Through the Haze
Black-Angel-001: OMIGHOSH I'M SO SORRY! i really am but have you ever had a character who just REFUSED to be written and cooperate with your writing efforts and no matter what you did or how you bribed this fictional being in your mind you just couldn't get it? well, that's what happend to me. sherlock just did NOT want to be characterized in this chapter (i dunno why, i hadn't gotten anything really planned) and then john kicked his butt into gear...yes, i am aware that i sound crazy but any writers out there who read this (if you read the A/N i dunno if you do) will understand...i think...anywho! i didn't make this clear in chapter one and i probably should have, but here we go now. this will not be a slash fic between anyone. if you choose to wear slash goggles that's your choice and you are welcome to it but don't expect kisses or sex or anything like that.
Through the Haze
"Will I what?" Sherlock turned his head to peer at John. "If this is your way of coming out-"
"What? No, no! God, I didn't mean it like that! Jesus." John ran a hand through his short, recently cut back to military regs hair. "Look, never mind, just forget it."
Sherlock would have, if John hadn't been so resigned and defeated. His friend asked for very little in the partnership they had, nothing very unreasonable, really, and never anything personal (Sarah and that date didn't really count) besides. Sherlock sat up.
"John."
The doctor paused halfway to the stairs, back still turned but head cocked in Sherlock's direction.
"What do you want?"
John turned then to regard him carefully, to judge the sincerity behind the words. Sherlock let his face be inviting, to show that he meant it and would try to help. Apparantly satisfied with his results, John shifted. Nervous, Sherlock realized.
"Not to wake up alone," came the halting and quiet reply.
John Watson didn't ask for help in this way, or any way really. He never had. When his therapist tried to get him to ask or acknowledge the need for it, John blustered his way out. It was just something he'd never done, even as a kid. To ask now in this way was hard for the independant and prideful man. Sherlock knew that, had always known that, and to be confronted with a John desperate enough to ask Sherlock Holmes of all people, it was astonishing.
And, quite humbling.
Sherlock sighed, because for the sake of appearances and making John comfortable with asking he had to appear put upon. "Very well. But if the papers catch wind of this you can only blame yourself."
John smiled, appreciating the joke and attempt. "I'll keep that in mind."
From there they completed their nightly routines in silence. While John was in the bathroom, Sherlock settled into a chair in the corner of the room. John raised an eyebrow when he saw, but didn't say anything. He settled under the covers and duvet, switched off the bedside lamp, and squirmed around to find a comfortable postion.
Sherlock watched.
John squirmed again.
Sherlock kept watching.
John kept squirming.
"Really John no wonder you're always so tired," Sherlock finally commented. "All that tossing and turning."
"I'm always tired because I run around London with you at indecent hours then work long hours at the clinic." John turned onto his back and sighed up at the ceiling. "Get in here."
"What, why?"
"Sherlock, I can't sleep with you sitting and staring at me like that, it's creepy."
"The female in that movie Mrs. Hudson showed me didn't mind. She seemed to enjoy it."
"Okay first, why on God's green earth would Mrs. Hudson have that movie? Second, regular, every day people in regular, everyday life do mind and don't enjoy it. In fact, that's how most restraining orders get started."
"John you said you didn't want to wake up alone."
"I am aware. However, if I wake up to someone sitting in a corner of a dark room my first instinct would be to shoot, or throw a punch depending how close they are. Don't make me shoot or punch you please."
"How interesting. Would that have been your typical response before the Army?"
"Sherlock."
The man huffed. "Fine." Sherlock climbed into the space next to John, keeping all limbs as close to his body as he could manage. "Just so you know, if you kick or otherwise hit me in the course of the night, I will retaliate in a similar fashion."
"As close to the edge like you are I don't think you'd have time before you went over."
Sherlock considered that, then scooted closer to John. "I had thought you'd say something about not hitting sleeping soilders," he said after a minute.
John yawned. "I'd never say it's a good idea, but it also depends on the soilder. Besides, in 'Stan we would sleep huddled pretty close if we hadn't time to get back to base or make camp, 'cause of how cold it got." He started to roll on his side, then paused. "Why would the first words out of your mouth be a warning about kicking and such?"
The detective kept quiet a minute. "When we were younger, Mycroft and I sometimes slept in the same bed on family trips and things. He had awful restless leg syndrome and twitched badly in sleep. Eventually I just hit back."
"God no wonder you're half insane," laughed John. "I'm sure it was the combination of sleeping with Mycroft and getting smacked around a bit."
Sherlock's lips twitched and he chuckled. "A sound hypothosis doctor."
"Yeah, sure. G'night Sherlock."
"Goodnight John."
Despite what had been said and the intentions put forth, both parties tried desperatly not to fall asleep. Eventually, the battle was lost as first John then an hour later Sherlock, drifted into slumber. When Sherlock woke in the middle of the night it was to the sounds of a sleeping John and the warmth of his body next to him. It helped chase away the dregs of his nightmare and lull him back to sleep.
When John woke a few hours later, he immediately spotted the curly head of his friend. The panic and twinge of fear John had felt from his own nightmare faded until he was able to settle once again.
The night passed quickly, and the reassurance that someone was there, that they had absolute proof that the nightmares were false, helped more than they really expected. Before either of them knew it, the sun was streaming through the blinds of John's window with enough intensity that it woke at least the doctor. John looked at his bedside clock: eleven AM. He thought about what time they went to sleep, which was about ten PM. A little over fourteen hours of sleep, sounded about right, certainly enough to get over most of the sleep exhaustion.
