Author's Note:
Have to go in to early to work and have to stay late today, so I wanted to get this posted before I went in. This chapter is shorter than the other ones.
Cold. There was a warm body pressed against his side. John slowly opened his eyes and groaned, starting to cough almost right away. Right. They had gotten lost and now he was...somewhere and... "Sherlock!" He turned and looked at his husband, still coughing and quickly embracing him. He remembered Sherlock letting go, remembered being so scared that he had lost his husband in the storm. "Sh-Sherlock," his voice was weaker and, damn, he was exhausted. "Sherlock." He let his eyes slip closed and whimpered. At least they had a blanket because they were both naked and didn't have anything else to keep themselves warm. A quick glance around whatever building Sherlock had found revealed some old cooking supplies, a few fishing poles, and a dresser. With any luck there might be something in there to fit them.
Sherlock groaned, turning away from whoever was shouting his name. He shivered from the loss of contact and it forced him awake. He rolled over; his wits slow to recover until he saw his husband. It all came back to him then. He groaned again. "John," he sputtered out weakly. Shit. They were both in bad shape right now. He squirmed closer to his husband, burying his head into John's shoulder as he passed back out.
John's Army instincts kicked in almost right away. He slid away from his husband and stood, his legs weak beneath him as he forced himself over to the dresser. Nearly empty. A pair of ratty flannel pants and massive sweater. Sherlock needed this more than him. He moved back and put the clothes on his husband, laying next to him and wrapping the blanket back around them. What were they going to do now? No way to contact anybody and... Shit, they were screwed, weren't they? He looked up at his husband with a soft cough, rubbing his hands all over his husband's body in an attempt to warm him up.
Sherlock slept for several hours. He woke up groggily, despite the length of his slumber. His body was itchy. He muttered at the discomfort he was feeling when he finally realized he was wearing clothes now. When had that happened? He focused on his surrounding next, finding his husband in no time at all. "John?" He was feeling better than when he had stumbled in here during the storm but he wasn't sure how his husband was faring.
John had focused on thinking he was warm and was slowly pulled out of this thoughts by the sound of his husband's voice. "Yeah?" His own voice was weak and scratchy from all of the water. Sherlock looked better. Red cheeks and he was warm. "You look better," he whispered as he curled his body together and pressed into his husband's side. God, he was warm. It felt wonderful. "Where are we?" He finally asked.
"Yeah, I am okay I think. Here…you need these more than I do now." Sherlock took the too big clothing off and placed them next to John. "Abandoned lighthouse. I think I know where we are, should be able to get us back to the beach house." His husband wasn't looking good. He needed to get John out of here. He slipped out from under the blanket. "Going to see if anything of use is upstairs." Probably not, but it couldn't hurt to look.
"No, you need them more." John tried to sit up but ended up falling back against the floor, gasping at the sensation. Without Sherlock he was suddenly much colder and struggling to keep his body under control. He was shivering violently. Fuck. He curled under the blanket, kicking the clothes to the side the best he could. "Y-You. C-Cl-Clothes." He looked up at his husband with determination. He wasn't going to let anything happen to Sherlock, especially after almost losing him in the storm.
"Don't be stupid John, put the damn clothes on. I'm fine for now." Sherlock turned and started to go up the stairs. He paused to look back at his husband. "If you aren't in them by the time I get back, I'll dress you myself." He smirked and then disappeared to the room above. There wasn't a lot up there, mostly just the giant unlit light. He did find at least one thing of use. A gas lamp. It was half full with oil. Matches. Lighter. Something. He searched everywhere, and managed to find a book of matches with three left. Good. Better. He went back downstairs with the lamp and matches.
John shook his head when Sherlock went upstairs, pushing the clothes farther away with his feet. He had found them for Sherlock and, damn it, his husband was going to wear them. Right now he had the blanket and he was more worried about Sherlock. The man couldn't force the clothes on him. His gaze lifted and he studied the lamp, shivering and coughing again before letting his eyes close. "Put them back on," he muttered weakly. "Now."
"Fine. Neither one of us will wear them." Sherlock sat down next to John, and then took the glass covering off the lamp and set it aside. He turned the knob on the side to make the wick cloth longer, it would burn faster that way but it would give a bigger flame and provide more heat. Which was what John needed right now. He lit the match and set the wick aflame. He didn't bother putting the cover back on. As long as they were careful not to knock it over it should be all right.
"Fuck you," John replied as he pressed his forehead into Sherlock's thigh, his eyes slipping closed. There was some heat coming from the lamp but the sound of the wind outside made him shiver again. "Y-You need clothes," he whispered before coughing loudly to the point where he gagged, struggling to catch his breath. It was only fair since he had the blanket. Why was his husband so stubborn. "Put them on."
