.
'John... You said if I was ever near it again... I could have called, I could have talked to you... Last time, you said that.'
John is holding his phone up to his ear, having just picked up Sherlock's call. The usually controlled and assertive voice is now uneven, running a shiver across his spine and he shuts his eyes. For a moment those words transport him back to Molly's sterile lab, after that one time he went looking for his neighbour's son and came back with "undercover" Sherlock Holmes as well. John knows very well what this is about.
'John, I can almost hear the gears turn in your head. So blissfully slow, how relaxing it must be.' His voice is also clearly anxious, upset, and petty even, but John knows it comes from a place of hurt and vulnerability.
Sherlock often claims that his brain moves too fast, no one else is like him, and no one can reach through the haze. But sometimes John can. John will always try.
'I'm on my way, Sherlock. I'll always come, you know that. I'm glad you called.' That's right, John, don't give him a chance to disconnect. Keep him on the line as long as you can. On your way now. Where is he? Baker Street, of course. Home and refuge. He'll have taken cover from the world for a while now. This time the refuge isn't enough. He called for help. That's good.
John, this one, whatever the outcome, is on you. Don't disappoint him.
'Glad? You like hearing me? The distress in my voice makes you happy? Can you hear the hateful tone of my voice? Emotions!' He was practically screaming on the phone now. 'I can't make them go away, John!'
Okay, social conventions like "glad you called" will be completely misunderstood today. 'Yes', John keeps his ground, loyal. 'I'm glad because I know how it feels. That's why I'm on my way to Baker Street now.'
That's it. Be explicit, explain what you actually mean.
Damn. I'm boring him now. He'll disconnect me now, won't he?
'Get a cab.'
John smiles softly in relief. He's just bought time. 'I'm on it, Sherlock.' It's obvious, but it needs to be said. John is using his doctor voice now, purposefully appeasing by training, but he can't hide the strain it carries.
'You're worried', Sherlock tries to mock John for showing emotions. The doctor can tell that in a hurt sort of manner, Sherlock is revelling in John's strain, because in a sick twisted logic it proves that John cares, and that actually matters to Sherlock at a time he's feeling so lost, about to drown in his own mind.
'Sherlock, just keep talking to me.'
'I have nothing to say to you.' Anger, hurt, all over again.
'Right.' Still too far away. He needs to keep his cool in a moment when the detective has lost his. Play his cards right, like in a poker game, evaluate his possibilities. Sherlock's the wild card. The one people play to win the deck or throw away to frame someone else. Most people in Sherlock's life have pushed him away. John will always keep him as close as he'll let him. He'll always admire Sherlock, even in his danger moods, because Sherlock wouldn't be Sherlock without them. 'Sherlock...' he starts, drawing blanks on what to do.
Damn it, John, don't you dare failing him, that's not an option!
'Give me something to focus on, John, please, give - me - something.'
Sherlock Holmes doesn't ask, he just takes. He completely misses the point of social niceties, unless he plans to manipulate someone.
He's just begged, skipping over his own rules. And if he did, John muses, it certainly wouldn't be politely. What is happening?
Stick to the plan, John. This is on your shoulders, now. You can do it.
'Hm... Read about a triple homicide in Manchester yesterday.'
'Solved it yesterday. I meant something that can challenge me, John.'
'How about working on a new way of preserving fingerprints at crime scenes, Sherlock?'
'The Yard can just photograph the fingerprints, don't be an idiot.'
Fine, John can work with insults, and roll them over his thick skin. It just means he's got his attention at last. Let's goad him by lightening the mood: 'One of these days you'll make me believe I'm an idiot. The only person that has called me an idiot more than you has been my sister when we were kids.'
Sherlock takes a deep breath, John can hear it. The doctor doesn't really notices he's holding his own breath, like a man about to get jumped by all sides.
'You have cousins, John...' he hears, in a soften, pleading voice.
Oh. Cousins and sister. Family. Mostly unknown to Sherlock, too. Distraction. But why would he care about John, about his family? No, scratch that, it doesn't matter why, just give it to him.
'Not going to tell you about them. You already saw them at the wedding. Go ahead and prove yourself, detective.' Has he pushed too hard? One never knows with Sherlock one moment the ascetic genius, the next the problem child. And John's heart brakes at the comprehension that he may be hurting Sherlock further.
'Don't give me clues!' Sherlock disapproves, slightly maniacally. Clues? Oh, right, mentioning the wedding day. 'Are you on your way, John?' The question is tense, but there's an underlining frailty that leaves John on edge.
