*Had a one-shot with John home alone, so naturally I thought Sherlock needed one too!
John wasn't home. He was working the clinic today and wouldn't be home for hours. Sherlock very rarely admitted to missing his blogger but today he would gladly swear on a bible if it meant John would be home soon.
Sadly it wouldn't be that easy. Sherlock lounged in his usual seat, staring at the empty chair of one John Watson. His flat mate and best friend.
"John!" He yelled, tipping his head back against his chair. Silence met his shout, not even a complaining landlady.
"JOHN!" Sherlock tired again knowing full well that it wouldn't do any good. John was at the clinic until seven tonight. Glancing over Sherlock spied a clock, it read: 11:00 a.m.
Nine hours! What the bloody hell am I to do for nine hours?!
"John…" he sighed feeling defeated and lonely.
Lonely?
Sherlock pondered for a moment. Did he feel lonely? His never felt it before, so how could he truly know what it felt like.
Lonely…
The word felt right, it felt like it was the only word that would fit how he was feeling. Sherlock growled squirming in his seat.
No John! No interesting cases! No Mrs. Hudson!
He ranted angrily in his thoughts.
How do normal people go on like this?
Sherlock contemplated calling or texting Garth again but he had already done that to the point the Detective Inspector was now ignoring him.
Not Garth, George? Gary? Grant?
Huffing he folded his arms over his chest and started to pout.
Maybe I could bother Mycroft…
No, I'm definitely not lonely enough to start doing that!
Sherlock glanced around the room, thinking what he might do to entertain himself until the good doctor returned. Nothing stuck out to him, his violin? No he only really enjoyed doing that when John was there to listen. John's laptop? No, Sherlock had already gone through everything on there. John's room...
John's room always has the most interesting stuff.
Sherlock mused, pushing himself to his feet. The journey through the flat and up the stairs to John's room took but a moment.
The doctor's room was neat and orderly, portraying the army life he once led.
Where would John keep his gun?
Sherlock thought ducking to look under the bed. The last time Sherlock had gotten John's gun and shot up the smiley face wall, the ex-soldier had put Sherlock in a headlock just to get the thing back.
"Sherlock! I swear the next time I see you with this gun, I'm going to shoot you with it!" John had shouted when he had finally been able to get the gun back.
Sherlock smirked at the memory, this time he was going to make sure that he put the gun back so John wouldn't see him with it. The underside of the bed proved to be a waste of time so Sherlock moved on to the closet.
Opening it up Sherlock spotted the familiar army trunk.
Would John put it in there? That would be a silly place.
He grinned at the idea that John would think a simple army trunk would keep him away. Pulling the trunk from the closet Sherlock popped it open.
No gun…
Sherlock frowned. There wasn't much in the trunk but Sherlock could tell the content hadn't been messed with for some time so the gun couldn't possibly be in its depths. John's army greens sat in the bottom, looking forlorn and forgotten.
Sherlock cautiously drew them from the container. Standing up he let the shirt fall open.
Watson, John
Field Medic
Was printed in the right side of the chest. Sherlock eyed the shirt, imagining the small doctor in the shirt. A sudden idea sprung to his mind. Slowly the tall man pulled off his own button up and pulled on the doctor's.
The thing was loose on Sherlock's chest and surprisingly long as well covering over the top of his dark slacks. Looking to the full length mirror in the corner Sherlock looked himself over. He saw the same face he had seen his whole life but the green of the army shirt looked regal and Sherlock saw a completely different man staring back at him.
Bending over to pull out the pants Sherlock unrolled them and knew instantly there was no way they would fit. John's short legs were nothing compared to Sherlock's supermodel styled legs. He huffed disappointed before remembering he had once snagged a pair of regulation military pants just in case.
"Looks like I'll finally get to put them to use!" Sherlock said loudly as he raced for his room.
Dressed in his own army pants and wearing John's boots, Sherlock now eyed himself in the mirror. He had morphed into a taller version of John with dark hair.
"Yes! Sir!" Sherlock shouted saluting the mirror before moving to put his hands behind his back in a lacks position. Seeing something out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock looked to the trunk. There he saw something he hadn't seen before, a photo album.
Curious Sherlock sat down next to the trunk with his legs crossed and pulled the album out. Setting it down between his legs, Sherlock opened it. A young John smiled up at him. John looked to be in his early twenties and was holding an army application paper. Turning the page Sherlock saw more John pictures.
One with John training to be a medic, another with him in boot camp. Turning the page, John holding a large gun, John next to a smiling patient.
Another page, John unsmiling in army greens, saluting, John looking weary and covered in dark blood.
Sherlock turned the page again, he froze. He saw John with his eyes closed, blood splattered on his face. An oozing wound on his shoulder was visible. Doctors were surrounding this bleeding John.
When he got shot…
Sherlock deduced. The picture made his stomach roll. He had never been sensitive to the sight or smell of blood but seeing John like that, seeing the strongest man he had ever known at death's door...well it terrified Sherlock. Even though the picture was old and that time had long passed Sherlock turned the page without looking at the second picture before he became nauseous.
The next pictures were better. John smiling tiredly, giving the camera thumbs up, still hooked up to I.V's and a heart monitor. John with his shirt hanging off his shoulder, showing off the new scar.
