A/N Time to turn on RainyMood for this...
Solemn, ever-changing eyes glanced lazily out the dull windows.
He watched with slight interest at the droplets of water sliding against the glass, collecting more drops as they traveled farther down. Some were lucky enough to gather into small, flowing streams, but the wind that blew against the windows had caught its tiny victims and sent them flying back out into the air.
The city outside grew frighteningly dark. The rain and heavy fog that domed over the island seemed as if they were nature's very own depression, screaming in silent agony and unleashing its endless tears to the world. It was such a grievous sight.
One could even say it was a reflection of Sherlock's current state of mind.
The young detective was sat up on his bed, unmoving as he watched the clouds roll by outside. He breathed raggedly as he focused with all his power on calming his very own storm that raged in his head. Jagged spikes of thoughts pierced his cranium and unfelt emotions sprouted from the wounds.
It was never ending.
Even after John's determined words of consolation, it made no difference to his shattering sanity.
But Sherlock had faith in his doctor; he kept his very words close to his trust. So every day, he waited out the pain. He carried himself in a brave manner, concealing his demons with a mask resembling his former self.
He is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.
He is Khan, genetically advanced superhuman.
'Tell me,' he thought, as he buried himself deeper into his tangled mess of sheets and bedding.
'Who am I?'
"Oh for god's sake! This bloody rain is ruining everything!" Lestrade threw his hands up in exasperation as he and all the others watched the storm brew outside through the glass walls of the academy. Sighs of disappointment echoed through the halls.
"What the hell are we going to do now?" the silver haired man crossed his strong arms against his chest angrily and stared at the grey skies with such distaste, it almost looked like as if he was looking through the eyes of mother nature herself.
To think that after living in London for all his life and spending two years in the always dreary city of San Francisco, Greg Lestrade would have already been used to the constant rain.
But not today.
Today was special, long awaited for, and now-
Ruined.
Greg pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. It was the first day of their day off, one out of the three days of every month assigned by Starfleet that granted the Eugenics Project's participants the opportunity to finally venture out into the world. No training, no studies, no restrictions, with the exception of their own guards following behind them to secure their safety. But with today's weather, their hopes of enjoying what the city could offer blew away with the wind.
"Ah fuck!" a voice called out and made the distraught inspector turn. John jogged to Lestrade's side and watched the windows gleam with the water's reflection. His face began to scrunch up in displeasure as he peered over to the city just across the bridge. Fog swirled around the buildings and the deep resonance of thunder began to roll in, making it clear that their relaxing holiday was going to have to be spent inside the Academy.
"A thunderstorm? In bloody San Francisco? Of course this rare occurrence just had to happen on this day!" John sighed.
As the entrance hall began to empty, the two continued to stare out the glass barrier. The wind that blew on the trees and the sound of rain pattering seemed to mock them, indicating that there was no way the skies would clear and the sun would shine today.
Lestrade settled into one of the crisp, white sofas and leaned far back into the cushions. "Well? What now?"
John clicked his tongue.
He wasn't usually one to care about their monthly day offs, let alone get upset about it. On some days, he would even skip the trips with the others and continue on his researches and dissections in the lab. But not this time. This time, he had actually made plans from weeks ago just for this very day. He had informed Lestrade, and together, they had waited anxiously for their awaited holiday.
The plan, however, wasn't really for their enjoyment.
But that doesn't matter now, does it?
"Maybe it's just a one day storm? We do have two more days." Lestrade attempted to assure the doctor, but as his gazed went back out to the darkening skies and endless rain, he mentally scolded himself for his illogical assumption and wanted to take his very words right back.
"I highly doubt that this storm would let up during the rest of the week," John murmured, and began to make his way to the dorms. He drew a disappointed breath once again.
"Operation Save the Sociopath is cancelled."
John made his way into the labyrinth halls of the Academy's dorms. The windows he passed by still held the same grim color and he slowly accepted the fact that they weren't going to change anytime soon.
"Bollocks," he whispered.
"I'll help you. We all will..."
After that conversation no less than a month ago, he kept a watchful eye on the detective, keeping him close, but in a way so he wouldn't suspect. As days went by, he noticed Sherlock acting more like himself around others. This wasn't particularly a good thing to the people Sherlock had interacted with, but to John and Lestrade, they were able to breathe a sigh of relief.
But John knew he wasn't fully restored. Every night, as they parted ways to their own rooms, he would notice that Sherlock would walk a little faster, and slam his door a little harder as if his room would disappear if he didn't get their in time.
John knew that the Sherlock out there was just a facade created to ease him of worry.
