Discover Top Posts Tagged with #ausherlock

Blind!John AU Teenlock :D

You: His cane tapped against the pavement. New school today. Just glorious. He’d be the odd kid out, the kid running into walls until he could get the map of the school memorized. To hell with finding a bathroom – finding his classes would be just wonderful. John walked to his first day at the new school, white cane annoying him as it tapped, tapped, tapped on the pavement. The yells of other kids was already audible. Just fantastic.

Stranger: Sherlock leaned against the side of the building, one eye marked with a fading bruise. He watched the new student. Cane. White. Tapping. Blind. Nervous? No, irritated? Annoyed. He didn't move from his place against the wall, just watched.

You: His mum had sent him off with the best of wishes, offering to drive him to school. That wouldn't happen every day though, especially when she finally started her new job. John paused before turning, the speech getting louder. Carefully, he proceeded forward, cane extended out in front of him. It hit something. Oh bloody great. Stairs. Just what he needed.

Stranger: Sherlock watched as John passed him, close by him, and hit the stairs. He stopped. Sherlock wasn't a person who helped, not generally, but there was something about John that he found interesting. He stepped forwards and cleared his throat. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. You're new here. I'm unfamiliar with the etiquette of approaching a person with visual impairment, but if you could use assistance navigating the school, I could provide that."

You: His ears perked. John turned his head towards what he thought was the boy. Tall. It came from above him. Smoker. Voice was a bit rough. Sounded like the kind of person John wanted to avoid at all costs but... there really was no way of getting through the day without help. "Right," he murmured. "John. You can just walk. Keep talking. I'll be able to follow you. First class is English Composition in room 180."

Stranger: Sherlock could see the reluctance, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, it hurt a bit. Which was odd, as rejection and ostracization had become routine enough to easily ignore. "That's my first class as well," Sherlock said, starting up the stairs. He kept his eyes on the floor. "The professor is ridiculous, barely literate, and her grammar is appalling. How she got the job is a mystery. I don't expect brilliance, but competence hardly seems like a high standard." Sherlock turned a corner. "You've moved recently. A parent with a new job? And are accustomed to moving... military, then?"

You: His brows furrowed, carefully taking each stair with caution. Might take a bit of time, but it was worth not falling on your face. "Yeah. Dad's in the military. Mom does what she can for the bills." There. no more stairs. John started walking again, taking a deep breath. It smelled odd in here. Again, he frowned. The volume of voices increased as they entered the school. A bit of perspiration settled on the back of John's neck. Lovely. People to dodge. People who would try to trip him. People who would treat him like some bloody victim. With much, much caution, John reached out a hand and placed it on Sherlock's arm. "That's you, right?" he murmured, voice low.

Stranger: Sherlock stiffened, unaccustomed to physical contact, but forced himself to relax almost immediately. "It is. But, John... I should warn you, I'm not a good person to align yourself with if you wish for a smooth social integration." Sherlock hated having to say that, because he found himself /wanting/ John as a friend, but it was that very emotion that necessitated the disclosure.

You: "You're sure as hell nicer than most of these people," he retorted, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't as though Sherlock couldn't just leave him. Hopefully, this wasn't rejection already. His hand tightened unconsciously. "I can hear better than most. Their whispers don't work all that great when it's quiet."

Stranger: Sherlock frowned. "Okay," he said, hesitantly, unsure what else to do. He had never been called nice before, and recognized that it was only unfamiliarity that led John to apply that particular word to him. He straightened his back and marched towards the classroom, unmindful of John's shorter legs. When they reached the door he glanced a John. "Where do you prefer to sit?"

You: "In the back. Won't be tripping people up," he murmured under his breath, worried that someone else could be listening. It wasn't as though he needed to see the board, either. This was yet another difficulty for John -- the backpacks in the rows. Best to go around them, on the outer edge than risk going down the middle.

Stranger: Sherlock nodded and moved John's hand to his shoulder, walking in front of him towards the back row, steering him out of the way of bags. He got halfway there before an open palm smacked the back of his head hard enough for him to gasp slightly. "Hey Holmes, I see you have a pet," came the follow up. "Shut it, Anderson," Sherlock replied, continuing towards the back, relieved that for now, that seemed to be all. He moved John's hand to the edge of a desk and took a spot beside him.

