Prompt 37: Exhausted
John was, he was certain, exhausted. Three cases back to back, barely four meals over the past two and half weeks, next to no sleep, he was genuinely astounded that he was still able to stand let alone apprehend criminals. Sherlock of course showed no signs of even being ruffled, and he'd only been eating what John had time to put in his hands. John was growing a beard at this stage, and as soon as the third case wrapped, he made a decision.
"That's it. We're taking a holiday. Tomorrow, wherever you want to go, but we're taking a bloody break." Sherlock nearly collapsed on the couch when they closed the door of the flat "Ok John. I'm feeling run down myself, perhaps a holiday is what we need. Nowhere too out of the way, preferably foreign. Pick, pack, we'll go." Clearly Sherlock was more affected than he let on, and while it was good that he felt he could show John he was vulnerable, fallible, if he'd known then John would have protested that last call out more. The lack of argument would have been cause to go in and of itself so John, after a shower, shave, tea and dinner, sat down and texted Mycroft who sent a courier with two tickets to some place he couldn't name and fully stocked suitcases. He'd flopped into bed shortly after closing the door.
Sherlock had risen to eat last night and that was it, he slept like the dead until John woke him the next morning to get the taxi to the airport. Boarding the plane, Sherlock was like a sleepy toddler, shepherded by John through the airport and into their seats on a private plane, where, like a child, he curled up and slept, taking John's hand in his own while unconscious. John's thumb ran across his knuckles, soothing, as the plane brought them ever closer to respite.
Sherlock was his best friend, the best he'd ever had, and their relationship was something most people mistook for something more than platonic daily. If John were honest, which he was now, he'd say that he could see why. He loved Sherlock, wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, would do anything for him, and at this stage he could definitely see them in a romantic, intimate relationship. If Sherlock wanted that, John would be more than eager to provide, but if he didn't, that would be ok too, as long as they were together. The flight was long, and John too took the opportunity to sleep for a while, waking at hourly intervals to make sure Sherlock was still ok, a habit he'd acquired in the army during action that had translated right across to dangerous cases. The plane landed, and loathe though he was to do it, John shook Sherlock awake gently and smiled at the bleary look he gave him.
"Come on, we've landed." he said softly, picking up their hand luggage and standing as the stairs were lowered. Sherlock yawned and rubbed his eyes, following John so closely John could feel his breath warm against his neck.
"We hope you enjoy your stay on the island sirs, and we'll be back in two weeks time to pick you up at the request of the elder Mr Holmes. The house is fully stocked and their will be no interruptions as this island is entirely private." The flight attendant grinned at the drop of John's jaw and escorted them outside, into a beautiful rainforest setting with tiny hummingbirds darting around and bright sunlight shining overhead. "Accommodation is on the south side of the island and the keys to the safari car" she pointed to a dark green, open topped land rover a little way down the runway "are in the glove box. There's only one road so there should be no trouble getting around, and a detailed map of the island is available at the house." Sherlock was already slumping against him, so John quickly thanked the woman (Jessica) and lay him across the backseat to rest before zipping off into the undergrowth.
The road was unbelievably flat, and driving the car was a dream, the warm sun at his back, breeze drifting through the air, a proper rest was sure to follow. If John had thought for a moment that Sherlock was this tired he'd never have allowed the third case, he couldn't believe that Sherlock was passing out pretty much any time his head could be supported. Pulling up to the house, John shook his head with an exasperated smile. It was beautiful of course, a stylish villa complete with columns and what looked like an indoor garden. Looking back at Sherlock's sleeping form John decided the best thing to do would be to carry him in and just get him to bed. John lifted him like he weighed nothing, and carried him as if he was a priceless piece of pottery inside and into the first bedroom he came across (which looked suspiciously like it had been prepared for them) and lowered him fluidly onto one of two double beds. He was gorgeous of course, and John took the opportunity to simply push some stray curls off his forehead, a caress the unconscious Sherlock leaned into. "I am so done for" John groaned, leaning back against the bedroom door after he'd closed it "Completely and utterly buggered." He shook his head clear of both tiredness and the fuzz left across it from having Sherlock curled against him and went downstairs to make dinner and tea.