That was why he had planned this failed trip. 'Operation Save the Sociopath', Lestrade had dubbed it when John told him. He planned to release the detective out of his confined space and get him away from anything that reminded him of Khan.
He had promised to help Sherlock the same way he had helped him a long time ago.
By going out on an adventure.
But right now, John felt like he had failed.
The saddened doctor became almost too absorbed in his own self loathing and just barely missed his destination. Turning around, he went back to the chrome steel dorm door marked with silver numbers that differentiated it from all the others.
Before he walked in, John was able to shut off the noise of the rain against glass and listened closely to the happenings behind the door.
He held his breath.
Nothing.
John exhaled slowly as he got closer to the door and began knocking.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, I know you're in there."
Nothing.
"It's Harrison."
Somehow the silence grew stiffer and John rolled his eyes.
"It's John."
As a few seconds ticked by, John just stood there with his arms crossed, waiting. Then, the red lock light beeped green, and with the slight touch of the steel, the dorm door slid open silently, welcoming the doctor into its dark interior.
The room itself was lit only by the faint glow of the clocks and by the grand window near the middle of the room with its curtains wide open. It was a simple place, filled with incomplex decor and necessities. The large study table however, was littered with test tubes, beakers, and microscopes, revealing the old habbits of the consulting detective. John smiled at the mess. Usually back at 221B, he would've scolded Sherlock and made him tidy up the place to the best of his abilities, but now, he yearned for clutter. For clothes piled on the sofa or food left on the kitchen counter. For the shoes stains on the carpet or the melody of a violin filling the room and seeping out the door.
All he wanted now was to see the signs of life in this near perfect room.
The corner of John's mouth tugged downwards.
He took each step slowly towards the bed that laid in the corner of the room next to the window. A great lump of sheets were bundled on top, revealing the figure of a brooding man.
Outside, the thunder began to moan again.
"Sherlock."
John stood before the unmoving blankets. Reaching for the edges, he carefully peeled away the covers. Dark hair spilled out on the pillows, its charcoal color clashing against the stark white. Going further down, the sheets were removed to reveal a pale and angled face looking up at the doctor.
The two stared at each other in the dark, each trying to find the light in the other's eyes, but both held a sombre gleam that matched with the sky.
John opened his mouth to speak, and began to think through his words of apologies. He felt horrible for failing to even arrange one simple day for the detective's sake.
"What?" Pitiful eyes questioned the doctor.
Sherlock's voice had grown deeper. John had noticed this for some time now, the detective's voice was lower and grimmer than before.
All of a sudden, he felt his hands twitch. He ached to punch that stupid face of his, right on the cheekbones. A certain rage flared in John as Sherlock continued to stare with blank eyes.
'Stop changing, goddammit!'
Quick arms thrusted out and grabbed Sherlock's collar harshly, shaking the depressing man out of his bed covers. The detective's eyes widened in utter disbelief and had no time to react to John's sudden action.
Watson brought Sherlock up to eye level, his blue eyes flickered in annoyance and its brilliant light color brightened the room with indignation.
"Get up Holmes, I'm sick of you moping around in this goddamn room!" The raving doctor was then able to drag the stunned man out of his bed and into his feet. Grabbing a coat and shoes, John threw the apparel at Sherlock and wasted no time out the door.
Normally, if anyone had the nerves to do what John Watson just did to the Great Khan, they would have already been grounded into dust. Even simply knocking on Khan's door would have gotten the bravest soldier mangled in a way the regeneration of the body would be utterly impossible.
Sherlock at that very moment was delving into the depths of his insanity. He was at his most unstable point that day and had locked himself off from the others.
But John Watson didn't give a fuck.
And Sherlock couldn't do a thing.
Why? Because it was the doctor's orders.
The disarranged mind of his went into sudden shock as John snapped, leaving confusion and incredulity the only thing in Sherlock's head.
John led the way down from the dorms and back out onto the halls with the detective right on his heels. He had no idea what had came over him-all he knew was that it felt as if he had finally swam out of dark, muddy waters.
The dark and foreboding room, the way Sherlock looked at him with pathetic eyes all curled up in his bed like a brat. It pissed him off. This wasn't him. This wasn't the arrogant bastard he knew
'And to think I was going to apologize!'
He stomped his way out the doors of the Academy and had pulled Sherlock right out into the pouring rain. Grabbing the sleeves of his coat, Watson dragged Holmes in one of the slick, black, Starfleet cars parked right in front of the entrance. These were provided for the participants for their three day holiday to use around the city, but the storm had rudely prevented the opportunity of going outside.
However, a little rain, wind and thunder didn't stop John as he was determined to persist on saving the sociopath.
