Sherlock stormed through the door at exactly twenty three minutes and fifty seconds past twelve, cursing under his breathe and stomping his mud soaked feet. His face stung from the cut upon his cheek and his left eye which was now swelling nicely. His body protested against all the running, jumping and fighting he had done today.
"Bloody idiots the lot of them, stupid, moronic bastards. They couldn't catch a cold!" He raged to him self, not caring if he woke the whole of London.
They had finally managed to corner the suspect, no thanks to Lestrade's back up who had not been able to navigate the more hidden areas of London. Even Lestrade and Donovan had been gasping for air by the time the man had given up, a slightly wild look still glinting in the eyes partially hidden by and old baseball cap.
"You're…under…arrest," Lestrade had wheezed and Sherlock rolled his eyes, the man was innocent, for the most part. So distracted by their incompetence he failed to notice the fist aimed towards his face as he fell for the second time to the cold hard floor, it was a feeling he was beginning to dislike. It had not taken long for them to restrain the man after that. They tried not to gag on the smell as the man looked and smelled as though he had been living rough on the streets for some time. Sherlock knew some damage had been done to his face but ignored Lestrade's requests for him to go home, and Sally Donovan's attempts to hide the smirk from watching him get a beating.
There was still a murderer to catch; hopefully it would delay his return home long enough so that he would be able to avoid John.
He shook of his ruined coat, now torn and soaked through and dumped it by the front door, knowing it would be disposed of by Mrs Hudson eventually, "A perfectly good coat ruined!" He growled as he sulked towards the living room flicking a light on, noticing John's own discarded jacket on the floor before seeing the man himself.
Ah yes, that delightful episode he mused as he made his way closer to the sleeping man. With all the excitement that had continued through out the day he had almost forgotten about this little fiasco. Perhaps it would be best to sneak off to his room before John could wake up.
His thoughts were interrupted as John began to whimper slightly in his sleep, his movement becoming more erratic and Sherlock was worried that the man would fall off the sofa. He moved quietly despite his height and sat down right on the edge of the sofa by the doctor's head, he shook John slightly, noting that the man's jumper was still damp beneath his touch.
"Wake up." He instructed, not expecting what happened next, or expecting the man to wake up at all.
John cried out and shot up, eyes wide and lost and before the detective could react John had flung his arms around the taller man and was clinging on with such a vice like grip it scared the detective momentarily. Long arms wrapped around the doctor without having to think about it and they sat there in silence. Sherlock could feel the sickening thud of John's heart, the slight tremors that ran through the compact body.
John was twisted at an awkward angle, muscles protested against such a thing but he refused to move, trying to steady his own heartbeat, trying to regain control. He didn't know where Sherlock had come from and he didn't care. The man's warmth was enough to chase away what remained of that nightmare.
Sherlock breathed in deeply, taking in everything he could about the man curled around him, he could smell the rain that still lingered, could feel the heat of another person under his own fingers. Pain gripped his heart and he swore at John for doing this to him, for getting close to him.
"Still having those nightmares I see." Sherlock whispered and John pulled away, eyes downcast and red as if finally realising what he was doing.
"Yes…I- Sherlock, I'm sorry." John rubbed his face and Sherlock pulled away and stood up, eager to get dry, to be alone.
"That's quite alright John, there is no need to explain yourself."
"I guess not." John looked at Sherlock, desperate to talk about what had happened, to fix what was broken between them when he frowned, "What happened to your face?"
"A minor misunderstanding, nothing serious I assure you." Sherlock inclined his head and shrugged, for once understanding why people found it so off putting when he stared at them. The way the doctor was looking at him now made him feel vulnerable, as if he was a book to be read, it was not a feeling he was used to.
"Hmm, well sit down and I'll take a look at it." When the man didn't move John stood up and walked into the kitchen, "It wasn't a request Sherlock. Sit."
Sherlock decided it was best to do as his was told and flopped back onto the sofa, there was a feeling of unease in the air but at least John was talking to him, didn't hate him.
"Interesting case I take it?" John asked, kneeling in front of Sherlock as he placed the dusty first aid kit next to him. Opening it he rifled inside to pull out some antibacterial wipes
"Not particularly, the deceased man naturally had been having an affair some time ago. Fathered a daughter he did not know about, his son however did, decided to take it upon him self to 'defend his mother's honour, and most likely his inheritance. " Sherlock hissed slightly as the cloth brushed the torn skin and John smiled in apology, "Where was I? Oh, yes, such a ridiculous notion nowadays, I've seen that women are perfectly capable of taking care of them selves. As I said it was easy enough to deduce, the man hadn't even discarded the lip stick. "
John shook his head at the man's thinking, trying not to focus on how soft the skin of his face was. "And the black eye?"
"I was distracted by Lestrade's stupidity."
John took a shakey as he handed Sherlock the packet of peas wrapped in their only clean tea towel, to stop a little of the swelling. "Listen, Sherlock…about earlier."
"It's quite all right John."
"No. No it's not." John muttered, eyes avoiding the man before him as he heard his heart start to hammer in his chest again, as he tried to gather his thoughts, Stop being so pathetic John. For gods sake you were in the army! You were shot at, you already know that he has feelings for you. Just do it soldier boy. That's an order!
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock didn't understand.
John stood up shakily, that little voice in his head was not giving up, only this time it wasn't something in the background. It was screaming at him, for the love of god kiss him!
He grabbed Sherlock roughly, the man's shirt was soaked, the rain still clinging to his pale skin and John pulled the detective towards him, kissing him as though he would never let go. Screw Lestrade, screw Mrs Hudson, and screw the whole damn fucking world, he thought as Sherlock moaned under his touch, the sound shooting tendrils of hot energy through his body.
Sherlock was too shocked to do anything but comply, for once his superior intellect was not asking why. It was merely surrendering to the moment, the feeling of John surrounding his every sense. When at last they had pulled apart, a little breathless and even more dishevelled John was beaming from ear to ear at the slightly bewildered expression on Sherlock's face.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry…blimey, I really am."
"What ever for?" Sherlock managed to choke out, still trying to get his bearings.
"For not doing that sooner." John chuckled.
"Ah...yes, quite. Well I think after such a display a cup of tea is in order," Sherlock returned the smile, trying to control the absolute joy that was surging through his body. It was hard, because he could never remember feeling like this, it was an impossible feeling to deny.
"Good idea. Very good idea I'd say." John agreed.
They finally kiss. One more chapter to wrap things up I think. Or I don't know. I may add a few more, see where there relationship takes them, get Mycroft involved again. What do you think?
One more chapter to wrap things up I think. Or I don't know. I may add a few more, see where there relationship takes them, get Mycroft involved again.
What do you think?