Author's Note
So, this is my first Sherlock story ever although not my first piece of fanfiction. I just discovered the series recently and instantly fell in love with it. More specifically, I fell in love with the relationship of Sherlock and John. I'm very much into their bromance :) As I'm writing this story I have no idea if it's gonna end up just in the bromance angle or if there's going to be more. I'm not entirely sure as I tend to write with a certain plot in my mind and then the characters just lead me somewhere else :)
I've very spontaneously decided to write this story and I'm eager to continue writing but I cannot guarantee I'll be quick updating it as I have a family which takes quite a lot of my time, I also work, so please keep that in mind. I'm also new to this site so please excuse me if I made any formatting errors or something like that, I only know Archiveofourown and that site's totally different.
A little bit of a warning: This story has non-con elements in it, there's not going to be a "real" rape (meaning penetration although rape usually begins a lot earlier than that, this is just trying to describe what's going to happen). But there's going to be non-con touching and kissing so be aware of that.
You should also know that I'm not an English Native speaker although I studied the language and I've been watching movies/shows and reading books in English for decades actually so I'm hoping it's good enough. Please feel free to point out grammatical errors I've made or suggestions on how to phrase a sentence better. I'm always keen on improving my language and writing skills.
I'm very grateful for feedback so please leave a comment if you liked (or disliked) what you've read.
Okay, that's enough from me, let's get on with the story :)
Losing Control
Set after "The Hound of Baskervilles". Sherlock, John and Greg find themselves in a bar to celebrate their latest solved case. Sherlock manages to antagonize some patron and must suffer the consequences rather dearly. His friends look out for him.
Chapter 1
It's the evening after they got home from Dartmoor where they solved the case of "The Hound of Baskervilles". This is sort of a prologue for the actual story.
John felt very tired. They had just arrived home from Devon where they had solved the unbelievable case of the hound of Baskervilles. It was 8 in the evening and John had almost fell asleep in the cab on their way home. Almost three hours on the train with Sherlock babbling on and on about the details of their latest case would do that to you. And they didn't even offer a good cup of tea on the train!
That's why he was thankful for Mrs. Hudson, bustling about in their living room in order to provide them with a good old "cuppa" of tea and some of her homemade sandwiches. He was not, however, thankful for Sherlock repeating everything about the Baskerville case – again – to Mrs. Hudson in tiniest detail just so she wouldn't miss anything about the "brilliance" he had once more proven, as he himself put it oh so modestly.
"You see Mrs. Hudson the drug was in the fog and there were pressure pads on the ground so that everyone going to that very spot in the forest would experience these hallucinations", Sherlock was just saying as he danced around the room still clad in his greatcoat, waving his hands around to emphasize the dramatics of the whole thing.
"Don't you think that's exciting, Mrs. Hudson?" He took her hands into his to beam at her, his whole face alit with pure bliss, reminding John of a little boy on Christmas Eve.
He let go of her hands, turned around with a dramatic sigh and chuckled. "Oh, I just love when they are intelligent, it makes for so much more interesting cases."
He snatched the cup of tea out of Mrs. Hudson's slightly shaky hand (she always got a little nervous when he was in a state like this, he was just so fidgety) and swallowed its contents greedily (probably had a dry throat from all the babbling) – promptly burning himself in the process. "Ouch!"
"Careful dear!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed and she took the cup out of his hand again, scowling at him like a mother would at her insolent child. Just a second later she couldn't help herself but smile because of Sherlock's antics. She had missed them, John knew, life without them and their cases had to be boring for her.
She waved at the sofa and threw Sherlock a pointed look. "Take a deep breath, dear and sit down. You've just got home, no need to tell me everything in one go."
After pacing around a little more, Sherlock nodded to himself as if to relent and he sat himself down on the sofa. He didn't relax himself into it, however, nor did he calm down a little, instead he continued prattling on about H.O.U.N.D. and what that project had been about. John observed him from his position at the kitchen counter and couldn't help but chuckle at Sherlock too. He had enjoyed solving this case with him and he had to admit it had turned out to unfold quite unexpectedly. So yeah, he could understand why his room mate had such an urge to recount their adventure to Mrs. Hudson so vividly. However, he couldn't help but interrupt Sherlock with a deep "Ahem!"
"What?" Sherlock blinked once in annoyance at the disturbance and looked at John questioningly.
John tried to hide his grin. "Sherlock, you're forgetting something, aren't you?"
At Sherlock's irritated scowl and raised eyebrow John swallowed down his urge to chuckle and looked at his roommate in mock confusion.
"You told Mrs. Hudson everything about the drug and how you found out about it being in the fog and all, but you failed to inform her about your mistake."
