This is a prompt fill for my friend chaosisblue. Interesting fact, she's the only person on tumblr that I know in real life. Lol. Yay crossovers! Anyway...she wanted a story, so she texted me and asked for what ended up being this little gem. Hope you enjoy it, my dear!
Oh, I don't own anything...just love me some bromantic domestics. Lol. Enjoy!
Stranded
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''John! Come on!'' Sherlock Holmes shouted to his shorter friend, who was trying to keep up. John was breathing out curse words, in between trying to gasp in more air and energy to keep up. They ran along the long dock that led out to the sea, chasing after three men. It was a seven, and John had only barely convinced Sherlock to take on the case at all. However, what had seemed on the surface to be a simple case of family jealousy issues, turned out to be a whole jewel smuggling ring, when looked at from the right eye.
Currently, the three they were chasing had been the only three on this privately owned isle, and Sherlock was determined that they would not leave. Unfortunately, a notch in one board on the dock said differently, and the detective fell face first. The men took the opportunity to make a mad dash for the boat at the end of the long boardwalk, and jumped in after each other. Without any hesitation from the motor, the criminals sped off in the small boat. Make that the last boat. John finally caught up, just in time to help a now-very irritated Sherlock, up to his feet.
''Are you okay?" John asked as he looked his friend over. Sherlock waved him off, nodding his head a bit.
''Fine. The question remains, what are we going to do now?" Sherlock looked around at the few other docks which lined the shore. Not a single boat could be seen. The two each flipped out their phones, searching for a signal. None. They each let out a sigh of resignation, and looked to each other.
''Well, either we wait for Lestrade to notice we haven't come back, or we try to set up a shelter and send out some sort of signal.'' John presented the options to his stoic cohort, who was currently sulking as he glared at the piece of wood that had foiled his attempt. John chuckled and shook his head, before walking back toward the shore. Sherlock finally looked up, and eventually followed.
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Four Hours Later:
''You know, you could help. Instead of just sitting there.'' John heaved out as he hauled over another large branch for the pile he was collecting. He had been at it for nearly three hours, after spending a considerable amount of time trying to locate where they were. Sherlock, in the meantime, had done nothing to help, apart from lending a critical word to John's technique.
''I'm fine.'' Came the reply. Sherlock was currently staring up at the grey skies, seemingly lost in thought. He could hear John muttering to himself, and smirked at the sarcastic conversation he carried on for the both of them.
''What's that, Sherlock? You don't want to help? Lovely. 'Oh, it's no problem, John. I just don't want to disappoint you by being a normal human being for once. Carry on.' Oh, thank you. My faith in the humanity of sociopaths everywhere has been preserved. So thank you.'' John continued his ranting monologue as he stalked back and forth between his growing burn pile and the line of trees just yards away.
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One Hour Later:
''Sherlock, have you got a match? Or a lighter?" John asked, hovering over his friend, who had yet to move from his spot. Sherlock lied on the ground, hands peaked under his chin. John kicked at his side, to which the consulting detective huffed a sigh and opened his eyes.
''What do you want, John? Can't you see I'm busy thinking?" Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked himself over, as if it were an obvious fact. John sneered a bit, biting back the comment he wanted to make.
''Your lighter. Or a match. Please.'' John snipped out the words with deliberate irritation. He knew the implied message would be missed by the otherwise genius, but it made him feel better all the same. Sherlock sighed, before rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a small box of matches. John nodded, rolled his eyes, and turned back to his pile of wood.
''It hardly matters. It's going to rain in twenty or so minutes. Hardly enough time to create a substantial fire that could survive the brunt of the storm.'' Sherlock's indifferent voice called. John stopped in his tracks immediately, before rounding back.
''Sorry, what?"
''Rain, John. It's going to rain. I've been watching the weather patterns over us. The change in air temperature, combined with current air flow and being over a large body of water, it's going to rain. Quite a lot, too, judging by the dark clouds that are just miles out.'' Sherlock didn't open his eyes, merely pointed out to sea. John could see the large storm head rolling closer. His level of impatience reached a new high.
''You've been watching? How long, would you say, have you been watching?" John's arms began to make erratic gestures, trying to help him get his point across. Sherlock glanced at his watch, pondering for a moment.
''I'd say three hours.'' He stated bluntly. John's eyes widened with anger, and he took to kicking the sand under his feet wildly. Sherlock sat up quickly, his look of shock only adding to John's irritated streak.
''You could have told me that before I lugged an entire tree over here! Sherlock!" John hollered. He paced back and forth now, trying to force himself to be calm. The thing that stopped him was a large rain drop, hitting him square on the nose. John looked up at the clouds, and another drop planted itself on his forehead.
''Oh, bloody hell.'' John mumbled, before walking toward the large covering of trees. Sherlock jumped to a standing position and ran after him. The sky darkened quickly, and the rain grew heavier by the time the two men had reached the trees.
''This is your fault, you know. If you hadn't tripped, we'd have caught them, and the boat.'' John muttered as he crossed his arms in a huff.
''Let's just try not to die from onset pneumonia, and figure things out in the morning.'' Sherlock glowered, copying John's actions by crossing his arms. The rain raged on, and the two sat silently, getting drenched, despite their cover.
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The Next Morning:
They had leaned against each other during the night, neither content with the idea of sleeping in the mud. The sound of their names being called was what woke them. John nudged the sleeping detective, who was immediately on his feet. They walked out into the clearing, to see Lestrade and a small team walking up the dock. John practically ran out to meet him, shaking hands happily and walking toward the boat. Sherlock followed a few paces behind the rest of them, and Lestrade looked back and forth between the two quiet men.
''Have a lovely island holiday, did you?" Greg joked, but immediately wiped the smile from his face at the glares he received from both Sherlock and John. They all clambered in the boat, with Sherlock still walking up the dock.
''I say we leave him here.'' John called out, to which Sherlock gave a warning glance. John reacted with a defiant face, his hand reaching over to the motor of the small rescue boat. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, and he took off in a sprint. However, all the stress from the previous 24 hours was instantly wiped away, as Sherlock fell face first, tripping over a familiar notch in the dock. John fell back into his seat on the boat, holding his stomach as he roared with laughter. Sherlock stood to his feet, brushed himself off, and proceeded to join them. As they sailed away, the consulting detective could feel two bruises forming: one in his knee, and a much bigger one in his ego.
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Well, that was so much fun to write. I hope you liked it, everyone. Again, this is for my dear chaosisblue. Love you! Tell me what you all think?