A cure for all ails
Challenge 1:After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…
Summary: Sherlock is not a machine, he does have feelings and when a case leaves him on the verge, John is always there to pull him back.
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Characters belong to BBC and Arthur Conan-Doyle
An: Okay, so this is my fic for the 'Let's write for Sherlock'
As far as taxi rides go, this was one of the worst. John cast a subtle glance at his flatmate, who was pointedly staring out of the window. They had solved the case, the consulting detective should be happy, but there was always something. Yes, they had solved the case but it too little, too late and the client had paid the price for it. Despite all accounts, Sherlock Holmes was not a machine, he did have feelings and right now he looked overwhelmed with grief.
"It wasn't your fault." John stated. Sherlock glanced at him, fingers pressed against his chin as he rested his elbow against the doorside at the bottom of the window.
"Well thank you for your opinion, Doctor, but I don't remember asking for your input." He snipped. John glared at him but found he couldn't stay mad, Sherlock didn't know how to express his emotions, which is why every single one overwhelmed him.
London whirred past outside, speeding towards Baker Street, towards home. The doctor itched to be back, being home made everything that much more bearable, like a nice cup of tea. He hadn't tried to make conversations since his friend's last insult. Instead, he chewed his lip and ran through all the things he could say, all the replies he'd get.
"For the sake of my sanity, will you shut up?" Sherlock hissed. The soldier's face became set in stone, knew better than to retort when the detective was in this mood, he didn't want a verbal spar in the back of a cab. Their cabbie had been looking in his mirror far more often that was strictly necessary; he could feel the tension too.
With a screech, the cab pulled up at the curb outside 221b. Sherlock was out of the vehicle before it had even stopped moving. John groaned, pulling out his wallet. He didn't ask to be dragged out to the middle of nowhere, why should he foot the bill?
"Trouble in paradise?" The cabbie asked. John smiled sarcastically.
"He indirectly killed someone today." The doctor replied. "And to make matters worse, the men he hates most were there to watch and they will never let him forget it so he is going to be pretty miserable for a foreseeable future, but he won't show it. Instead, he'll hurl insults and break furniture and probably blow something up too. So yes, I guess you could call it that." John shut the door of the gaping face of the cabbie, not wanting to hear any reply he could give.
Sherlock was stood outside of the door, waiting. John rolled his eyes.
"Are you just being lazy or do you really not have your keys?" He asked. The detective glared at him.
"Does it matter?" He huffed, standoffishly. The doctor's mouth became a thin line.
"Yes because I don't have a key and Mrs Hudson won't be back til tomorrow." He replied. Sherlock was decidedly not amused as he looked up to find the windows closed. He furrowed his brow in thought.
"No." John stated. His flatmate looked at him.
"What?" He enquired innocently.
"You are not breaking into our flat." He answered.
"Do you want to stay outside all night?" The detective yelled in a voice saved for only the most plebeian of people. John grit his teeth, his sympathy for the bastard fading quickly. He glanced up the sky, the dark was creeping over the overcastting clouds. Night was nearly upon them. The annoyance ebbed from him and he smiled.
"Yes." He replied bluntly. Sherlock blinked owlishly.
"What?"
"I think I would like a night outside, go for a walk, get a new perspective. Everything looks different in the dark." He chuckled. The detective scowled.
"This is stupid and inane; you should just let me pick the lock." Sherlock huffed, pulling his coat up to shield him from the wind. They turned a corner, by now night had well and truly fallen, the buildings loomed over and cast dark shadows across the street, which were lit in circular yellowing beams of light emitted from the halos of the streetlamps above. An ambulance whizzed past, sirens blaring. Sherlock stopped to watch it pass, he didn't move again until it was out of sight completely. John waited patiently for him, trying hard not to let the worry show in his eyes.
"John, I'm going to catch a cold. You're a doctor, you should be preventing this kind of thing." John didn't reply as they continued moving at a leisurely pace, the gates of the park passing by as eerie metal soldiers standing guard over the tranquil greenery behind them.
"The park? Yes, let's go back to the place where you spent every afternoon moping when you were invalided back to London. Poor Soldier, here to reminisce?" Sherlock huffed, folding his arms like a child having a tantrum, though if asked he would be adamant that it was to try and keep himself warm.
At the bench he used to frequent, half way around the pond, John took a seat. Sherlock continued walking, realised he wasn't being followed and strode back to the smaller male.
"You wanted a walk." He huffed, still standing. The doctor nodded.
"I did. And now I want to sit." He answered, patting the bench beside him. The detective groaned but plonked himself down on the cold wood. A hole appeared in the blanket of cloud which wrapped over London, letting the moon's glow dance along the still water. John cast a wearied glance up to catch the starlight which peeked through the gaps in the fluffy blanket.
"John, I'm bored." Sherlock whined.
John rolled his shoulders and continued his walk, this time heading in the direction of their flat. The doctor found that he couldn't contain the smirk which spread across his face as they turned onto Baker Street again. His flatmate gripped him by the shoulders.
"What is so funny?" He demanded, though there was a glint back in his eyes. John removed a key from his pocket. "You have dragged me on this field trip around London for no reason?" His voice raised an octave, but he wasn't whining. Sherlock Holmes did not whine. The doctor grinned at him, shaking his head slightly.
"No, Sherlock, there was reason, a very good reason." John replied, pausing.
"Well?" His flatmate pressed in frustration, it wasn't often that he didn't know something and his flatmate was just being cruel. John placed a hand on Sherlocks' arm, making sure he had his friends' undivided attention.
"You needed it." He answered bluntly before unlocking the door and stepping inside.