"Damn it."

The whisper in the dark piqued John's interest much more than any impending case that they were working on. Sherlock didn't swear. Well, rarely ever, anyway.

"Problem?"

"Nothing." Sherlock's tone was short and abrupt, although louder now as he responded to John, and his voice was full of malice. "I can't see a thing," he snapped moments later, and there was a thud of probably his fist hitting the wall.

"Your eyes'll adjust."

Sherlock huffed. "I know they will, but I need to see now. I can't believe they took our phones."

"Just hang out for a few minutes and you'll have enough adjustment to be able to see."

Sherlock shifted and slunk across the room, stopping next to John. "I have a confession to make."

"What's that?" John paused, beginning to feel the uneasy sense fill his veins. "Please tell me you didn't leave the nail polish remover on the griddle."

"No," Sherlock retorted immediately. "I did not."

"Oh. Okay, well, what is it, then?"

"... I don't like the dark," Sherlock muttered.

John blinked in surprise, tilted his head, and looked back towards Sherlock even though he couldn't see him, even at this proximity. "What?"

"I've always had a slight phobia of it since I was a kid," Sherlock said, voice sounded as though it was directed away. "Slept with a night-light when I was little, slept with the curtains open, and now Baker Street isn't totally dark because we're on the Central route..." he trailed off, and his voice got louder afterwards (he must have looked back towards John). "Essentially, it's deprivation of one of my senses and I'm not very good with... situations that take away one of my most important attributes."

John blinked, again. So, Sherlock was... what, afraid of the dark? That seemed so unlikely, but the way he was explaining it made it seem so... obvious. Sherlock relied on his senses for his craft, so taking away his eyes - one of the most valuable senses, in any case - logically, made him uneasy. Scared, even.

Despite the fact that it was hilarious that Sherlock was afraid of the dark, but it wasn't actually funny because the logic behind it made perfect sense.

John didn't realize he was laughing until Sherlock huffed and flounced away. "Sherlock- Sherlock, I'm sorry," he muttered, trying to stifle his smile. "I was just thinking, that's... I mean, it makes sense for you."

"I'm not going to scream if something scuttles across my foot," Sherlock muttered. It sounded like he was starting to have a sulk. Only he would do that in the middle of them being locked up in a dark room after being captured and stripped of their useful belongings.

John couldn't help but smile at that mental picture. "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

"It just makes me uncomfortable," Sherlock said firmly.

"I know." John stumbled through the darkness after Sherlock. He grabbed his arm (he hoped it was his arm, anyway) and spun him around. He could barely see the glint of his eyes in the darkness. "It's okay, you know. Just sit down until your eyes adjust. Okay?" He reached blindly for Sherlock's other hand, placing it against the wall. "By the time they come back, it'll hardly look like it's dark in here at all." He gently pushed Sherlock down into a sitting position. "Alright?"

"I have no idea what I'm sitting on," Sherlock muttered.

"I think it's bags of sand," John said. "I caught a glimpse before they shut the door."

"Oh- yeah, it's sand. The bag's broken," Sherlock commented. "... That's a good defense, actually. If they come back, we can blind them by throwing it into their face."

"See?" John said, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder firmly before moving away. "You don't need your eyes for your brain to keep up with."

"I like having my eyes," Sherlock muttered. "They're the most important thing for a detective."

"I know," John said, sitting down on the floor. "But it's starting to adjust, right?"

"Yes. I think so." Sherlock shifted.

Something hit John in the kneecap. "Ow!"

Sherlock stilled. "... Sorry. I think that was you I kicked."

John laughed. "Yeah... I think it was."

"Sorry," Sherlock repeated, shifting again in the darkness. He, thankfully, did not kick John on accident again.

"Not a problem," John replied, and settled back against the wall in preparation of a long wait.


Three year old Sherlock afraid of the dark? You know it's a cute mental picture, too.

I do not own Sherlock. Thank you for your comments/favs/follows, and keep them coming! :D