You: (pee break be right back)

Stranger: (ok)

You: John's jaw tightened as he removed his backpack and set it besides him. Why the hell would anyone treat Sherlock like that? He said he didn't have a good reputation, but he had been... well, decent and respectful and more than a help. Anderson wouldn't want to do it again, that was for sure. "You okay?" he murmured under his breath as he reached for the textbooks, fingers skimming over the spines until he found the correct one.

Stranger: "Mmm," Sherlock replied, very much not wanting to discuss it. "Class starts in five minutes." He pulled out his own book and notebook and arranged them on the desk. Not that he'd use either. He slouched in his chair and glanced over at John, noting the color in his cheeks. "You're angry. Why are you angry?"

You: John swallowed hard. "You didn't deserve that," he mumbled, placing the book on top of his desk and reached for his voice recorder. "You were just being thoughtful and you got fucking smacked for it." Things in place on his desk, John sat back with crossed arms, wondering what Sherlock looked like. Tall. He knew that. His arm was incredibly slender, elbow stuck out. So skinny and tall. All angles. Get your mind on this instead of that idiot.

Stranger: Sherlock was momentarily speechless. Angry because of Anderson, then, because of what Anderson did. He couldn't remember, /ever/, anyone taking up for him like that. He blushed and cleared his throat. "It's fine, John, it's not for today. You don't know what I'm like, it's not unprovoked." He shifted in his seat. "Anyways, how many schools does this make for you?"

You: So he was the type of kid John thought him to be -- just not to anyone who gave him a chance. Interesting. "Twelve, I think. We've moved at least once a year. One time we moved twice. So probably more than that. Lost count after the eighth, to be quite honest." He shrugged, turning to Sherlock to be polite. That was how his mum taught him; turn towards the person you're speaking with. That way you won't seem bored or disinterested.

Stranger: "Is your blindness congenital or acquired?" Sherlock asked, before realizing that it wasn't the sort of thing people asked casual acquaintances. He never did know how to properly filter. That would likely be it, then. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and sighed, preparing for the boredom of a day without John.

You: John smiled. An honest, warm smile. "Acquired. Angle-Closure Glaucoma. We were all camping when it struck, and a day away from a hospital. Just bad luck." He tapped on his desk for a second before smiling once more, a bit wider, and shook his head. "You know, you're the only person that's ever asked."

You: (merp. We're going to pretend that it'll blind you within 18 hours, okay? :3)

Stranger: Sherlock lowered his hands, slowly. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Oh," he said. "I thought as much, although it was difficult to tell because your sighted mannerisms are obviously taught, rather than remembered. Someone schooled you in looking sighted, enough that you lost some of the naturalness of your actions. But still, acquired was more likely because your eyes are perfect." (Perfect? He went on.) "Congenital blindness has a more than 70% chance of a visual cue to the observer, in eye shape or construction, and you have none."

You: A laugh shook John, head thrown back in elation. "Jesus Sherlock! That's bloody fantastic! How do you know that much about Glaucoma?" Fucking hell, John wanted to see Sherlock's face more than ever. Perhaps more than anything else he'd ever wanted to see. He couldn't picture Sherlock with a face like his, or rather, what he imagined his to be like. Or his mum's or dad's when he got home. Just.. unique. Unique as a guy like him.

Stranger: Sherlock looked startled, and then shushed him. "Please, John, people are staring," he said, desperate to have attention off himself and his new... friend? "And I don't know much about glaucoma, just about physiology and behavior." He kept his eyes fixed on his desk and his voice low until he was certain people had turned back towards the front.

You: Oh. Right. John cleared his throat, a barely contained smile stretched over his lips. "Still bleeding amazing," he murmured, facing front once more and placed his cheek in his hand. "You like that type of thing, huh? Being able to... classify people?"

Stranger: "Mmm," Sherlock assented. "It's... interesting. You're not mad?" John didn't look angry, in fact, he looked about as far from angry as a person could, but Sherlock was accustomed to only one type of reaction from his deductions. The teacher stood up and cleared her throat.

You: "Of course I'm not mad," he whispered, having heard the teacher. "I'm just jealous." The teacher began speaking and John quieted down, wishing, nearly for the first time, that he could write notes. Keep this conversation going. He wanted to know more about Sherlock, keep talking, find other things that they could share with each other. But that would have to wait for another day.