'On my way and not a word more, sorry.' Sorry for the clues, sorry for not being able to get there faster, sorry for your pain, I understand it, I truly do. No, never say that out loud, it wouldn't help. And you're a soldier, for crying out loud. Act like one, do your job. Your job is to save lives. Sherlock is slipping, it's the most important assignment you've ever had.
'Oh, John, you may not speak, but I can hear your breathing. I can tell what you are thinking as clearly as if you were standing right here. You have four cousins. By the way they are all taller than you.' Go ahead, Sherlock, rub it in, don't let the pettiness of the jab stop that gigantic brain of yours. 'You are all blonds, recessive genes, so less likely to be a history of extra-marital affairs, one could think – wrong!'
'I do think you paid enough attention', John says a few seconds in. All control restored, he's taunting Sherlock back, playing along. And Sherlock's on edge, he's on a roll now, couldn't stop if he tried. A monologue about Higgins' affair with Berta from the bakery. John has no clue how Sherlock is pulling information like that out of his breathing pattern, it looks more like Sherlock once ran the registers for his family tree (which wasn't beneath him), but John would hardly been so interesting for Sherlock, right?
'I didn't know that', John realizes, never questioning the deductions.
'Saintly John', Sherlock mocks, acid. He'll probably mock him about John coming to him now. Well, let him. 'By the way, your family is boring.'
'Tell me about it.' John realizes he's actually smiling, he probably shouldn't be. There is a hitch in Sherlock. What did John say? Oh.
'You never speak ill of your family, John', Sherlock reminds him after a couple of seconds. As if he had been waiting for John to catch up. Probably was. 'Your cab just stopped in front of the door, John.'
'How-?' Never mind.
'I heard it in the background, obviously. Just pay up. You have the key. You've never gave it up. Just get in. Fast.'
'Sherlock, what are you not telling me?' There's fear in John's voice.
'The usual.' Distant, faking control.
'Damn it. Have you done it yet?'
'No. But almost. Too close. Still need to. But you said I had to – call – you.'
The cab door was shut a bit too forcefully. The keys on the key chain. Metal on metal as the key enters the lock. Heavy footsteps as John races upstairs. Then John is finally there, stupidly still holding his phone to his ear, even now that Sherlock is only a few feet away from him, he never wants to sever that connection.
'Sherlock.'
John scans Sherlock up and down with his clinical eyes. A shapeless lump on the sofa is what the great detective is reduced to. His thin arms draping off from the edge of the seat, every muscle is relaxed, too relaxed, and he suspects he may be too late – he'll just deal with the aftermath then, he's done it before. But no, there is still bright light in Sherlock's eyes, making them look more exotic in colour, that proves he's managed to hold it off. John smiles sincerely, an unscripted smile to the drained, miserable, mind-racing-in-reverse detective. He doesn't expect Sherlock to smile back.
'Tea?'
Sherlock loses whatever temper he's managed to hold on to, from the depths of himself. 'How's tea going to help me? Idiot!'
'Coffee, then? No, not about to pump you on coffee with you like that.'
'Just leave, John, get the hell out!' Sherlock is actually hollering now.
'No.'
'I can make you', he threatens, and his irate look promises he can deliver. From the depths of his dark mood, he might actually enjoy it. John doesn't budge.
'I'd almost like to see you try, Sherlock.'
The detective freezes, then sits up in the sofa in one swift movement. 'You're tricking me. You're diverting my attention by means of angering me. Good, John, that's actually new. Why are you doing that, though?'
'The world needs you, Sherlock. I'm not letting you go, whatever the cost may be.'
Sherlock physically shivers, and John doesn't miss it. John has his whole attention now. He takes the opportunity to plead: 'Tell me where you hid it this time, give it up to me.'
The genius hesitates, only for a second. Acceptance. 'Behind the mirror over the fireplace, John. Keep it. But don't be so convinced I wouldn't hurt you, John.'
'Am not', he alleges.
Sherlock sighs at last, relief seeping through him as John takes hold of the temptation. Because John has come, and he's acting out of complicity, understanding, and acceptance. He's a welcomed distraction.
As John pulls the mirror back and turns to the kitchen, he has a glance of Sherlock smiling, just for a second. 'Want to play your stupid board games?'
'They're not stupid. You're stupid.' The five years old consulting detective is back, smirking sideways at his own tease. John can take that any day. Sherlock's not alone.
.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.
A/N: This second take was particularly challenging. I hope I made it justice. Please notice, I'm not placing in the same metaphorical bag an addiction and a PTSD disorder. They're vulnerable spots for the characters, which was my starting point. -csf
