Prompt 33: Tea
Sherlock cracked open an eye and groaned at the brightness that blinded him. It was not the familiar light of home, nor that familiar sky. He remembered crouching at the edge of the bifrost, collecting samples of various particles and then a pressure at his back and falling, falling, falling, into an abyss of stars, eventually crash landing here, and he hoped he would be able to escape in due course. Mycroft would be insufferable when he discovered that this had happened. Again. Sherlock chuckled at the memory of his first foray over the edge of the rainbow bridge, of one Martha Hudson and her kindness that he repaid in kind by dealing with her abusive, criminal husband. The chuckle soon made him groan in pain, and he cursed whoever had sent him here for his response would be swift and unforgiving when he returned home. First things first however, A quick scan of his transport to see the damage. Ribs bruised, lacerations to the arms and torso in general, and it appeared that his ankle was broken. Joy. Apparently godly powers weren't extended to him yet again, this was what one got when one was merely the God of knowledge. Enemies and mortality.
"Hey, Are you alright?" a warm voice laced with caution intruded on his ramblings and Sherlock opened his eyes to find his face was in the shade of another's. The worry lines marred what was otherwise a very handsome face, all golden tones and bright blue eyes. "I am fine. How's your shoulder?" The man flew back with a startled gasp that bled into a long and hearty laugh. The man wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and Sherlock lay, still flat on his back in the dirt, staring up at him. Sherlock sighed in relief when he realised where he was, finally. He was getting slow. "Alright, I'll bite. How did you know about my shoulder then?" Sherlock smirked broadly "I deduced it. Just as I deduced that you were in the army, probably a doctor but most likely a surgeon and were just invalided out by the very wound of which I speak, or that your older brother recently came out of a longterm relationship and is an alcoholic." He watched as the man's eyebrows clambered steadily higher up his face with a sense of satisfied resignation to the oncoming insults. "That… is bloody brilliant! How did you know all that!? We've just met, I have no idea who you are, and you just… wow!" He was quite vocally awestruck and Sherlock wondered why that made his heart flutter so in his chest. Determined not to show just how surprised and gratified he truly was, Sherlock launched into explanations of his deductions for the man who had laughed not at him but more… he couldn't express it. "I read your military service in your hair cut and your posture, you clearly have medical knowledge as I could see you performing a visual triage on me right away, and your hands are calloused in the precise way anyone who frequently uses medical equipment's hands are. Your left hand was shaking slightly before I fully regained consciousness so wounded in action then, can't have a surgeon with quivering hands - invalided home. The brother is obvious from your phone, an expensive model that someone supported by only an army pension would never buy, a gift then, "To Harry love Clara" with what I assume are three x's because I can't quite see it all is the engraving on the back, evidently given to your brother by his lover and yet you have it now, this particular model is only six months old so clearly he left her, and recently too, he'd have kept it if it had been the other way around, and gave the phone to you in the hopes you'd keep in touch but you're not happy with him, you've never really gotten on, maybe you liked his wife,more likely you dislike his drinking, which is abundantly clear to see in the scratch marks by the charging dock. Shaky hands. Never see a sober man's phone with them, never see a drunk's without them. Did I get it right?" Sherlock finally stopped for breath and the man just stared at him for a moment.
"Yes, I was an army surgeon and I did get shot in the left shoulder meaning I had to come home, and Harry and I don't get along, Harry and Clara separated three months ago, and Harry is a drinker." Sherlock's smug grin was something even the cheshire cat would have been envious of. "And Harry is short for Harriet." Sherlock cursed "There's always something! Sister of course!" and the man chuckled lowly again. "Are you going to lay on the ground all day or would you be up to coming back to my place so I can patch you up a bit? Oh, and I'm John by the way. John Watson." Sherlock rolled the name about in his mouth. John Watson. Huh. "Sherlock Holmes-" He cut himself off from saying Holmeson, because he was going to have enough trouble remembering the backstory he'd invented for Mrs Hudson that he'd labelled unimportant after the event (foolish, Sherlock a voice in his head that sounded irritatingly similar to Mycroft admonished) without adding a last name that had only been in use back when Earth had been over run with barbarians they called vikings.
John smiled down at him and held out a hand. "Well then Sherlock Holmes. Let's go" John grinned, his teeth a pearl white against the backdrop of tanned skin. Sherlock grasped the hand offered to him and struggled to get up, though not for long. Soon he was upright, albeit on one leg, with John's reassuringly steady hand resting on his lower back. Oddly enough he didn't find the touch repugnant, then again, he sniffed, it wasn't very often that he found himself in the company of someone who could stand him enough to stay longer than it took to either beat or berate him. John's head tilted to the side and Sherlock observed the only possible reason for having to think (well, in a broad sense) and groaned inwardly. Too far from the forest trail they were currently standing in to the road for him to hop there. Perhaps John would just leave him to his own devices now, he could still feel the raw tingle of the barest film of magic in himself, so he would heal faster than most of the mewling quims he had come across, five days at most.