Sherlock blushed – a very delicious und rare sight for John - and looked down. "Well that… that's not so important."
Mrs. Hudson looked from Sherlock to John and back again, clearly intrigued.
"Well, "John said triumphantly, "I think it's very important." He turned to his landlady. "You see, Sherlock made a mistake. He thought the drug was in the sugar, he became quite obsessed with that thought. Only to be proven wrong in the end."
Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrow. "What, you mean the great Sherlock Holmes made a mistake like that, unbelievable!" And she turned towards Sherlock with the same mock confusion face as John at which Sherlock huffed indignantly, folding his hands in front of his chest, pouting.
"Oh, come on, Sherlock, don't pout, you know I'm just teasing you a little." Sherlock huffed again but looked at John and blushed again as his friend winked at him amicably.
A comfortable silence stretched out the room in which Mrs. Hudson first got John his well-deserved cup of tea, then sat down next to Sherlock to hand him his cup. She laid a hand on Sherlocks arm and leaned a little into his space. "It's good to have you back, "she said with a big smile on her face, squeezing his arm in honest affection and he gave her a tiny, sarcastic smile back.
"Cheer up, Sherlock, "John chuckled, "tomorrow I'll write the article on this case and I won't focus on your little slip-up too much." And because Sherlock glared at him in obvious annoyance he added "Okay, there's no way I'm not mentioning it, but that's simply just payback for the little joke you had at my expense. You know, with locking me up in that laboratory, giving me the impression, I was hunted by a terrifying huge hound going in for the kill…."
"Alright, alright, you don't have to continue, "Sherlock jumped in, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's curious side look. "My reputation won't be spoilt by that little mistake, I'm sure…."
John had pity on his friend and changed the subject to the beautiful scenery of Devon, its moor and its people, which Mrs. Hudson seemed moderately interested in. Sherlock made a remark here and there and so they chattered away for a good twenty minutes.
"Goodness, John, you're falling asleep in your shoes, "Mrs. Hudson exclaimed suddenly, and she got up to pull at John's jacket which he still hadn't taken off. "Please, you can tell me the rest of your story tomorrow, please go to bed now, you must be exhausted from your travels." She was of course right and suddenly John was excited at the thought of laying down in his own comfortable bed instead of a foreign albeit cosy one.
He let himself be ushered towards his bedroom by Mrs. Hudson and promised her to go to bed immediately and not lay awake to start writing that article.
"Night, Sherlock, "he shouted over his shoulder and he got a soft "Night, John" back. Maybe his roommate was getting a little tired after all.
He shut the door behind him and could still hear Mrs. Hudson ordering Sherlock to go to bed, too, cleaning their used teacups and muttering to herself after which she retired to her own flat at last. John now changed into his pyjamas, quickly snuck into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then made himself comfortable in his bed and sighed, grateful for a little peace and quiet at last. He snuggled into his pillows, closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep immediately when he heard someone knock at his door.
He sighed and sat himself up again. "Yes, Sherlock? What is it?"
The door opened hesitantly, and Sherlock peeked his head around the corner. "John?" When he saw John waiting for him sitting on his bed he stepped inside and stood there, looking a little bashful.
"Yes, Sherlock, what is it?" John repeated. "I'm really tired."
"Yes, of course, sorry, "Sherlock muttered, "of course, it's not that late and we haven't travelled the whole day, it's not as if we've left the country but your condition is not the best and you do not work out often enough so that's no surprise…Apart from that you had your eyes closed on the train a lot so I'd say that counts as resting so why you still feel the urge to go to bed so early is a little beyond me but that's just my opinion. Well, in fact…"
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock jumped a little and stopped talking, having - it seemed - realized at last he was babbling.
"Was there something important you wanted to tell me?" John asked, now really getting tired. He had enough of Sherlock's ramblings for one day.
"Yes, "Sherlock mumbled, and he started pacing in John's bedroom." There's one thing I have to say, so please just let me say it and then I'm out of your hair so you can catch your beauty sleep or whatever." At John's sharp intake of breath Sherlock raised his right hand quickly as if to stop him from disrupting him again and continued. "I know, I know."
Then he resumed pacing and mumbling about laboratories and fake hounds and the importance of authentic experiments and John had to lean forward so he could make out all the crazy chaos spilling out of his friend's mouth but it was getting difficult so he disrupted loudly once again: "Sherlock! Just get to the point."
Sherlock stopped the pacing and looked at John with a serious look. "Okay. John, I need to say something, and I need you to hear it." Pause. John looked expectantly at the great detective. "Yes?"