"No. I am not the one shivering and coughing." Sherlock stood up and began investigating the downstairs. He took out the rack in the oven, broke a stool and walked back over to the lamp with his arms full. He needed some rocks. That would mean going outside. It wasn't raining anymore but the wind was still whipping around out there. He would brave it, for John. "I will be right back. I need to go outside." Before his husband could argue he stepped outside, after fighting with the door against the wind. He shivered as soon as he stepped outside, there was a rocky cove nearby and with effort and frigid fingers he pried some loose. He had to make a few trips to and from the door since he couldn't carry them all. Once he had enough, he began transferring them inside. The hard work and exertion was tiring but it offered him a bit of warmth against the cold air.
It wasn't like John could stand up and chase after his husband but he shouted as much as he could. "Sherlock!" God his husband was thick. "The last thing we need is for you and me to be sick," he whispered as he struggled to sit up, shoving the clothes forward. "I have got the blanket. Please." He met his husband's gaze seriously. "We both need to have something. I found these clothes for you. Please, put them on." He was practically begging now.
When the last rock was inside, Sherlock slumped against the door. He hadn't realized just how tired and unwell he really was until he had finally taken a moment not to move. "Just let me finish this…" He muttered as stood up straight. He found a weak spot in the floor boards and kicked at it until he broke through. He dropped to his hands and knees once he was through and began tearing at the wood. He ignored the splinters and blood that resulted. He pushed the debris into the hole he had made. Why had he made the hole so far from the rocks? It wasn't really that far but God, he was getting tired again. Maybe he should have gotten smaller rocks, except he needed the larger ones. He sighed at his useless thoughts, brows furrowing in concentration. He began moving rocks again and made a smaller circle within the hole, stacking the stones two high so they would surround the broken wood. He grabbed the broken stool parts and dropped them into make shift pit as well, except for one wooden leg. He picked up the shirt and since it was too big anyway, tearing off a piece at the end wouldn't really matter that much. He wrapped it around the stick and then lit it on fire from the lamp. It was better than wasting another match. He moved the flaming wood over to the pit and once the fire caught well enough to his liking, he put the rack from the stove over the hole. There. Done. Now he could rest. He crawled over to John, snuggling against his husband. "Should be fine, some of the windows are broken upstairs so the smoke should filter out that way. Stones around it will stop it from spreading…" He trailed off as sleep found him once more.
Good. Now Sherlock was asleep. John moved slowly, his body protesting to everything, and put the clothes back on his husband. They were close to the fire and he could already feel the warmth. "I love you," he whispered as he moved back next to his husband, shifting so Sherlock's head was on his shoulder. The blanket was wrapped around them both tightly. God, this would happen to them on their honeymoon. "Sherlock Holmes you are wonderful." He shivered against his husband and started to cough.
Sherlock didn't sleep as long as last time, only a couple of hours. Had John gotten any sleep since being here? His husband wouldn't get any better otherwise. He should be fine, as long as he didn't over exert himself today. Shit, how long had they been here? A day at the most, he figured. With the blanket, clothes and fire going he was getting a little warm and God damn these clothes were itchy as hell. "Taking off the shirt, too warm." He slid out from the blanket, tossing the shit next to John. Maybe his husband would finally put it on, because he clearly needed it more than he did at this point. Water. If he could boil some and then filter it, it should be safe to drink. He found an iron cast pot, that would have to do. "I am going to get some water for us." He knelt down next to John, pressing their foreheads together.
John closed his eyes at their closeness, reaching a hand up to rest on the back of his husband's neck. "Be careful," he whispered with a bit of a smile. "'M going to be sick," he added after, pulling away from his husband and kicking the blanket away, turning as he started to vomit up the sea water he had inhaled the day before. It took a while for his stomach to empty and he kept coughing, whimpering as he pressed his forehead against the cold floor. God, he felt horrible. He was shivering but his skin was clammy and warm. "Go get water," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around his midsection.
Damn it. John was worse than he thought. Sherlock watched his husband with a worried frown. "Wear the shirt my dear doctor, please. At least keep the blanket around you, and maybe try to sleep." He didn't want to leave but water, once distilled properly, would do them both some good. He got up, walked outside and filled the pot with water. He lost himself in thought, as he walked back up to the lighthouse and inside. The walk to the beach house was about half a day, but if he carried John it would probably take almost a whole day. Tomorrow. When he was a little more rested. He couldn't keep abusing his body, because it wouldn't help either of them in the long run
John glanced at the shirt for a long moment before he slowly pulled it over his head, curling under the blanket but leaving a bit for Sherlock so he could stay warm once he was done. "I thought I lost you yesterday," he said through his shivering. "W-Why did you let go?" It had been bugging him while his husband had slept.
Sherlock was quiet for awhile, as he watched the water boil over the fire. "I…uh…" He cleared his throat. "I thought that if I let go, you would stand a better chance of getting to shore safely." He shrugged as he looked around for other useful items. He found a chipped bowl and a dish towel, that was surprisingly clean. They would have to do. He used the towel to help remove the pot off the wire rack, sliding it rather than picking it up and setting it on the floor gently. He draped the towel over the bowl. Now it was time to wait for the water to cool down.
