Sherlock fandom
Impatience Born of Boredom
According to his mother, Sherlock learned to run before he could walk.
“You ran, even indoors,” she tells him every time his childhood is brought up.
Not by him, mind you.
“So, he was impatient and bored even as a child, then?” John asked the first time they visited Sherlock’s parents.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Holmes said, and rolled her eyes.
“He could have been an athlete, if he had bothered to put in the necessary training,” Sherlock’s father mused.
After that, it was Sherlock’s turn to roll his eyes.
***
“You have an incredible stamina,” John pants.
They have chased another villain through parks, streets, and rooftops for almost half an hour. Sherlock’s voice, when they finally catch up with the man in question, sounds like he’s just walked from the tube to Baker Street.
“Running far and fast like this, is utterly liberating,” Sherlock explains, while they wait for Lestrade to show up.
John and the criminal are both breathless, and Sherlock handcuffs the latter with ease. He’s too exhausted to protest, trying his best to get enough oxygen to reach his lungs.
“It reminds me of my childhood, when I ran around like a savage in the forest. No one stops you when you’re running to catch a criminal, John.”
***
“What about when you started secondary school, and later, uni?” John wants to know later that day.
He’s suddenly fascinated by this topic.
Sherlock is curled up on the sofa, his head in John’s lap. This is not something he’s discussed with others, apart from Mycroft. He knows that John will find it unpleasant, but John’s too stubborn to let him off the hook.
“I still ran. I had to, if I should avoid my classmates.”
“Alright,” John says, hesitantly. “Why did you want to avoid them?”
“Oh, for numerous reasons. Mostly to keep away from ending up at the school nurse, or the infirmary,” Sherlock mumbles.
The memory makes the old nausea from his school days surge through him. John’s steady hands in his hair and on his back, allows him to ground himself.
It’s all in the past. You have John now. Breathe.
“I wish I could’ve been there, to prevent those brutes from hurting you,” John says, through gritted teeth.
“Mm, I would have loved to see you tackle them, wearing you rugby gear,” Sherlock purrs.
His earlier discomfort has been replaced by arousal and warm affection.
“Would you now,” John murmurs, and pulls at Sherlock’s hair, so he’s forced to look up at John.
“Very much,” Sherlock agrees.
He frees himself, stands, and beckons John to race him to the bedroom. John doesn’t need to be asked twice, even though it’s a losing game for his short legs. The prize is in the chase, and what awaits him in their bed.
---------------------------------------------------------
@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels
@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely
@gregorovitch-adler @jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh
@brandiwein1982 @meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie
@shy-bi-inlovewithregandmoony @lhrinchelsea
(Tell me if you want to be tagged or untagged)