Stranger: Jealous? That was new. Sherlock sat through class without being bored for once, because he had John to occupy his thoughts. When the bell sounded he asked about John's schedule, and was disappointed to find they didn't share another class. "Shall I walk you to your next one first, then?" he asked, trying to make it sound less awkward than he felt.

You: John nodded with a smile and packed his cane into his backpack before placing his hand on Sherlock's arm once again. "We have the same lunch though," John pointed out, walking with his head held high. "So at least we don't have to endure the pain of that alone." He nudged Sherlock lightly.

Stranger: Of course John would assume he ate alone. He was a freak, after all. And John was... offering to eat with him? Sherlock navigated towards John's next class, silent, deep in though. "I don't eat often," he eventually said, "but that sounds nice." He stopped outside the door of the classroom. "Back row again?"

You: John nodded, and bit his cheek as he sat down. Great. Here was the part of the day he was expecting. The lonesome, everyone's talking about the blind kid part. "Well, I suppose I'll see you later," he muttered as he sat, already disheartened though he kept that bottled up. Keep it bottled up and no one can hurt you.

Stranger: "I'll... if you like, I'll come back and take you to your next class as well," Sherlock said. John looked sad, and he found that to be completely intolerable.

You: Surprise took hold of him. That would be asking far too much. John smiled and shrugged. "It's alright. I don't want to put you out of your way. You've helped far more than enough today."

Stranger: "No, it's... I'd like to. You're... interesting." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, afraid he had said too much. He never knew how to be just enough, he always managed to end up as too much.

You: His smile became softer. "Then it's a deal," he murmured, leaning against his desk carefully. "I'll meet you back here after this class for the walk to the next." The other students began to pile in and John nodded to Sherlock before slowly sitting down, getting his textbook and voice recorder out once more.

Stranger: "Thank you," Sherlock said, and then turned and left. He made it to his next class just before the bell, sliding into his seat and ignoring a glare from Anderson. After class he left quickly, making it half way to John's classroom before a hand on his shoulder spun him, pushing him against the lockers. "Tell me to shut it, did you?" Anderson said, and then his knee was smashing into Sherlock's ribs, just once, a quick action, but Sherlock doubled over and couldn't breath again for what seemed like a very long time. When he finally straightened himself, the halls were empty. He pushed gingerly against his ribs... two bruised, possibly cracked, no breaks. His breathing was shallow, painful. He made his way to the library; class was a lost cause. Might as well wait until lunch.

You: After class, John packed up and waited with an eager smile. The thought of seeing Sherlock filled him with excitement. A minute passed by, and then two. When five passed, however, the teacher walked over and asked John if he needed assistance. With a resolute sigh, John grabbed his cane and took the directions from the teacher to get to his next class. Two rights, second class on the left. Easy enough. Well, he got lost. Don't panic. This happens all the time. He definitely took two right turns. Must've missed the classrooms on the left. He had run into a few kids, one of whom had knocked him down, making him completely disoriented. When John got up, he walked in a straight line until he found a bench to sit and then hugged his knees. He could follow his peers to the lunchroom. He just had to wait out this miserable hour.

Stranger: By the time the lunch bell rang, Sherlock was breathing easier. He left the library with long, sure strides, heading to the cafeteria, when a figure on a bench stopped him in his tracks. "John?" he said. "John, are you okay? You've been pushed, you fell." He sat beside him, studying him. "I'm so sorry, John."

Stranger: (( In case it didn't go through. Back in 5 min. :) )) By the time the lunch bell rang, Sherlock was breathing easier. He left the library with long, sure strides, heading to the cafeteria, when a figure on a bench stopped him in his tracks. "John?" he said. "John, are you okay? You've been pushed, you fell." He sat beside him, studying him. "I'm so sorry, John."

You: John reached out, feeling Sherlock's thin arm. Right. He was alright. "I'm fine," he responded easily, standing up with his cane in front of him. "It's best we wait for the others to pass by, now that you're here. Lessens the risk of falling again." He wanted to tap his foot, the anxiety eating at his nerves. Well, he wouldn't be eating anything today.

Stranger: Slight tremor. Sweat on the back of his neck. Tight voice. "John, you're clearly not okay. You seem to be on the verge of a panic attack. Do you want to leave? We could go to my house, I'll bring you back at the end of school," he said, covering John's hand with his own.