He stretched, careful of old and new injuries and pulling scart tissue. Beside him, Sherlock muttered and rolled over, face buried in the pillow. John chuckled quietly. He figured Sherlock would be out longer, as he went longer without sleep between the two of them. For a minute, he thought about getting up, going to the loo, having some tea and a late breakfast, or early lunch. He thought about reading the paper in his chair and having a lazy Saturday afternoon before going to the shop for groceries. But they were only thoughts and John soon found himself falling back asleep.
When Sherlock woke properly, the sun was setting. He lay still as he took stock of his body: rested, comfortable. His mind was buzzing of course, but now it seemed thought was clearer, more precise. With a care for a still sleeping John, Sherlock slipped out of the bed and stretched, long arms above his head and standing on tip toe. He'd gotten a sufficiant amount of sleep and rest that would last him for a while, so he would be up all night naturally. Somehow, he didn't think John would mind, this time.
He left John's room and headed for his own to grab his dressing gown, which he threw on carelessly while he grabbed the paper Mrs. Hudson had left on the coffee table. Sherlock flopped himself down on the couch and snapped open The Times, skimming each article he thought interesting (there wasn't many) and even those that got him in an upset about the sheer idiocy of them (there were plenty of those) until he came on the ads. He usually took more care to look over those, to decide if he wanted to contact the person placing the ad to give his input on the case or situation. As he was looking, one under the subject of 'pets' caught his eye. He straightened up as he read, then re read, a growing horror settling into his brain and gut.
"Lost pet. Blonde, blue eyed, very loyal and fun. Bears the name 'Moriarty'. If found, please contact paper."
It was decidedly clever, in a simplistic kind of way. No one would ever assume or even think the person placing that ad was a criminal psychopath and the 'pet' was John, who really did bear the name 'Moriarty' on his arm, along with 'Property of'.
Really, Sherlock should have expected this. Despite the months that had passed, and the silence from the criminal, Sherlock never once thought that was the end of it. The only thing he hadn't expected or thought of was that Moriarty would be going after John himself, not Sherlock. Oh, no doubt he saw this as a way to get to Sherlock, but that wasn't the point of this game. The point was to get what he now considered to be his back; the ad was to let John (and Sherlock, but that was actually secondary here) know that Jim Moriarty was looking for him and wanted him.
Sherlock realized all of this in the time it took to blink. He was then faced with a quandry. To tell John or not to tell him? To tell him would mean greater fear, more sleepless nights, more nightmares, a reverting to the soilder's vigilance and mindset. Sherlock had seen John in that mindset and it was honestly a side of his friend he didn't really like, or wish to encounter in any capacity. Granted, John had used his military training and command skills multiple times, but when the full force of the soilder came out (which was very very rare thankfully) Sherlock knew to back off.
However, John would undoubtably find out anyway, regardless if Sherlock didn't inform him. Moriarty would ensure that John found out, and it would be in some of the worst ways. It all came down to two facts. Moriarty was after John, and regardless of who or how, John would find out. His friend came downstairs at that moment looking better rested than he had in a while. The doctor looked at Sherlock and in that one glance the detective knew John knew something. It was amazing how in tune with his moods John was.
Without a word Sherlock handed him the paper. It didn't take to long to find the ad, and John's entire body went stiff, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth became a hard, straight line. The flimsy newspaper crinkled minutely in his tightening grip before the tension left John like a balloon that had been popped. His shoulders dropped, his stance went from fight to relax, and his face smoothed into John's usual calm countanence. Not for the first time, Sherlock marvelled at the fact that John could surprise him with unusal and unexpected responses.
"Figured it would happen eventually," John said. "Tea?"
And then sometimes, Sherlock marvelled at how John's unexpected and unusual responses could seem so stupid.
"Tea? A criminal mastermind who previously strapped you to a bomb then tortured you is looking or you deliberatly to do more horrible things and you go looking for tea?"
During this rant John had been heading to the kitchen and Sherlock had followed; he wanted to ensure that John understood the idiocy of his response.
Once more, there was a tensing of John's shoulders but they relaxed as he filled the kettle and waited for it to boil. He half turned to Sherlock, leaning his hip against the counter and arms crossed over his chest.
"Yes," he said simply.
Sherlock stared at him. "Why," he demanded.
"Like you said, he's a criminal mastermind. One way or another, he's going to find a way to get me unless Mycroft is able to find him first and literally shoot a hole through his skull. Which I seriously doubt will happen. So, I figure the best thing to do is accept it, be as prepared as possible, and deal with it as it comes." The kettle whistled and John poured the hot water in two mugs.
"That's...that's ridiculous," Sherlock argued. "Why not take pre-emptive action!"
"Such as?" John calmly lifted the tea bags out and added sugar and milk to Sherlock's, sugar to his own. "You know what happened at the pool. You two practically read each other's minds and could predict nearly everything the other was going to do. The same will happen here, unless we do something as insane as nothing."
That brought Sherlock short. Moriarty would expect something, some kind of panic from John and Sherlock. That's what he loved most about this game, to see his pieces and players squirm and writhe in discomfort, in mental and emotional anguish. Moriarty wanted them to do something, had in fact planned for nearly everything they could possibly do.
Except where they did nothing.
It was the most ridiculous and idiotic thing in the world, but...it made sense.
John smiled and nodded. "Although to be honest, this all comes from not being able to do anything until he does." He handed Sherlock his mug.
The genius took it and went back to his chair, staring at the wall and sipping at his tea. He hated doing nothing, but then this felt like something so that was alright.
He just wondered how long it would be that way.