He was so lost in his mind palace that he didn't register John's hand reaching across the back of his knees until he was already ascending into a comfortable (He'd deny that he had thought it cozy until the day he died) position resting against John's chest. John smiled cheerily down at him "Sorry about this Sherlock but it's the best way to get you home and fixed up quickly. I don't like the look of that cut on your chest at all." The doctor walked down the winding path with Sherlock firmly ensconced in his arms, his strength and stamina astounding the God. He was reminded of the human tale of Hercules, and wondered if by some freak chance was John in a similar sort of situation, because right now he knew (being the God of knowledge was a double edged blade, he often knew things he didn't want to) that he had to have John, or live the rest of his immortal life in utter despondent loneliness and spite. Though the sun was shining, he shivered, and was more pleased than he could say when John held him closer. His mind had registered that (finally!) his mind had cut the pain of his transport out of his consciousness and stuffed it away to deal with later.
The road was deserted when they arrived, and John's car was the only one in the lot. With more tenderness than anyone had shown him, John gently settled him into the passenger seat of the car and was in the driver seat moments later. "Did you enjoy your run, Mr Watson?" a disembodied voice chimed as John turned the keys in the ignition. Sherlock whipped round before hissing in pain and moving much more slowly back into the correct sitting position. "What is this voice that knows your name?" he asked curiously, examining the interior of the car for anything he didn't recognise. Chuckling, John soothed a hand across his battered ribs "That would be Jarvis. He's an AI Tony built ages back, the whole tower and all of our cars and phones are Jarvis wired. It was lovely thanks Jarvis, This is Sherlock Holmes by the way, I'm bringing him back to the tower so I can fix him up." This time when the voice sounded Sherlock strained his ears instead of his body."A pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes. Traffic is minimal, ETA twenty minutes. Shall I inform the team of your impending arrival?" A small crease appeared on Sherlock's face and if John did that kind of thing without getting to know a person first he'd have kissed that line away. "The team?" he ventured,waiting for John's reply. "Yeah" he chuckled again "The Avengers they're called when they're working, really it's just Tony Stark aka owner and builder of Stark tower. Billionaire, Genius, Philanthropist… also known as Iron man. Bruce Banner, aka The Hulk, Natasha Romanoff aka The Spider, Clint Barton aka Hawkeye and finally Steve Rogers aka Captain America. Oh! and Director Fury but the chances of him being there are pretty slim." Sherlock wrinkled his nose up. Just what he needed, an abundance of stupidity in one building that he would have to remain in for the time being, at least until he could find a better offer. "… but that's Happy for you, and then there's Mrs. H, she's the housekeeper but really she's more like a mum to everyone." John finished with a nostalgic smile as they sailed through the mid morning traffic. Sherlock remained silent, he could feel the low throb of pain all over his body and quite frankly it seemed better to grit his teeth than lash out at the one potential ally he had on this planet.
They were stationary before he knew it and John was out of the car, opening his door with a slight blush and stood there fidgeting. "Ah, I see. I am not so egotistical as to reject your help when I am in need of it John. Well, not all the time anyway." The audible relieved exhale went unmentioned by both men, and if Sherlock had gasped when John unbelted him before lifting him up and out of the vehicle, that went unmentioned also. Jarvis' voice rang out not long after they had passed through the front door. "I was asked to deliver this message upon your arrival Mr. Watson." John chortled "Go ahead Jarvis I'm listening." he closed the door and walked into a large open plan sitting room and gently placed his charge on the 's distinctiv drawl rang out through the room. "Hey doc, We're off on the job, probably won't be there when you get back *muffled voices* Oh yeah Spangles here says I should mention that it'll be dangerous and injuries are likely, but not that likely I mean we're Earh's mightiest heroes so — Sorry about that John, Stark doesn't know when to shut up. We'll see you later ok?" the message ended with the woman's voice (Natasha, obviously) and John frowned.