A few seconds passed, then a heavy sigh from Sherlock, followed by "I'm sorry."
John frowned. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for locking you in the laboratory and making you believe you were haunted by a ghost hound. It was not nice and I'm sorry I made you go through that." He let out a little shaky breath and looked at John expectantly. When John stared at him speechlessly Sherlock continued ranting.
"Okay, I'm not making fun of you, I mean it. I know what I said to you that other night when I lost control which was quite the most terrible thing what could have happened to me and it's not fair of me to put you through the same ordeal, no, it's really terrible. I'm ashamed for making that decision and I hope you can forgive me. Please, I can only reiterate what I said at the chapel: I only have one friend and that's you, John…" He trailed off, looking a little lost and he ran a slightly trembling hand through his curly hair nervously. He swallowed heavily. "I'm grateful you're my friend John. I really am. I've never had a friend like you and it's…. well, it's made my life so much better okay?" He looked down, obviously unable to look John in the eye anymore and blushed.
John was speechless. The great, cocky master detective was thankful. He was sorry and he was thankful. He felt really touched and he was at a loss at what to say.
After a few seconds though he composed himself, cleared his voice and said: "Well, Sherlock, I'm glad to hear that. I'm happy to be your friend and I'm glad you are mine." Sherlock glanced up at him and smiled with relief when he saw the earnest but friendly face of his friend. "Even though it can get very tedious at times…" John couldn't resist saying and after a second of looking at each other they both started chuckling in unison.
"I forgive you, you know, "John said after they had quieted down. "In fact, I've already done that in case you haven't noticed."
"I'm glad, "Sherlock answered relieved "and no, I wasn't sure." After another smile at his friend he made his way to the door. "Goodnight John, "he said quietly, and he pulled the door open.
"Wait."
Sherlock turned around and looked at his friend in surprise. "What?"
Now it was John's turn to fidget nervously. "What you said there a few moments ago, about losing control being the most terrible thing that could happen to you…. Did you mean that?"
Sherlock sighed and nodded. "Yes. That night…was honestly truly terrifying for me. I lost control over myself. I was scared, John. In a way that I couldn't think clearly anymore, I wasn't myself anymore. By losing control, I lost myself and I cannot imagine something more terrible happening to me."
He looked at John as if to make sure his friend understood so John nodded sympathetically.
"I am a master detective, my brain is highly functionally, making brilliant and fast deductions is my life, John, it is me, my whole sense of existing. By doing that I always have control. That terrible drug made me lose that control and so I wasn't only not able to make those highly effective deductions as usual, but I also lost control over my body. You saw me that night. I was scared, my hands were trembling, I was shaking and sweating, ah, it was disgusting."
He wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust of himself at if it had been his own fault and John smiled inwardly to himself because it was a little cute. But he also felt his heart tugging at this unexpected heart-to-heart from the usually so distant man. It was … nice to be reminded he was a human being with feelings and all that. He did truly care for John. He had discovered that some time ago, at the latest on that night at the swimming pool when Sherlock had been totally out of it with worry over John wearing that explosive winter coat, ripping it off of him in a panic. They had even joked about it, how it must look like to others if they had seen them like that. John smiled when he thought of that memory.
"I hated losing myself like that, John."
John looked up to see Sherlock staring at the wall, lost in that moment where he had not been in control.
"Sherlock…"
"No. Please believe me, John." His voice had started shaking a little and he raised his head to look at John in quiet despair. "There were other times where someone drew a gun on me or something like that, trying to intimidate me. But I had my mind you know. I still had that."
John nodded in understanding.
"I never want to experience something like that ever again, John, "Sherlock said quietly.
"Okay. I understand." John scooted forward in his position so that he was near his friend and he reached out to softly grasp Sherlock's hand. "It's okay, "he said quietly, looking into his friend's green-blue eyes. "I understand." He rubbed his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand in an unusual tender gesture and Sherlock looked at him nervously, a little surprised too.
"Th-thanks, John, "he murmured, then he softly but decisively pulled his hand away from John. There was silence as they looked at each other in wonder. As if each had learned something new about the other. It was nice somehow.
Then they smiled shyly and looked away again.
"Goodnight, John, "Sherlock said again, this time with a strong voice.
"You too, Sherlock."
And then he was gone. John settled back into his pillows, switched the lights off and closed his eyes. Somehow, he found himself unable to fall asleep despite his utter exhaustion a few minutes ago. Instead he spent a good amount of time laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts about his strange roommate Sherlock Holmes. His friend Sherlock Holmes. Sleep evaded him for a long time until he was finally released into a peaceful slumber.