listening to him.
But in Sherlock's defense he was talking to Lestrade about the case, the one they finally got done and the one John got injured on, so he should have known the consulting detective wouldn't hear him. Then again, John shouldn't be defending Sherlock when he was mad at him, especially if he was defending against himself.
John tried to take a different approach to making the pain stop. He reached across his body with his free hand and snaked it underneath Sherlock's, trying to get at the awkwardly placed elbow. His luck didn't change though; his hand got stuck under Sherlock's dead weight.
John dropped his head back on the pillow, he felt like crying. That seemed the only reasonable thing to door at the moment. He was so frustrated with himself, more his hand actually, it had one job to do and it failed. 'I hate my hand, I hate Sherlock and his impossible limbs,' he moaned in his head, 'and most of all I hate stairs that somehow pop up out of nowhere.' He barred his teeth and banged his head against his pillow multiple times.
He heard Sherlock grunt before shifting in to a worse position than he was in before. Not only was Sherlock's elbow digging in to the cut but John's own fingers were now working at the bandages. John grinded his teeth trying to think of what to do. He knew he should wake Sherlock up, but the man got so little sleep that it seemed right to let him sleep and John would just have to deal with the pain through one night.
John shook his head and had a little internal war with himself. He nodded once when he knew what he had to do. He nudged Sherlock's head with his shoulder. "Sherlock," he called quietly to him. "Sherlock, you have to wake up." He kept bouncing the detective's head with his shoulder. "Come on 'Lock you're hurting me." He was pleading now. Nothing was waking the genius.
"Sherlock," he groaned louder than before.
Sherlock lifted his head and John could see the dark circles under his eyes. "What?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"You're hurting me," he told him. "If you don't want to sleep down stairs then you'll have to switch to the other side." Sherlock lifted himself up and crawled over John on to his other side. He tried settling on John's shoulder but John stopped him. "Before you go back to bed, you're going to the bathroom to get me some pain killers."
Sherlock gave him the 'are you serious' look. John stared back at him with his best 'I'm a kicked puppy, love me' look. Sherlock groaned and got out of bed. "I hate you," he threw over his shoulder.
"Hey," John called to him, "you're the one who pushed me."
Sherlock came back in with the pain relievers. "I did not push you," he told him, like he told him a million times before earlier that day. "I saw you slipping and grabbed for you. It's not my fault you were stupid enough to fall down the steps." He handed the doctor and crawled back in to bed.
"Whatever you say," John said, and added more quietly, "I'm still telling everyone you pushed me."
Sherlock quickly sat up and got out of the bed. He stalked out of the room, ignoring John's outrageous laughter.
3
John and Sherlock were on the run together, there were people, bad people, out there looking for them. They agreed that the best way to bring down the criminals that were chasing them was to lure them out as far away from the city as possible. In the city they had all the advantages, unrecognizable faces everywhere. That's why Sherlock suggested they go to an old summer home that his parent's used to take to when he was younger; he explained to John that they would have the upper hand there, he knew everyone in that town even if it has been years since he has been there. John agreed and they got a car from Mycroft and started their long journey to the home.
They stopped to fill up the tank. John kept an eye out for anyone that looked suspicious, his finger barely touch the cold medal of his gun. "Do you want me to drive?" he asked Sherlock who was filling the tank. "I don't want you to get tired and fall asleep while working the wheel."
Sherlock waved him off as he scanned the small station. "I'll be fine John," he droned. He looked down at his watch checking the time. "If we continue driving all night and all through the morning we'll be there by noon."
John made a face before sliding back in to his seat. "I bet you're going to fall asleep too," he stated. Sherlock quickly got in to the driver's seat and started the car. "It won't be my fault that we're smeared all over the road."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he drove out of the parking lot. "John I won't kill us," he told him. "Why don't you go to sleep so I don't have to hear you complain?"
It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "I love you too Sherlock," he said. He leaned his head against the glass and shut his eyes. "Good night."
Sherlock grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Good night John," he said in a tone that could be called apologetic.
John woke to the feel of the car vibrating violently. He opened his eyes in confusion, until he saw the trees on the other side of the road getting closer to them at an alarmingly fast rate. He looked over at Sherlock and saw his head on his chest. John acted quickly and jerked the wheel back in to place. "Sherlock!" he screamed as he tried his best to steer the car from his seat.
His hand jerked, making the car jerk from side to side. Sherlock's head snapped up, he panicked for a second before grabbed the wheel and keeping them straight. His breathing erratic breathing slowly calmed down. He swallowed hard before glancing at John. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he croaked.