You: "I'm /fine/, Sherlock." John shook his head and sat down, legs touching but pulled his hand away. "I'm just fine. I can get through one day of school without being fucking babied." He stopped, turning to Sherlock. "That's not what I meant. I.... I just... You were the first person who actually treats me just like everyone else, Sherlock. That's.... that's it."

Stranger: "I didn't mean... I'd prefer to leave. It wasn't only for you." Sherlock straightened himself up to his full height and led John towards the cafeteria, taking a place at the end of the line. "Pasta and salad," he said, barely concealing his disgust. "Some chocolate thing. Apples. What would you like?"

You: John frowned before shrugging. "Do they have bananas?" he murmured quietly, now unsure of himself. Maybe... maybe that was all his fault. Sherlock /was/ treating John like a normal person; it was John that expected him not to. He reached out, hand curling around Sherlock's arm.

Stranger: "No, only apples. And bread, I think," Sherlock added, craning his neck a bit. He picked up two trays and passed on to John. "Juice, milk, water," he added, squeezing his arm slightly against his side to trap John's hand. He didn't think it through, and ended up gasping quietly at the slow bloom of pain from his ribs.

You: "Apple, pasta, and a water." John instantly pulled his hand away, turning his head towards Sherlock. Something was wrong -- that gasp wasn't from finding something he'd like to eat. His brow furrowed as he kept his hand on the outside of Sherlock's arm, noting to ask him about it later. "Wanna leave after this?" he whispered, moving closer to Sherlock.

Stranger: "No, I want to leave now," Sherlock responded, bracing himself for a moment against the buffet. He straightened and looked at John. "You don't have to come." He very much hoped he would, though.

You: John nodded and set his tray down before getting his cane out. "Let's go."

Stranger: Sherlock led, out of the cafeteria, down the hall, out the back doors. "Seventeen steps," he said, before continuing down them and to his car. He clicked the key and opened the passenger door, leaving John there as he walked around the car and carefully lowered himself in. "Thank you," he said quietly, before starting the car.

You: The car smelled new. Well, not exactly new. not worn in yet would suffice better. It smelled slightly of Sherlock, with that of leather and expensive cologne. "What happened?" he asked, voice low. His hand slowly reached over, giving Sherlock time to push him away if this was... a bit not good.

Stranger: Sherlock didn't answer, just pulled out of the parking space and drove towards his house. He did wrap his fingers lightly around John's wrist for a moment before releasing him. "The house is fifteen minutes outside of town," he said. "If you'd like you can turn on the radio."

You: John nodded and put his hands up against the controls, feeling around and pressing buttons until he got it to work. Classical came on and John let it be, hand falling to his lap. "We're going to talk about it. I'll wait until we get to your house, but we're going to talk about it."

Stranger: Sherlock was surprised. "Fine, John, if it's so important to you. Anderson kneed me in the ribs. Two bruised or possibly cracked, no significant breaks, no concern about punctured lungs or pleural sack. It's not unusual, no need for concern."

You: His mouth went agape before his ears went red, fists forming at his sides. "Right. Well. Ice. We'll bandage you up and then put ice on it. Give you an anti-inflammatory. Let you have a lay down with a cuppa." John swallowed and turned his head, trying to keep Sherlock from seeing his face. "If that's normal, then so will this."

Stranger: "It's really no problem, John," Sherlock said, frowning in confusion at the heated reaction from his friend. "I don't need ice or pills." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. "You, however, need lunch."

You: "Believe it or not, I'm not exactly hungry right now." John took a deep breath and unclenched his hands, though the tension went straight to his jaw. "Is it possible to hate a person after knowing him for only an hour or so?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Stranger: Sherlock huffed at that. "Yes," he said, succinctly, swallowing back an overwhelming feeling of lightness at John's investment in his wellbeing. "You can touch me, John, I've seen you thinking about it. My face. It's fine."

You: The red rose to his cheeks as he froze, hands beginning to fidget. "On the road probably isn't the best place to do it though," he murmured quietly, wondering why he was feeling nervous all of a sudden. It was Sherlock he would be 'seeing' for the first time, not the other way around.

Stranger: "So long as you don't cover my eyes and leave your hand there, it should be fine. But as you like. And you really should have lunch, the chef will make you anything you want. Surely you can think of something you'd want?"