"'S stupid," John muttered as he buried his pale face in the blanket, watching his husband curiously. "I was going to save you. I was doing just fine." He coughed and turned his head, spitting something up before groaning. Well, he had been doing fine. Now he felt like death warmed over. Another violent shiver shot through his body and he slammed his eyes shut. It upset him that Sherlock had let go.
"Yes, I know it was stupid and you weren't doing fine. You were practically drowning with carrying me on your back. We both would have drowned, if I hadn't." Sherlock moved over to John, his brows crinkled in concern. His husband wasn't doing well at all. He curled next to his partner, wrapping his arms around John to hug him close. Maybe they should leave today after all. His husband would be a lot worse tomorrow probably.
Warmth. God, Sherlock was so warm. Goosebumps spread across John's body and he shivered against his husband. "Would have gone b-back for you," he whispered against Sherlock's skin. Why did he feel so horrible? The mix of the storm and swimming had exhausted him and he assumed the amount of salt water he inhaled probably hadn't been too healthy. "Are you all right?" He asked curiously, glancing up at his husband the best he could.
"I had to try to at least give you chance to be safe," Sherlock whispered against John's neck. He continued to hug his husband closer to him. "I am fine my dear doctor. It is you I am worried about right now. I think you may have gotten some sort of bacterial infection. Possibly by swallowing something along with the salt water."
"'M fine," John replied with a soft smile. "Promise. Just fine." He took a shaky intake of breath and started coughing right away to the point of gagging, his body tense as he tried to calm himself. "Wanted to keep you safe," he muttered and forced himself to relax and let his eyes slip closed. "You are safe," he added softly. "Did my job."
"Yes, I am fine and safe. You should try and sleep my dear doctor." Sherlock kissed the back of John's neck. The cough his husband had was worrisome. It only seemed to be getting worse too. "I will stay with you right here. I won't go anywhere, I promise." Maybe once John had rested for a bit, he would be able to carry his husband back to the beach house.
How could John sleep while he needed to make sure his husband was all right? He moaned slightly and let his breathing even out, slowly falling asleep. He slept for two hours before waking up with a cough and a shiver, pressing back against his husband as he tried to catch his breath. Shit, he couldn't breathe. Another cough and he gasped nervously.
Well, at least John had slept for a little while. The cough was bad. The water would be cool by now. Sherlock rolled over to the pot and bowl and then sat up. Using the towel as a filter, he poured the water into the bowl slowly. It took a while for the liquid to drip through, but eventually he got it about half full. He removed the towel before offering it to his husband. "Here. Drink some water, maybe that will help."
John took the water and studied it intently. Sherlock was a genius so the water was going to be fine. He took a small sip, swallowing it with a weak cough. "The weather sounds better," he commented softly as he shifted in the massive shirt. If he got to feeling better they could hopefully start heading back to the beach house. At this rate, though, John didn't know what was wrong with him. "Probably going to throw this back up," he commented with a bit of a smile.
The water had been boiled and sort of filtered, so it should be all right. Sherlock was doing the best he could with the limited supplies they had right now. "Do you think it would be safe for me to try and carry you back to the beach house?" Despite being a genius, there were some things out of his depth. Like medical experience. John was a doctor though, and hopefully his husband would make a physicians analysis and not an emotional one.
God, the beach house. Just the thought made John smile softly except he wasn't doing very good and Sherlock needed to rest some more. "Probably not," he replied with a resigned sigh. "I am heavier than you and you need the energy to get back to the beach house yourself." What he was about to suggest might upset Sherlock but it might be their only option. "You might be good enough tomorrow to make it back. You could go and call Mycroft, get a car back here to get me. I think that might be the only option we have."
"I can't just leave you John." Sherlock sighed. The longer they stayed, the worse his husband would get. "I could go today then. I am fine. It is only half a day away walking and even shorter if a car comes to get you. I can have a doctor there at the beach house waiting." There was enough water to last John, especially with how little his husband was drinking. Sherlock was a man of action, sitting and waiting for the next day didn't sit well with him.
Today? Sherlock couldn't leave today, he was still too weak. John sat up and shook his head. "Tomorrow. Sherlock, you have got to rest a bit more before you leave. You've got a pair of pants that barely fit you and I am giving you the shirt if you are going to leave," he stated without any room for argument. "I will be fine, yeah? I have been through worse." He coughed and winced because, shit, that was blood against his palm. He closed his hand quickly so Sherlock wouldn't see. Best not worry his husband anymore. "Can you wait? I'm going to be fine, Sherlock."
Sherlock managed a slight smirk. "I will be fine without the shirt. I am leaving today. You can't afford for me to wait. Just try to sleep while I am gone and someone will be here for you in no time." He stood up and moved for the door. They didn't have time to argue. "John, I love you." He then went out the door. He began walking along the sandy beach, that would eventually lead back to the house. When the beach house finally came in view, he began running even though he wasn't really in any shape to do so. He stumbled through the front door, panting. He didn't bother closing the door behind him and moved to the bedroom. He found his husband's mobile and with the little energy he had left sent a text to his brother before collapsing on the floor and passing out.
Send a car to get John at the old abandoned lighthouse. Doctor needed. –SH