"Keep your eyes on that road," John told him as he clutched at the safety handle on the roof of the car. "Better yet pull over I'm driving."
"There's no need for that John, I'm fine now," Sherlock informed him. "I won't be feeling tired for another few hours now." John didn't say anything to him. He was to scared and angry to do or say anything.
After ten minutes of heavy breathing John started laughing. Sherlock quickly looked over at him before looking back at the road with a smile on his face. He started laughing along with the blond happily. This is what they lived for; they risked their lives just so they could feel the adrenaline course through their veins, and if they both got out of it alive it was an even better feeling because they were sharing it with each other.
"I was right," John said through a giggle. "I was right and you were wrong."
Sherlock snorted. "Don't get used to it."
4
John had pleaded with Sherlock to take a nap, he was sick and tired of the detectives moaning and groaning about being bored. John told him if he was so bored he could just go to sleep and let the hours pass by without him knowing it. Sherlock disagreed and told John he couldn't go to sleep, that was boring too. John didn't care, he tackled Sherlock to the couch held him in the tightest grasp he could get.
"Now you're just being childish John," Sherlock pointed out to him.
John tightened his grip. "I'm not the one refusing a nap," he told him. He heard Sherlock sigh and relax in to him. "Giving up?" He surprised himself with how surprised he sounded.
"Might as well," Sherlock droned. "Fighting against you is getting boring too."
John smiled triumphantly, he finally won over Sherlock. He loosened his grip a little so Sherlock wasn't so tense. "Would you like me to sing to you?" he asked jokingly.
Sherlock tilted his head back as best he could to give John a look. "No, I'll be fine mum," he said back. "You know what scratch that, it got way too weird in my head."
John chuckled and playfully hit his arm. "Go to sleep you great goof," he ordered. Within minutes John could hear quiet snores coming from Sherlock. He started rubbing small circles on the taller man's stomach before drifting off in to a light slumber.
He was brought out of his peaceful half dream state by something liking his barefoot. He opened his heavy eyelids and peered down to the end of the couch. All he could see a big black blob threw his blurred vision. He started panicking, he thought the black blob was a burglar and was going to kill them. He kicked at the "thief" and in the process sent Sherlock flying to the floor.
The detective landed on the floor heavily. He let out a small groan and propped himself up on his hands. He glared at John, who was lying on the couch still panting as he looked at the end of the couch. Sherlock turned his head to look where the other was and saw a big black dog looking at them confused. Sherlock cocked his head to the side as he examined it.
John continued on breathing heavily. "I thought it was a burglar," he admitted. "I felt something tickling my foot and I just woke up." He moved his head to look at Sherlock with wide eyes.
Sherlock covered his face with his hand as he shook his head. He crawled to the end of the couch and felt the bottom of John's foot. He shut his eyes again as he started laughing. "You thought a burglar was licking your foot?" he cackled.
John covered his flushed face with a pillow and groaned loudly. "Oh god I am such an idiot," he cried. He could hear Sherlock laughing.
"While you wallow in self-pity I'll go return the Butternut to Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter's dog," he said. He gave John's foot a tickled before running out of the room with the dog by the collar, successfully missing the pillow thrown at his head.
5
John hopped out of the shower and quickly dried himself off; it was too cold in the flat to be going around wet and naked. He changed in to his work clothes; he combed his messy hair and started his shave. He was overjoyed that he was going to be on time for work for the first time in weeks. He figured if he went in on time now and then and worked hard they couldn't fire him. He kept thinking that through all his previous jobs too.
After finishing cleaning himself up John walked to the kitchen to get some food in to his stomach, he made himself a bowl of the cereal that Sherlock told him he wasn't allowed to have because it was his favorite. John laughed and told him he wasn't allowed to have a favorite cereal because he barely ate anyway. He was enjoying the cereal too, the milked turned to chocolate milk and it made it even better to slurp out of the bowl like he used to when he was a kid.
He checked his watched; he still had ten minutes before he had to leave. He went back to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth, and make sure he didn't look like was running around in the dirty alleyways of London for the past three days when he was supposed to be sick. He guessed the two things looked the same in the end result, they both left him feeling achy and tired, they also both left bags under his eyes. He sighed and stood up straight, he rubbed his calloused hands across his face before checking his watch again. He had enough time to go say good bye to Sherlock.
John entered their bedroom silently and crept over to the bed. He leaned over the body that now has taken up the whole bed since he left and kiss his cheek. Sherlock hummed and turned over; wrapping his arms around John's neck he pulled the man closer. John smiled against his lips but tried to pull away. "I have to go," he mumbled against his mouth.