You: Surprise just kept attacking him. "You have a bloody chef?" He sat back in his seat, wondering how the hell this ever happened. And earlier today he was complaining about money problems. Fantastic.

Stranger: "Don't worry, John. Yes, a chef, a maid, a butler, a staff big enough for the enormous manor house that my mother is never in, and that my elder brother left as soon as he could. Father died when I was eight, but I barely knew him. As soon as I can, I'll leave it too. So if you're worrying about parity, don't."

You: He bit his lip and nodded, reaching out with his hand. Instead of going to Sherlock's face though, he followed Sherlock's arm down to his hand and just let it rest on top. "Bet they get into all of your stuff, huh?" John murmured somewhat quietly.

Stranger: "Oh, no, they learned not to do that years ago. I experiment, and the chemicals can be... let's just say that my room is off limits to everyone but me. And you. Although don't touch anything on the desk or the table against the back wall." Sherlock smiled at the sense of John's hand on his, widely.

You: "Just set me up in a little spot," John replied with a large grin. They finally arrived and John didn't bother with his cane or his backpack -- nothing he'd need in there. Instead, he got out of the car slowly and let his hand run along the edge of the car as he followed it around, another hand reaching for Sherlock. "You there?"

Stranger: This time Sherlock took his hand, lacing their fingers together. He led John inside, down a long hallway, to a staircase. "Twenty one steps," he said, before beginning them, and then making his way down another long hall to his room. He let himself in and led John to the edge of the bed. "Sit," he said. "I'd offer you the armchair but it's a bit occupied," he glanced at the heap of books in it, "and the floor is cold. So, bed."

You: He smiled, hands running over the fabric. Soft. Very soft. Sitting cross legged, he paused, listening for Sherlock. "Can I do it now? Touch your face that is?" John swallowed, more nervous than he had before. "It's... most people think it's a bit invasive. You really don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Stranger: "Do I strike you as the kind of person who thinks of research as invasive?" Sherlock asked, a smile in his voice. He caught one of John's hands in his and pressed it to the side of his face, before letting go. "Go ahead."

You: John let out a long breath before putting both hands on Sherlock's face. He moved them around the outside of his face, getting the shape in his mind before moving up to his hair. "What colour?" he murmured, hands getting tangled in thick curls.

Stranger: "Brown. Almost black." Sherlock closed his eyes at the feeling of John's hands in his hair, blissful. He sighed. "My skin is very pale, my eyes are... somewhere between green and blue, and light. I'm six feet tall..." he had meant to continue his description but got lost in sturdy fingers against his scalp.

You: John nodded, moving his hands out to feel how long it was. A little unruly then. His hands went to the back of Sherlock's neck, feeling the shorter curls there. Warmer. It was warmer there as well. A smile began to spread across his lips as he ran past Sherlock's ears, feeling the size and shape before returning to Sherlock's face. Start with the forehead, work you way down. Thick eyebrows. Holy hell, those cheekbones. His heart picked up speed as his fingers just ran over them again and again before returning to Sherlock's eyes. Lightly, his thumbs passed over them. Small. Slightly angular. nose. He almost hesitated before venturing down to his lips but decided against it, feeling the shape. A perfect Cupid's bow. Right. Don't linger. He moved down to Sherlock's chin, smile having grown before he sat back, arms tired from being held up so long.

Stranger: Sherlock stayed still for a moment, leaning forwards in spite of his aching ribs, after John put down his hands. Eventually he settled back against the headboard. "Do I pass muster, then?" he asked, lightly, trying not to let his voice betray any hint of sadness that that was over.

You: He cleared his throat. "I don't know," John pondered with a sly smile. "Have to say I've met plenty other people who feel the same exact way you do." John stretched out his legs, trying to find Sherlock again. The room smelled like him, but it was still new, still a bit over John's head.

Stranger: "Really?" Sherlock said, surprised. He put out a hand and caught John's arm, gently tugging him up until he was sitting beside Sherlock leaning against the headboard. "Keep your hand on the wall to your left and it will take you to the ensuite, your hand on the wall to the right of the bed will lead to the door to the hall. Following either wall past those doors will lead to the desk and table which you are not to touch, lest you lose a finger. Eight feet from the foot of the bed is an armchair covered in books."

