Magic One Shots (Sherlock BBC Fic)
AN – this is basically a dumping point for all the one shot cracktastic stuff that the magic verse threw up but didn't fit into the two fics. Also, it's an excuse to torture Mycroft.
Warning – slash, established relationship. This holds for all the chapters.
Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in BBC series (or any other established setting) are not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
Love and Care
AN – once more at the request of Mattsloved1. Hope it meets requirements, hon! Set WAY WAY WAY into the future (our boys have grown into grumpy old men). Retirement!fic.
Sherlock had been clean for two years before he realised the damage he'd done with the drugs. Not to his skin or his mind – though he wasn't sure he'd have noticed the latter – but to his heart. He sometimes found it difficult to catch his breath; on occasion his heart rate was faster than it should have been.
He didn't bother to tell Mycroft. The barrage of tests and doctors and procedures that were sure to follow would only confirm his own diagnosis. The drugs had done more damage than they'd realised and Sherlock had no intention of curtailing his lifestyle to prolong his presence on the planet. Besides, he'd never really imagined he'd live to old age anyway.
Then he met a doctor who needed a place to live. He was never sure if John had noticed that Sherlock's heart beat too quickly sometimes, but if he did the doctor made no mention of it. John certainly didn't try to stop him from doing what he wanted to do – unless it fell into John's sometimes inexplicable category of 'too dangerous'. John quickly became his first – and only – friend, then his partner in the agency and then his lover. Sherlock had never expected to have a proper lover – he'd had sex with people before but it had never been accompanied by the depth of feeling that John evoked. Having a lover was unexpected but also a delight – especially as it was John. John made difficult things easy in a way that Sherlock had never realised was possible.
Then he discovered that John was a Mage and instead of being angry that his lover had kept a secret from him, Sherlock had been thrilled – there was more to the universe to discover than he'd originally thought, and that was just brilliant. In fact, if anything would have tempted him to confide his health concerns to John, the knowledge that he still needed to learn everything he could about the hidden world of magic would be it.
Once Sherlock knew, John apparently relaxed some of his vigilance around the house. Sherlock became accustomed to finding odd ingredients around the place and hearing odd noises from the box room upstairs. John started using poultices on Sherlock's various scrapes and bruises, which had the side effect of sending Sherlock to sleep. Once they'd come to an arrangement about when it was permissible to make Sherlock sleep while they were on a case, he didn't object to being healed this way. John had been quiet on the subject of the poultices side effects, so Sherlock assumed going to sleep was normal. He secretly enjoyed the time spent with John – he'd never been one for overt displays of affection, but cuddling with his lover had proved to be rather addictive under certain circumstances.
They didn't send Lestrade to sleep. The first time the DI had been given a poultice it had been after a mundane suspect had attempted to break the DI's wrist by slamming it repeatedly against a metal rail. John had insisted on Lestrade coming to Baker Street for treatment and the DI had sat in one of their armchairs, discussing the footy with John while the poultice did its work. When Sherlock had asked why Lestrade didn't fall asleep afterwards, John had muttered something about 'different tolerances in Mundanes', which was plausible.
Two months after discovering John was a Mage, Sherlock also discovered the delight of taking a bath with his lover. John would insist on snugging Sherlock up to his chest and massaging his muscles gently. John's bath scent of choice smelt very much like cinnamon toast and coffee on a cold, clear morning and Sherlock always found himself inclined to drowse through the bath, his head resting on John's shoulder. John never seemed to mind.
As time passed, Sherlock found that he got less drowsy when John used a poultice on him; though bathing with his lover almost always sent him almost to sleep. In fact when they'd retired from Baker Street to Sussex, John's primary concern about their hidden cottage was that the bath was big enough for two to get in comfortably. Sherlock had been more interested in having enough land to put his bee hives on and how good John's poultices were at soothing bee stings. Not very, it turned out, but John made him a salve instead that worked much better. The bees rarely stung Sherlock now, and John had turned out to have an unexpectedly sweet tooth when it came to fresh honey.