"One more," Sherlock said before pulling him down on to the bed.
John chuckled as he kissed back. "I really have to go now Sherlock," he said again. He sat up but it only dragged the detective with him. "Sherlock if you don't let go I'll have to take you to work with me." John groaned when he saw Sherlock smile deviously at him. "I'm not bringing you to work."
Sherlock pecked his lips once more. "To the door," he told him.
John sighed and lifted Sherlock off the bed. The other man wrapped his legs around his waist and kissed him again. "Let's go you princess," he mumbled. He carried Sherlock out of the room receiving more smooches from the very affectionate detective. A couple of times he had to stop so he could respond back.
They reached the door that separated the flat from the stairs that led to the down stairs. "We're here Sherlock," he said. He let go of him but Sherlock didn't move, he just held tighter with his legs.
"The other one," he whispered.
John licked his lips and nodded silently. He carried him down the steps slowly so he wouldn't fall. At the bottom Sherlock gave him one last good bye kiss before sliding off him. John caught him by the wrist and pulled him in for another. "Good bye," he said with a happy glint in his eye.
Sherlock smiled back at him. "I love you," he said.
"Love ya too," John returned and left the flat. He hailed a cab quickly and hopped in. It was worth being late when that was his good bye.
+1
John laid in his bed and waited for sleep to come. He was begging sleep to just over take him so he wouldn't feel alone anymore, at least in his dreams he could see his face again. It's been too long for him, he should have moved out of the flat years ago, like everyone told him to. But he couldn't do it, there were little things around the flat that reminded him of Sherlock and allowed him to keep believing in him.
He curled up further under the heavy comforter pulling it over his head. Three years was too long for him, he was getting too old to fast waiting for something or someone to come along. He slid his arm on to the other side of the bed, the cold side, and under the pillow that was never used. He felt the hard handle of his gun and felt a wave of comfort come over him. It was a constant reminder that if things went wrong and he would no longer had a hold on his life he would have a way out.
Not that John wanted to end his life; if he did he would be admitting something that he's been denying for three years. If he was gone and Sherlock came back then he would be alone, just like he did. He wouldn't want to cause this pain to anyone else, especially someone he loved.
His heavy lids dropped but he opened them up again. His eyes were burning for sleep but he didn't want to sleep anymore, not after he's been thinking. Thinking was never good for him before bed, it always led to nightmares. In the nightmares he didn't see any face just a lifeless body in a pool of blood. It was always the same, nothing changed.
"Always the same, Sherlock, always the same," he muttered to himself before his eyes shut finally. He met his nightmare like an old friend.
There was something new this time. As he stepped closer to the unmoving body he could see a mouth and it was moving. John leaned down trying his hardest to hear what the body was saying.
"John," it whispered in the deep smooth baritone voice that belonged to Sherlock once. "John, wake up."
John lifted his head and looked down at the head with just a mouth. Suddenly the mouth was gone and the faceless body lunged up at him. He lashed out, suddenly he was no longer outside of St. Bart's but in his room back at 221 B. He had his gun in his hand and he heard a small thump.
John lifted himself up off the bed and peered over the side. On the ground in a pile of awkward pointy limbs was Sherlock. John stared at him, unblinking, for a minute before he put down his gun and rubbed his eyes. The unconscious body was still there on the floor so he figured it might be real. He climbed out of the bed and poked the man. Once he felt that he was real he lifted Sherlock's body up off the ground and dragged him out of the room.
He dropped him on his chair and looked at his face. John noticed that he was thinner and looked more ragged and tired than the last time he seen him. He looked at the cut that he probably caused from the pistol to the head. John backed up and flopped down in his chair. "Sherlock Holmes," he grumbled. He ran his hands over his face and threw his hair. "Sherlock Holmes is alive." It felt great to say if and actually have proof that he was. He had the man sitting across from him, no one was going to think he was a nutter for saying he was.
Sherlock groaned and dropped his head forward. His head jerked backwards and his eyes were wide and intense. He looked around the room frantically until he stopped on John. He licked his dry lips with a smile forming on his lips. "You pistol whipped me," he told him.
John stared at him for a few seconds then said, "Yeah, well you deserved it." They were silent again, neither of the two willing to let their gazes wander from the other. John covered his mouth and started laughing, then the tears mixing with the laughter. "I hate you," he cried. "I hate you so much."
Sherlock laughed along with him. He got out of his chair and walked over to John. He leaned down with the biggest smile on his face. "I missed you too John," he whispered before kissing him gently.
I hope you guys liked it. Please review, it would really make me happy to know what you thought about it. BYE!