The car sped right through the renowned Golden Gate Bridge, the powerful winds and slippery roads threatened to blow the vehicle out on the treacherous sea.
"JOHN! WHAT THE HELL-" Sherlock screamed as he clung on to his seat as John maneuvered through the steep hills of San Francisco. The city streets were dead empty; no one as reckless or insane would dare to drive out during a storm, especially when you live in the city by the bay. Every step of the acceleration and every stomp of the brakes was a knock on death's door.
But John was not only reckless and insane, he was also a genetically engineered superhuman. His quick reaction times and adaptable actions helped in guiding the car into a safe and complete stop in the middle of Union Square.
"Out, Sherlock."
"What?"
"Out."
"You're delusional."
"No, to my knowledge and your self proclamation, you are. Now out."
The car doors creaked in protest as it was forcefully opened against the strong winds. It was no problem for the two, however, as they stepped out of the storm with ease and normality. Thunder clapped once more.
"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock shouted above the rain. His petty coat did nothing to prevent the cold from icing his body, drenching everything as soon as he stepped out of the car. Ignoring the harshness of mother nature, Sherlock looked to John, who stood gaping at the sky.
"John?"
Even through the downpour of water, Sherlock could see John's gaze flicker to him.
"Sherlock Holmes! Khan Noonien Singh! I've had enough of your nonsense!" Watson and Holmes stood across from each other with the stygian vehicle between them.
"Stop this. Stop it, right now." John continued. The baffled detective began to open his mouth in rebuttal but was quickly ignored.
"No! You listen to me! You are the smartest human being I've ever met. You're first words to me absolutely amazed me. Now use your intellect to help yourself! You're mind is corrupting because you still don't have the ability to control your heightened emotions! No. Not only that! You don't want to accept it! All your life you've mastered the technique of keeping yourself controlled to avoid anything getting in the way of your work! This time don't push it back, Sherlock! Let it slowly adapt to you! That's what our new bodies are capable of doing, right? Adapting? So please, Sherlock! Stop this madness! Stop hiding! I told you, I'm here to help you!"
John let out a sore breath. He had enough of this dead-man act. He can't take being surrounded in the detective's depressing aura; it reminded him too much of his once lonesome life.
Sherlock stared down at his feet, eyes stinging from oncoming tears. His mind raced with the thought of succumbing to this insanity, this sentiment.
Stop? How could he stop! He hated it. How could he accept it? No. he can't let them fall. Feeling is ridiculous. Sadness was unbearable.
"Don't fight your demons, Sherlock. Listen to them."
Sherlock's head whipped up to find the dear doctor smiling. Realizing that John Watson could see right through his very being, wide eyes trembled with hesitation. He was still afraid of slipping. Afraid of losing himself.
'I've always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. But you see? Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.'*
"De ja vu..." Sherlock whispered. The detective slowly began to move away from John's sight, turning to face the empty streets before him. Lifting his head up, he felt each cold drop of rain that fell on his face and began to unfurl his chaotic mind.
A sudden warmth dripped from his eyes, sliding against his cheeks and mixing with the icy water.
John could only watch from a distance as Sherlock attempted to heal. Not only had Sherlock have faith in his doctor, but he had faith on the detective as well. Sherlock was a genius, an annoying dick, and his best friend, and he's never going to allow that to change.
"Tell me John," Sherlock murmured against the downpour. He began to concentrate on the pain. "What shall I do know?"
John grinned and looked around the empty streets. "Well, it is our holiday. We're in the city with a damn good car, and it's pouring like hell. I think you ought to enjoy this day off I've planned for you. Sorry I couldn't get you a nice murder."
The two looked at each other with friendly amusement, the darkness around them seeming to fade from the gleam of their eyes. Sherlock found himself becoming more comfortable under the gloomy weather, where he was away from the stark quietness of his room and the blinding white walls of the Academy.
"If only I was allowed to take it out on the walls, maybe I wouldn't have this foolish problem?" he mused.
"Oh no, you took it out on many people, Sherlock, it wouldn't make much of a difference."
And in that single moment, the harsh sound of the rain seemed to hush around the city, allowing the resonance of two people laughing heartily to echo amidst the silent city.
Even if it was just for a brief moment, the saved sociopath was able to control the storm and began to appreciate the rain.
A/N This went a lot better in my head, trust me. And John's got rage, I know. He's not putting up with Sherlock's temperament any longer. That's what happens when you genetically increase the human mind. Just imagine the women involved oh god.
*Quote from the 'Hounds of Baskerville'
Reviews are helpful and welcomed!