Hey yall. Getting some one shots out there just in time for the holiday season. Most of these have sat in my mental lock box of shit to do for a while but I've honestly had no idea where to put them. Hope you enjoy and feel free to drop a request in the box I've got plenty of creative energy all pent up and I need to write to let it all out.
Prompt: Watson gets hurt during a case and Sherlock becomes super overprotective.
It started during a stakeout, Marcus had set them up with an empty apartment across the street of one of the most notorious gangs in New York City. Apparently they were currently harboring Brooklyn's latest serial killer in their midst. What they were receiving in exchange, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure.
It's a fairly quiet evening, the only sound besides the streets below them was the sound of Watson's nails on her cell phone as she texted Mrs. Hudson for updates about Leo. The two year old was experiencing the seasonal cold and despite his insistence that he could handle this stakeout alone Watson seemed determined to come. Yet he could feel the worry radiating off of his partner even at their distance.
Her lips remain pursed and the bags settle under her eyes as she waits in silence, likely for news that her son finally succumbed to slumber. It seems the boy, in his sickness has developed the same aversion to sleep as himself. He's taken to waking Watson up lesser simply for worry of the exhaustion plaguing her at this time of the year.
Luckily the sickness isn't so severe to warrant a visit to the Emergency. It was little more than a light fever and a cough but Watson had kept him safe from illness thus far in her care. This was his first serious bout with being sick and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried about the boy too.
Rather than coming upon the rambunctious antics the exploratory boy is getting into, he finds the two of them curled up on the couch with her mother's miracle tea pushed to the center of the table.
But despite his arguments Watson still came to the stakeouts. Despite her checking her phone every five minutes for updates she stays.
Finally he hears her let out a sigh of relief, shortly followed by the soft tap of her phone being laid on the ground beside her. He tilts his head back to see her rubbing her eyes tiredly. Tension has seeped from her features, "He's asleep." She announces after a few precious moments of relaxation. He takes in her small smile at his knowing look. "Oh be quiet."
"I didn't know you were venturing into mind reading Watson." He teases lightly. A chuckle escapes her lips as she pushes herself to stand. The quiet moment erupts into chaos with the shatter of the window. A cry leaves his partner's lips as they both hit the ground. She's too far away. He can't help her.
He can hear the shouts of the officers guarding their door, voices demanding to know their status. He looks around the room partially stunned, besides some scratches from broken glass he's uninjured. Watson is frighteningly still. His heart pounds against the back of his throat and in those brief moments of uncertainty all he can think of is the sick little boy back home. Sleeping peacefully in his bedroom after crying for his mother for hours. How could he be so careless to leave him with no mother again. His first given him up, his second shot up in a shoddy apartment so close from home. Peacefully oblivious to his entire world shattering.
Sherlock doesn't breathe until he sees her legs draw up to her chest. Every self instinct leaves him in that moment as he crawls over to her. He spies the crimson leaking into the carpet and his stomach drops to his feet. Bile builds in the back of his throat and the only thing going through his head is she's hurt, she got hit.
"Sherlock look at me!" It's Watson gripping his tie that pulls him back from his deep panic. She's conscious and coherent, more than he can say for himself. All he can see is her blood staining the grey carpet. Her eyes are trained on him concern mixed with the adrenaline. "I'm okay. We're okay!" She yells, assumingly to the officers on the other side of the door waiting for the all clear. "Look at me." He obeys this time meeting those eyes. "Just a scrape. I'm okay."
She takes his hand now pressing it against her chest. Even through the layers of her suit he can feel her heart pounding against his fingers. It's strong if a little quick, he imagines his would be the same. "I'm okay." He whispers in response. He could see her eyes scanning his face, the quickening of her heart signaling he's bleeding as well. "Just glass. We can clean it when we get back hm?" Her head jerks in small semblance of a nod.
The moment is broken when the door bursts open. He pulls his hand back quickly to maintain the privacy of the moment. It was only meant to be between the two of them. He can hear Marcus explaining what had happened but all he can think is how he wished to feel the steady pounding beneath his fingers still, grounding him to reality.
From that moment he makes a silent vow to protect her no matter the cost.
In reflection, he believes he may have went a bit too far.
It'd been going on for a month before Watson picks up on his behavior. In the meantime he's talked her out of going in for negotiations, pushed her away from particularly violent or personal cases, and even kept certain investigations from her notice especially ones needing stakeouts.
Yet it's when they're just strolling on the street on their way to a suspect's home when she finally realizes. She's just about to step to cross the street when he notices a taxi cab speeding down the street. Logically, he knows the cabby would see her in time. Logically, he know she would see the cab in the same time as he. Logically, he knows they wouldn't hit her.
It doesn't stop the nightmarish scenarios that have plagued his mind since that dreaded case. Her heel could break resulting in a tumble, a reflection could blind the cabby, he could simply not stop at all.
He grips her arm pulling her back to the sidewalk as the cab rushes past them seconds after he pulled her. His eyes roam over her checking for any sort of injury.
"What the hell Sherlock!" She barks as she teeters off balance. "You could have made me twist an ankle. At least give me a warning next time." She tries to pull away but his assessment isn't done he has to make sure she's okay. "What is going on with you? You've been acting strange for weeks." It's more of a demand than a question. One he can't seem to conjure the words to answer.
"I-" He blinks away the images of her blood on the carpet once more. "I'm sorry Watson. It won't happen again."
Her eyes narrow at his submission. Normally their arguments could go on for hours. He can read it in her eyes that it's nothing like him. Frustration melts away to concern once again and despite his urges to get them back to the case at hand she remains stubbornly planted into the sidewalk. "What's going on?" It's softer this time, only meant to be heard by him.
"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong." Her eyebrows shoot up in the challenging manner that seems to possess her very being. He shifts from one leg to another looking for any reason not to explain.
"It's cold." He frowns, nothing. "Bell is waiting for us." Nothing. "Watson."
"Sherlock." She mocks his whine right back to him and he knows he's not winning this battle.
"You have a son back home." He looks past her now a deep sigh leaving his chest. "If he were to lose you-"
Her face twists in confusion. "You skipped a couple of logic steps there."
"The stakeout where you were shot"
"I was grazed."
"The bullet hit you did it not?" Her jaw snaps shut knowing better than to argue this. It would lead them nowhere. "It happened as soon as you stood. If I'd have been paying attention I could have warned you. If you'd have gotten up just slightly to the left it wouldn't have been a scrape. If we'd have lost you."
"Hey." She calls to him. "Listen to yourself. If, if, if. It didn't happen. You didn't see it, it was just a scrape, and neither of you are losing me any time soon if I have any say in it."
"But nothing. I could easily turn this on you. Like it or not you're an important part of his life. The work we do is dangerous. I knew that eight years ago when I signed up for this. I still know that to this day." She takes his hand just like she had done that night, this time placing it against her throat. She lays his fingers so they rest perfectly against her pulse. It beats against his fingertips, strong and smooth. He feels his anxiety being slowly pulled away with each thrum. "We're in this together." Her cool fingers brush his own pulse. Part of him wonders how she'd felt that night, waiting for him to call out to her.
"Together." He whispers with a subdued nod. Hesitantly he breaks the peaceful moment. With a stroke of his thumb against the smooth column of her throat he smiles. "Let's get back to work shall we?" She answers his smile with one of her own.
"Lead the way."