Next page was of John and Harry. Sherlock could tell just from the first picture it was John's birthday and Harry was drunk. John's face in the picture wasn't looking towards the camera but at his sister with a disappointed frown while Harry flipped the camera off.
Smirking Sherlock looked to the second picture. This one was of a younger John and Harry, as kids. Harry was doubled over, laughing while John had his arm over her shoulder with his own laughing face.
Flipping the page Sherlock was shocked to see himself.
It was of him and John standing together. Both had serious faces and looked to be having a conversation. Crime scene tape in the background told Sherlock it was taken on a case.
Cell phone...must thank Graham for this...
Sherlock thought moving on to the next picture. The second picture was of Sherlock and John laughing about something. He was startled to see that in the picture he looked genuinely happy. John was smiling as well his face turned in Sherlock's direction. He stared at the picture wondering who and where this had been taken. Searching Sherlock deduced it was another picture taken at a crime scene and again taken by a cell phone.
Grath again…
Going on Sherlock found more pictures of himself and John. The next one was not from Geoff, most likely Mrs. Hudson.
Traitor…
Sherlock thought looking it over. In the picture he was laying, clearly asleep on the couch. He was stretched out taking up the entire space. John was leaning against the couch sitting on the floor also asleep with his chin resting on his chest. Sherlock's hand was gripping John's shoulder in the picture. Noting that Sherlock stared at it.
When did this happen?
He had fallen asleep on the couch plenty of times but this moment frozen in time he had no recollection. Sherlock pulled the album closer to his face but the image gave nothing more.
Looking to the second picture he smirked. It was John and him again. It was after a case and Sherlock had gotten a deep cut on his arm, of course he refused to let the paramedics stitch him up.
In the picture John was in the process of stitching the wound, he wore a very exasperated look but still held a smile. Sherlock was glaring at him in the background, his mouth open, probably issuing an insult at the doctor. Sherlock chuckled at the picture before turning the page.
The next two were taking by John himself, from his cell phone. Sherlock sighed.
Selfies…
John had pulled Sherlock in at the last moment and snapped the picture. Surprisingly it wasn't blurred. John was smiling at the camera and even Sherlock held a small smile. Their heads were pressed together on the small plastic surface of the photo.
Actually not a bad picture…
Sherlock thought glancing to the next one, also a selfie.
John had been sitting on the couch and Sherlock had propped his feet up on the doctor's lap while he read. John was at the edge of the picture aiming the lens down the couch to capture a glaring Sherlock. He chuckled and turned the page to the last photo.
This one was one that Sherlock had taken and he clearly remembered taken it. He was unsure how John had come by it. It was of a sleeping John.
It had been a late night and John had been reading when he had fallen asleep. The book had hit the floor with a loud thud startling Sherlock from his mind palace. Looking over he noticed the doctor was asleep, even attempted to wake the man which proved to be impossible.
Sherlock had stood over John pondering how to get him into bed where he would be more comfortable and wouldn't wake with a sore shoulder. When Sherlock couldn't come up with something, he instead grabbed up a pillow and blanket. Putting the pillow under the doctor's head and the blanket over him. Sherlock felt a picture needed to be taken. That picture had somehow ended up in John's album.
I'll have to ask him about it.
Sherlock thought shutting the book and returning it to the trunk, his thoughts far from finding the gun. Pulling off the shirt, Sherlock folded it as it had been and returned it back as well. The boots followed and Sherlock closed the trunk, pushing it back into the closet.
As he straightened wearing only pants, Sherlock's eyes drifted over the hung jumpers "Hmmm…" he smiled trailing his fingers over the soft wool.
Pulling a large one from the hanger, Sherlock eyed it. The jumper was simple, a light brown color that went well with John's eyes. It didn't have a pattern which suited Sherlock as he pulled it over his head.
It was too large around and too long for even his lanky limbs. Sherlock suppressed a giggle as he rolled up the sleeves to find his fingers. They didn't stay rolled. Eventually Sherlock just left them long. The heavy sleeves drug the jumper around his shoulders.
Glancing over at the mirror Sherlock laughed out loud. His stark green army pants, and light brown jumper that dropped around his shoulders, reminded him of a uni girl during a late night study session.
The sound of the door opening down stairs made Sherlock's heart jump in his chest "John?" he whispered before hearing,
"Sherlock? You here?"
Sherlock raced out of John's room and down the stairs. The doctor was just coming into the kitchen when the taller man plowed into his knocking them into the wall.
"Sherlock!" John yelped as the taller man wrapped around him face buried in the shorter man's shoulder.
Sherlock snuggled into his doctor. John chuckled patting the younger man lightly on the back.
"Did you miss me?"
Sherlock snorted without lifting his head "What gave you that idea?" he asked feeling John's arms wrap around him tightly.
"Hey Sherlock?" John asked.
Sherlock pulled back without letting go to look the other man in the face.
"Is that my jumper?" John asked looking at the sweater hanging off of Sherlock's shoulders.
"Not at all," the taller man replied wrapping himself around the doctor again.
"I should come home from the clinic more often," John laughed with Sherlock joining.