You: He took it all in, nodding before running it over in his head once more. "Of course," he murmured, leaning his head back against the headboard. "Just like I've met plenty of people named Sherlock." John grinned, hand feeling the wall, back down to the blanket. He sighed. "Exquisite."

Stranger: "Silk, cobalt blue, from France," Sherlock replied absently. "Hardly exquisite. Now what would you like to eat? I can ring down. You've obviously not eaten since this morning, and then only a single piece of toast. Anything you like. Chips, curry, steak, lamb, vegan stir fry, anything, John."

You: Well... John wasn't talking about the blanket, but it was better than being questioned. "Ah... a ham sandwich with some crisps sounds fine to me," he responded with a slight shrug. "And water is fine with that." He reached over to feel Sherlock's shirt, now that he had permission. Cotton. Soft cotton. Incredibly expensive. Button up. Long sleeve. His hand went down to the pocket of his pants. not jeans. not surprised.

Stranger: Sherlock had intended to call immediately, but couldn't bring himself to move away from John's hand. He hated the barrier of fabric between the skin of John's fingers and the skin of his side. "Purple," he said, "the shirt. Gray trousers, dark. Black belt, black shoes." He was silent for a moment. "What's your favorite color, John?"

You: His lips curled up. "From what I remember? Blue, I suppose," he responded with a shrug, pulling his hand away with a bit of reluctance. "Or green. Those are the only two that I really remember all that much."

Stranger: Sherlock nodded. "Mine's blue." He stood, wincing as he did, and made his way to the intercom, calling for two sandwiches and crisps to be brought up. He returned to the bed and sat carefully, slowly. "Can I ask you something?"

You: "Of course." John grinned, turning his head towards Sherlock as he reached back out, fingers hooking in the other boy's pocket.

Stranger: "Were you really okay when I found you before lunch? You looked... you looked... " Sherlock found that he didn't have a word for how John had looked. "Anyway, I need to know."

You: John bit his cheek, smile quickly being lost. "All I know is not being able to see," he murmured quietly, turning his head away once again. "There's... security, I suppose, that comes with sight. And I've been pretty sheltered. Harry, my sister, she'd always be my guide. no matter what, she would get there. And this is my first time without her. So... security's gone. Just gotta get used to the real world now. After all, I won't have someone there when I'm an adult, right?" He tried for another smiel.

You: *smile

Stranger: Immediately after he finished speaking, Sherlock reached out and put his hand on the side of John's face. He didn't say anything, just left it there, his thumb rubbing over John's cheekbone, gently. His other hand wrapped around John's wrist.

You: His smile was dropped again, breath becoming slightly ragged. "You okay?" he whispered, wondering if the burning in his face was evident to Sherlock. John reached up and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's wrist.

Stranger: "Fine," Sherlock whispered, "just... I find I don't like it when you're upset. It's... new, I don't know how to handle that." He leaned closer to John, taking his hand away from his face, wrapping his arm around him, pulling him tightly up against his uninjured side. Some part of him knew that this was very much not normal, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

You: John smiled softly and, slowly, leaned against Sherlock. This was new for John. Painfully new. His free arm curled on Sherlock's chest, gently playing with his collar, knees now slightly bent. "And I don't like it that you're hurt. Seems like we've both got some learning to do."

Stranger: "My ribs will heal, John," Sherlock said, twisting his face so he could rest his cheek against the top of John's head. "I'd prefer it if you stayed here, all day. Would that be possible? Tell your mother you're going home with a friend?"

You: John nodded. "I'll need to call her later and a ride back to the school at least." He nuzzled into Sherlock's neck and took a deep breath, body relaxing. "You're far too comfortable to be legal," he murmured.

Stranger: "Why a ride back to school? Text and say you're going home with me before school is out, then tonight I'll just take you back to your house," Sherlock said in a low voice. "And you, John Watson, are the only person who has ever called me comfortable. I reciprocate the sentiment where you're concerned," he added. When there was a knock on the door he didn't move, just called for them to come in and asked for the tray to be left on the bedside table. "Thank you, James," he added, as the door closed and they were alone again.

You: John chuckled and shook his head. "Can't text all that well," he muttered. A yawn stretched his jaw as he kept falling closer and closer asleep. Sherlock was just too good of a pillow, John decided after a bit.