Two steaks cooked to perfection and a side of garlic potatoes with green beans had John salivating as he worked. The table was set and everything complete before he went to get Sherlock up. Time difference being what it was they were technically only having lunch now and Sherlock was sleeping away hours they'd already had. John walked in and called Sherlock's name to no avail, so he went to his bedside and clasped his shoulder, rocking him gently and marvelling as verdigris eyes fluttered opened at his touch and a smile etched it's way across a sleep eased face. "It's lunchtime and you haven't eaten in a while so, there's a plate for you on the table anyway if you feel up to it." Sherlock blinked and looked around, settling up on his elbows to get a better look at his surroundings. "I'd ask how I got here, but based on the fibre that matches your jumper that I left on the pillow I'd say you...carried me in. That's sufficiently embarrassing to start this holiday off. Sorry about that." John couldn't help but smile at the little blush on his cheeks. "It was my pleasure, and this steak will be too if you come out and eat it with me. I'll see you in there." He slipped out as Sherlock stretched long and lean across the bed.
Can't believe I just said that he thought to himself as he sat down at the table and began to eat. Sleep could wait until the sun had gone down, he was used to little rest and last night had refreshed him enough to make it through the day, if somewhat drowsily. Sherlock arrived and plonked himself into the chair across from John's with a sleepy smile and began to eat. It was these easy domestic moments where neither had to say a word, and both would be assured of the other's contentment that made their relationship so remarkable. It was nice to feel well fed again, he had to admit. Sherlock sat and watched as John began to clear up the kitchen, staring at him like he was the only interesting thing on the island. John was sure he was just thinking and looking at nothing, or perhaps he kept walking into the line of sight Sherlock was on.
The light began to turn rose, and John smiled out at the view of beams of sunlight through the trees and bushes. A glimmer of blue twinkled in the gaps between trees and John knew what he wanted to do tonight. "I
think I'll head to the seafront, watch the sun go down, stargaze. Feel free to join me if you feel up to it." Sherlock didn't respond and John simply walked outside, breathing in the balmy citrus air and following the dust trail to the shore.
When he broke the treeline a vast expanse of white sand with water lapping quietly greeted him and he stripped off socks and shoes, leaving himself in shorts and a top to stand at the point where the waves (blissfully warm) would break with a whisper against the skin of his feet. It was wondrous, and as the sun lit diamonds across the water John closed his eyes and took everything in, this moment being one he would recall for years afterwards when life became too stressful. He sat crosslegged on the sand next to his shoes and watched the egg yolk sun sinking to meet the horizon and painting the sky in the exact shades of pink and orange that reminded him of those old fruit salad sweets his dad used to sneak him.
There was a muffled thump and an unmistakable presence at his side. Sherlock was on his left, barely more than a couple of inches between them though he could have sat anywhere. "I... hm. You take an awful lot of care of me even though I'm apparently insufferable." Sherlock was watching the sun too, avoiding John's eye studiously. "Yeah well, I happen to be a fan of insufferable. You're my best friend, of course I take care of you, and you take care of me too - in your own way." John replied fondly, weaving ring patterns in the patch of sand between them. Sherlock froze and then turned to gape at John. "I'm your best friend?" John snorted at that. "Of course you are Sherlock, who else could possibly compete with you?" It might have just been the light but John could have sworn he saw the tips of Sherlock's ears flush as he dipped his head with a shy grin. "I've never been someone's best friend before." John shook his head and rolled his eyes "At this stage we might as well be married Sherlock, honestly, you've been my best friend for ages now." They fell silent then, Sherlock staring holes in the side of John's face as he watched the sky beginning to steal the diamonds from the sea.
"Do you mean that John?"
"Which bit?"
"All of it."
"Of course I do, I care about you over everyone else including myself,have done since that first case, and I can't envision a life for me that doesn't end exactly like this, the two of us together in some secluded place going grey - or in my case greyer."
"Oh."
Quiet again aside from the sounds of the sea and the cicada's song. "I'm not... good... at this sort of thing. I don't eh... don't usually see it until it's shoved under my nose... but you... you really do care about me that deeply. I... I don't know... I should say something right?" Sherlock babbled and John turned to him for just a moment, placing a finger over his lips, inwardly revelling at the small inhalation the move elicited.
He put his hand back in the sand and slowly Sherlock's own hand was moving to touch John's, bit by bit until nervous fingers were slotted between his own, pale white in dusky gold. They sat like that, hand in hand and silent staring up at the sky until it was fully dark. They'd have to talk this through, both men knew that obviously, but right now, the gentle pressure between their hands and the sky full of stars was enough. It seemed as if they had both been tired in more ways than one.
A/n Yeah I know it's not my best work but it's kinda all that was happening so whatevs