Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Prompt: this was written for the prompt "Panic Attack" for @whumpril Day 1.
Word count: 1103
Warnings: descriptions of panic / anxiety attack.
He opened every door of his Mind Palace and walked down every corridor of it, searching every inch, every nook and cranny, but kept coming back empty-handed.
Sherlock stood in the middle of Lestrade's office, pressing his fingertips hard against his temples. He closed his eyes and willed himself to think harder. Lestrade needed his help in this murder case, and Sherlock knew he had recently read something important about the victim. But what was it again? If only he could find it in his Mind Palace!
Sherlock growled softly in frustration.
"Sherlock?" Lestrade sounded slightly worried. Even for Sherlock this current behavior was off.
"Shut up," Sherlock snapped back. He could feel everyone in the room staring at him. Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan…
Again, Sherlock willed himself to go down deep into his Mind Palace. Again, he searched every inch of it, and again, he came back with nothing.
This had never happened to him before. He had always been able to rely on his Mind Palace, but now it let him down. And that scared him beyond anything...
Sherlock felt his mind get foggy, and his breathing was getting faster. The trembling which had started in his fingertips rapidly spread to the rest of his body. Sherlock already knew what was coming. He was cruelly, vividly aware of it, but could do nothing to stop it anymore.
He quickly lost awareness of his surroundings now, as all he felt was the anxiety coursing through him. His breath caught high in his chest, making him feel short of breath, and his heart was nearly hammering itself out of his chest.
Lestrade watched the consulting detective visibly spiral out of control in front of him. He had no idea how to handle this, but what he did know was that they did not need an audience right now.
"Get out." Lestrade ordered Anderson and Donovan. They, too, had been staring at Sherlock in horror.
"Why?!" Anderson immediately retorted.
"Because this does not concern you!" Lestrade barked back, ushering his colleagues out of the office.
As soon as Anderson and Donovan had grudgingly retreated to the hallway, and the door had fallen shut behind them, Lestrade shifted his attention back to Sherlock.
He had only once before seen the consulting detective have a panic attack, and that had ended with him crashing to the floor and knocked out for a short while. Lestrade would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening again today.
"Sherlock." Lestrade kept his voice as calm as possible in their current situation. "Sherlock, calm down."
The consulting detective did not respond. He still stood in the middle of the office, with his eyes tightly shut, and his hands pressed firmly to his temples. He was shaking all over, and breathing as if he had just run a marathon.
"Sherlock." Lestrade tried again, taking a few tentative steps closer, and carefully reaching a hand out for the consulting detective's shoulder. "It's okay, calm down. I need you to look at me."
Sherlock reacted as if he'd been burned. He staggered backwards, fleeing from Lestrade's well-meant hand on his shoulder, until his back hit the wall on the opposite side of the office.
"Don't..." Sherlock whimpered softly, sliding down the wall to the ground. He never opened his eyes and never took his hands from his temples. Sitting in a heap on the floor, Sherlock's wheezing, panicked breaths filled the office.
Lestrade stared helplessly at the dark-haired man. How the hell did one handle this? Where was John Watson when you needed him?! Because John would surely know what to do.
All Lestrade could think of was to distract Sherlock and hope that that would be enough to bring him back to his senses.
He knelt down in front of Sherlock, and gently wrapped his hands around the consulting detective's wrists. He could feel the clamminess of Sherlock's skin and the pulse racing beneath his fingers.
Sherlock sat like a child afraid of the monster under his bed: knees drawn up to his chest, head bowed low and eyes squeezed shut. His panic attack was still running high, and no matter what Lestrade did, he could not get through to him.
Lestrade began to realize it was time for more drastic measures. What he had in mind could go both ways, but the situation couldn't get much worse than this, so he would give it a try.
Lestrade tightened his grip around Sherlock's wrists, and yanked the consulting detective's hands away from his temples in one confident motion. Sherlock gasped softly at the sudden action, and slowly opened his eyes.
"John?" He muttered wearily.
"No, it's Greg," Lestrade answered, "or Graham, or Gill, or whatever you want to call me today."
Sherlock chuckled softly, and Lestrade gladly realized he was finally getting through.
Sherlock's breathing slowly regained a more healthy rhythm, and his hands were no longer trembling. Still, Lestrade stayed where he was, kneeling down in front of the dark-haired man and making sure he truly was alright.
Sherlock gently freed his wrists from Lestrade's grip and passed both hands over his face.
"Take deep breaths," Lestrade spoke softly, "it will help you calm down."
Sherlock only nodded wordlessly in reply, but did follow up on the advice.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock mumbled after a few more minutes of sitting on the ground. "I cannot seem to find the information you need."
Lestrade waved the apology away. "Don't worry. Don't torture yourself about it."
Sherlock shot him a glaring look in reply.
"Okay, just saying..." Lestrade mumbled in defense, before standing up and moving over to sit on his desk chair. This surely looked like the usual Sherlock again.
Sherlock remained seated on the ground, gradually regaining the last bit of control over himself. It had been a while since he had last had a panic attack like this, and it had drained him of quite some energy. He needed a moment to recollect himself and get his thoughts straight again.
After about ten minutes Sherlock slowly rose to his feet, buttoned up his coat and put up his collar. Lestrade watched him silently, but closely.
"I'll still find it," Sherlock announced determinedly. The detective inspector simply nodded in reply at that.
Without another word, Sherlock turned around and left the office.
Lestrade watched as Sherlock exited and stared at the door long after the consulting detective had left. It was clarifying to him that Sherlock, too, could lose control like that. And that somewhere beneath all his flaws and peculiarities, Sherlock Holmes still was a human being…
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I'd pay good money to talk to the makers of Laramie (1959-1963). They wrote a show about two roommate cowboys who, completely on free will, legally adopt a child.
I'm sure Mike was supposed to fill (Slim's brother) Andy's absence, but their dynamic with him is totally different from Andy. Wikipedia describes Mike as "an orphan allowed to live on the farm," but he's not just "allowed" to live there...They sign adoption papers. They're his PARENTS. They hire a nanny!
Also, according to IMDB, Laramie was the only western show of the time where the characters are seen doing actual chores and realistic upkeep of their farm.
What were the writers/directors going for? Did they know how homosexually domestic it would come across?
Did they cast specifically for actors with unique physical chemistry? Or was this just a stroke of luck?
Were they intending to spit in the face of the rampant toxic masculinity of their era? Feel free to share your thoughts. I could talk about this all day.
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Full write-up of the prompts can be found under the cut!
Jess, injured by a falling tree in a dust storm, is nursed back to health by Sharon, daughter of a rancher plagued by rustlers. Sharon remains sympathetic to Jess even when the leader of the rustlers proves to be one of Jess’s old friends.
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