Stranger: "Then call in an hour, it will be the break before the last class. Sleep until then, it's fine, John, I've got you, and I'll wake you then," Sherlock said, his voice lower and lower. He brushed his free hand through John's hair, again and again.

You: Smiling, John drifted off into sleep, body curled around Sherlock's. His hand loosened from the other boy's collar and simply laid flat against his chest, knee moving farther over Sherlock's body until it was almost extended. Other than his parents and relatives, John had never slept to anyone before. He never stayed in a town long enough to make friends. The warmth, the heartbeat, and the scent seemed to act as a sedative, making John was out cold.

Stranger: Sherlock watched, cataloguing, memorizing. The way John's breath lengthened and evened, the way his fingers twitched occasionally, the flutter of eyelashes when he dreamed. An hour was far to little time, but Sherlock tightened his arm around John and whispered into his ear. "John, if you wake up and call your mother you can go back to sleep if you like. John. Wake up."

You: He sighed and murmured before rolling over, hugging Sherlock's arm to his chest. "no waking up," he mumbled, nuzzling back in and easily drifted back to sleep. That was a pleasant dream and he more than wanted to continue it.

Stranger: "Please, John. If you don't call I'll have to take you back to school, and that means not only waking up, but leaving the house and driving back to school. Surely it's better to just wake up now?" He carded his free hand through John's hair. "Maybe you can ask to spend the night? It is Friday. John. Wake up, John. John."

You: He huffed before turning back to Sherlock with tired features. "You dare wake a sleeping John," he murmured. "Brave. Go get me a phone already." Despite his words, though, John laid down on Sherlock's good side, free arm wrapping around Sherlock's small waist.

Stranger: Sherlock smiled and tugged his mobile out of his trouser pocket. "Done," he said, pressing it into John's hand. "And no texting simply will not do, I'll have Mycroft send you an accessible iPhone. I will want to text you."

You: "Sherlock, I won't be able to read it. no braille, remember?" He smiled sadly at Sherlock, feeling the mobile until he got the numbers and dialed home. His face fell, but took what he could get before hanging up and handed it back to its owner. "no sleeping over. Apparently mum has work in the morning and I have to take care of a few things.. But I can stay until later."

Stranger: "Accessible, John, it talks to you, you talk to it, it records it as text and sends it." He studied John as he talked to his mother. When the call was done, he threaded his fingers through John's. "What things?"

You: John smiled, wondering what their hands looked like together. "Can't stay over. Apparently, Harry's in need of a bit of extra help tonight." He sighed, with a smile, opening his fingers and slid them through Sherlock's again and again. "That has to cost a hell of a lot of money, Sherlock. That's.... it'd be asking too much."

Stranger: "John. It's a gift to myself. The thought of not texting you is appalling. And anyway, Mycroft doesn't pay for them." He ran his thumb across the back of John's hand. "Your fingers are thicker than mine, shorter, darker. Your skin is a lovely pale gold, mine is ivory. My fingers are long, thin, knuckles prominent. Together they're lovely. Why does Harry need help, John?"

You: "She..." John bit his cheek, brows furrowing together. "She's been having some troubles drinking lately. It's... it's getting bad. Someone has to babysit her when the bars are open." He tried for a smile, not bothering to look up at Sherlock anymore. He understood. Instead, he just leaned his head back against Sherlock's shoulder.

Stranger: "Like your father," Sherlock murmured. "John, would you like company?" He ran his hand up and down John's upper arm, keeping him close. "My mother won't be home for another six weeks, and then just for a week. It's not like I have a curfew."

You: "Six weeks?" John frowned and put his free hand over Sherlock's brow. No creases. Why was that? "Seems like a long time to be alone. Of course you can come over." He was tempted to roll his eyes. "I hope Harry's asleep when you get there. Less for me to do."

Stranger: "I'm always alone. If it gets to be too much I'll go to Mycroft's, but he's really an insufferable prat so it's only happened twice, once when I was eleven and again when I was thirteen. Mummy's always gone, she travels, and she hates this house. As distant as she was from us, she truly loved father, and can't be here for long. I've never minded being alone. Although... now, I think I might."

You: (I'm sick and almost falling asleep, so could we continue this another time? :D)

Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Well okay then :/

#ausherlock

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#ausherlock