"Sherlock!" John's voice hadn't gotten any weaker with age, "Come on!"
"Yes, pet!" Sherlock called back, mainly because he could and it would stir John up. Sure enough his lover was standing in the open front door, sunlight highlighting his white hair. John was still fit and trim, though his left shoulder drooped a little more than the right one and pained him more often than not too. Sherlock had discovered that a light massage with another of John's salves worked wonders in the evening and did so religiously. Another advantage to their country retreat was that the bees needed plants to harvest from and John had turned his garden into the best collection of healing herbs and other such plants in all of the UK.
"Give it up, Sherlock," Geoff called from the front path, "You know he'll just make you pay."
Geoff was one of the few people who knew where they lived – he came to visit at least once a month. He had aged well, if Sherlock was honest, though he needed a cane to walk – a present from his last case for Scotland Yard. Not even John's poultices had managed to correct all the damage.
"Why did I agree to this again?" Sherlock asked in a testy voice, though he could see his lover was not taken in.
"Because you insisted on tutoring the boy personally for the last three years and his family are correct in their belief that he wouldn't have graduated from University without you," John muttered, "And because I need to collect the poultice I gave Mrs Sheldon to use on her arthritis – it needs renewing."
"Does he still fall asleep when you use a poultice on him?" Geoff asked John as Sherlock locked their front door. Hidden away or not, they had more than enough enemies still in the world, not to mention there were a few up-and-comers that would like to make their name taking out Holmes and Watson.
"No," John beamed, "He does not."
Geoff also beamed; a very odd reaction and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his friends, sensing a conspiracy. Lestrade made the clueless face that had so irritated Sherlock when it appeared at crime scenes and John raised an eyebrow at him.
"It wasn't normal to fall asleep!" Sherlock announced, "I knew it! Why didn't you tell me, John? You know I hate to be kept in the dark!"
He was scolding, he knew it, but he was also furious. He had always hated the limits placed on his knowledge – John knew that.
"Did you know that you should have died of heart failure by now?" Lestrade butted in sharply, protecting John from Sherlock's temper as of old. Sherlock sucked in a startled breath: how had he failed to notice that John had diagnosed his hearts condition?
"Actually, yes," he replied, not liking the shock on John's face when he admitted to it. His heart hadn't raced for years, or at least when it had there had been good reason for it. Sherlock had suspected that he'd been mistaken in his self-diagnosis, but had never been sure, "I had some occasions of arrhythmia when I was younger – I thought it might have been caused by my drug abuse."
"It was," John sighed. His expression spoke of pained worry, hidden away for years lest Sherlock notice and have a heart attack just to spite them both, "I saw it when we first started living together. After Geoff and his drugs busts I assumed that you knew and were resigned to the damage. The poultices put you to sleep because they were working on such a deep level…"
"So were the baths," Sherlock realised, "All these years, you've been correcting the damage without telling me. You've healed a broken heart – one that most people said I didn't even have."
He looked down at his lover, who met his gaze steadily. John was an old man, now, they both were. The fact that Sherlock was here to see it was down to his lover sensing what he needed and providing it without fuss or drama: exactly as Sherlock would have wanted it, had he been asked.
The enormity of John's love made his heart race – an irony that did not escape Sherlock now.
"I'm here today only because of you," Sherlock murmured, awe tinging his voice. He'd never been so astonished in his life – and that it was John Watson astonishing him only added to the sensation. After a lifetime together, John could still surprise his lover.
"John Watson… there are no words for who you are to me…" Sherlock breathed and drew his love into a strong embrace.
"I'll let them know you'll be a bit late," Geoff's voice barely registered and Sherlock recollected himself enough to nod. He buried his face in John's hair for a moment, relishing his partners scent and warmth. John was clinging to him tightly, one hand pressed over the heart in question.
It was a possessive touch, but Sherlock didn't resent it. After all, John had won his heart decades ago.
End (for now…)
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