"What?" Sherlock asked, puzzled. "I don't have to like the fact that they're throwing themselves in harms way" John replied as he swanned into the next room. "You wish you were with them don't you?" The clatter of a small box hitting the floor was all the answer Sherlock needed. "That's a yes then. Well. Don't fret, Once I am back on my feet we will be in plenty of trouble of our own." John came back carrying his first aid supplies and gave an affectionate eye roll. "Somehow I don't doubt that we'll get into all sorts of trouble. But not before you're fully healed. So… What do you do, Sherlock?" John asked from his kneeling position on the floor. Sherlock desperately ignored the light caress of his fingers running bandage across his ankle. "hrsgyckkvnlmnnm I'm a consulting detective. When people have a crime that needs solving or the police are out of their depths, which is always, they call me." John chuckled. "Of course they do, you bloody genius. What about family?"
Sherlock gave a groan, not from the slight pain of the local anesthetic he was getting but of annoyance at the thoughts of his family. "My brother Mycroft considers himself to be the government and secret service all piled into one. He is, of course." Sherlock scowled and John continued his stitching of a cut on Sherlock's wrist. "As the eldest he always said he was the smarter one but I don't believe that for a minute. He's fat and ginger and watches every move I make." A sticky bandage pressed over neat sutures. "Can you just take off your shirt? The cut on your chest is and your ribs are all that's left." Sherlock nodded and began unbuttoning, and he couldn't help but notice the azure orbs that tracked every centimeter of skin as it was exposed. The blood soaked garment fell to the floor and Sherlock was bare chested. John rifled through his supplies for one last antiseptic wipe and a reel of gauze. Steadying himself by wrapping one hand around Sherlock's waist, John dabbed at the long but relatively shallow cut with soft, soothing strokes and a hand at the small of his back was all Sherlock needed to make him move forwards, allowing John to stand and then insinuate himself behind him until he was sitting back to chest between John's thighs.
Carefully, John began to wrap his ribs up. "What about" the mellifluous voice almost whispered in his ear "girlfriends?" Shudders rushed from his neck to his legs. "Not really my area" quite possibly the largest understatement he'd ever uttered. "What about a boyfriend then?" "No." John's chest rumbled pleasantly against Sherlock's skin through his shirt. "Good, you're unattached, like me." The bandaging was finished, text book work, but tentative hands remained resting carefully along hip bones and Sherlock was damned if he was going to be the one to break that connection. This was absurd, his logical mind knew. He was a God for crying out loud, an extraterrestrial stranger that had been dumped at random and by pure chance John had been the one to come across him. And John… well. That was just the strangest part of all because who in their right mind took such care of a stranger, accepted their odd quirks, called them brilliant even, and then to top it all off had a romantic interest in Sherlock that was far from repulsive? Though he didn't believe in this sort of thing, it was abundantly apparent that John was the only person, in the entire universe it seemed, that was as suited to Sherlock as Sherlock was to him. Sherlock let out a noncommital hum and leaned into the embrace when the door flew open.
"Yoohoo John dear I've brought some tea up!" Sherlock's ears pricked up like a cat's and he stared open mouthed at the elderly woman walking through the door. "Mrs Hudson?!" he exclaimed as John moved out from behind him (He felt the loss rather keenly.) Mrs Hudson nearly dropped her tray when she saw him and had to sit down before she could say anything. "Sherlock what on Earth are you doing here? Dear me you look like you've been through the wars…" John began pouring tea when Mrs Hudson gasped. "We'll need a third cup won't we, I'll just fetch it now" Sherlock made to interrupt the poor woman but before he could get a word in edge ways John had grasped her hand fondly and pressed her back into her seat. "No, I'll get it. I don't want either of you to strain yourselves. Make sure he doesn't try fiddle with those bandages will you?" John requested with an exasperated smile, tilting his head in the direction of Sherlock's stray hand fraying the edges of his bandages. "Why do I get the feeling that I'll have to watch you 24/7?" The statement was laced with such genuine wonder that Sherlock couldn't help but stare at the retreating back of the human who had suddenly forced him to feel, and evidently felt in return. Mrs Hudson gave him a look "I can get the upstairs room ready, that is, if you'll be needing two." She remarked with a coy smile. Rose dusted his cheeks as he realised that he really, really hoped they didn't.
A/N I had about twenty ideas for this and every time I would start into one it would just peter out before I was finished… and suddenly I sprung a damned Avengers Au Crossover thing on myself and I don't know what happened… well, I do, this happened but metaphorically speaking. Back to school and what not, what a joy it's been, I'm incredibly, unbelievably busy for no apparent reason except that we're in the midst of an innundation of projects that require my 'full attention.' We'll never stick to any modicum of a schedule will we? Ah well! Hope you liked it anyway, all 100 OF YOU! Thanks so much for the acknowledgment, it's awesome, you're awesome, dftba and with that I bid you adieu ~S