#post thb

[cupidford]

Jam by JRow

Johnlock Love Letters #2370

John needs some time to recharge after the physically and emotionally draining case in Dartmoor. On a whim, he books a couple of days in Falmouth and (somehow) convinces Sherlock to join him. During the impromptu minibreak, the nature of John and Sherlock’s relationship begins to shift. Things get even better upon their return home to London. But are the two men on the same page about what they’ve become? A post-HoTB, pre-TRF fic.

[bubbl3zdaseaotter37]

Whumptober 2024

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

A/N: Here we are with another prompt that was over a week ago! I'm glad I could finally finish this one, even if I wish I had more time to revise. But the days have really started to fly, now that I’m so far behind. Wish me luck as I play catchup this weekend!

I’ve always been surprised by the genuine lack of fics from Lockwood’s POV about the time during the Black Winter.  I’ve seen a few good ones out there, but they always feel so few and far between!  So here I am, filling that need, because what else do you do as a fic author?  Enjoy the angst, my fellow Locknation friends.  A happier fic is on the way!

It was the morning after a case, and the sun had just begun its tedious climb into the sky, despite the later hours of the morning.  A cold fog hung like a blanket on all of London as Holly and I wearily descended the stairs from the Wilmington’s squat, Kensington townhouse.  A short way down the street, illuminating the fog, flashed the emergency lights of a DEPRAC van.  I pulled my favorite, long, black coat tighter against the chill.

“Well, I don’t know about you, Holly, but I’m ready to go home,” I said to break the silence, putting on a grin despite the fatigue that had settled into my every limb.  I hoped that if I put enough cheer into that smile, it might make the lingering chill in my muscles fade away.

Things certainly could have gone smoother if I my thoughts hadn’t wandered in the oppressive solitude of the basement right before the spectre’s death loop passed through the ground floors to its source, but Holly and I had located the source all the same.  Well, not without several close calls, a misplaced rapier, and a twisted ankle, but wasn’t that the charm of our company anyways?  We get the job done, despite the hardships.

“Yes, but we still haven’t talked about you,” Holly replied, a hint of annoyance in her voice.  Such a tone was unusual with our perky assistant, but I thought that maybe the constant running about was wearing her down.  We were all a little tense that horrible winter.

“About me?” I repeated defensively, stopping before the curb.  The red and blue lights from the siren bounced off Holly’s peeved, disheveled stare.

“Lockwood, you almost fell asleep,” she exclaimed. “During a case!”

“I did not ‘fall asleep.’ I thought I heard someone call my name and got distracted.”

Holly shook her head, lips pressed together tightly.  “You heard wrong.  Since when were you a Listener, anyways…?”

My stomach twisted painfully, and I saw the immediate look of regret on Holly’s face.  Neither of us spoke for a long moment.  I tried to ignore the insistent headache that had been lingering in my temples since the previous day, and only gotten worse in the night.  None of us had dared speak about Lucy since that morning I had found George in a kitchen chair, foggy glasses resting on the table beside a crumpled note.  It had turned into another unspoken rule.  Don’t talk about the upstairs room.  Don’t ask what happened to Robin.  Don’t mention Lucy, ever.

I had tried avoiding thinking about it as much as possible.  George and Holly’s avoidance of the topic made it easier, but after hearing that painfully familiar voice in the basement last night… Holly was right, I wasn’t a Listener, but it was like something in me had been certain Lucy had been there, just taking a short break and checking up on Holly.  Maybe it had been the effects of the haunting, or maybe I had really drifted away for just a moment.  Either way, I hurriedly shoved the thoughts away again, behind the wall where I kept all the memories I didn’t dwell on.

“Lockwood?”

Holly’s voice surprised me out of the reverie I had slipped into, and I realized that my eyelids had been about to fall shut.  My vision swam, I swayed slightly where I stood, and I was so focused on not suddenly losing my balance that all that I managed to give in reply was an absent hum.

“I apologize, I just…” A pause.  I looked at Holly, confused by her hesitation, to find her staring at me with evident concern, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” I managed, squaring my shoulders and putting on another bright smile. “Just a little tired.  Our cab should be here soon anyways.  Then we’ll lock the source up in the vault and take it to the furnaces with our next batch.”

Quietly, Holly gave her assent.  The two of us stood in silence again, watching the figures bustling about the house across the street, veiled in fog, like a parade of somber shadow children.  The pounding in my head grew more intense with every flash of the emergency lights, so I averted my gaze, took to staring at the scuffed toes of my shoes.  I must have drifted off yet again, because in the next I knew, tires crunched to a stop on the pavement in front of me, and Holly was tossing one of our duffel bags in the back seat.

I bent down to grab the second bag, only for my vision to tilt sickeningly, grayed out on the edges.  Stumbling sideways, my foot slipped on the curb, and I hit my head on the cold, metal side of the cab.  Holly was there in an instant, eyes wide, grasping my arm tightly and speaking words I hardly registered from the way my head was throbbing, both from hitting it and my now significantly more noticeable headache.

“—ou hear me?”

I caught a fragment of what she was saying, and a flash of movement in the corner of my eye.

“Lockwood?”

With a grunt, I rubbed the spot on my head as I stood up with Holly’s help.

“Can you hear me?  Are you okay?”

“’M fine…” I said, feeling every tiny ache in my body.  I had been running on fumes for who knew how long, and now it was catching up with me.

Despite my assurances, Holly half-dragged me to the bottom step of the house, where I sat heavily.  Without my realizing, my head lolled to the side, until my sluggish thoughts had enough presence to wonder why the houses across the way had tilted.  I blinked hard, shaking my head to clear the fog from my mind.

“Lockwood, when was the last time you slept—?”

I blinked again, took a moment to process the question, then gave my assistant my most placating smile.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Holly.  I got a wink right before this case.”

She stared at me skeptically.  “And those bags under your eyes are the proof.”

“Those are always there.  I keep them around to carry the weight of my responsibilities,” I replied dryly.

“Lockwood—”

Before she could finish, a man – later I discovered that Holly had instructed our cabbie to fetch help – came running up to us, with a DEPRAC officer, a paramedic, and several Fittes agents clad in their distinctive, grey uniforms.

“Wha—?”

The paramedic crouched down in front of us and began rapidly asking questions, flashing a torch in my face, and throwing open a fluorescently colored first-aid kit.  My mind buzzed, and the light only exacerbated my now throbbing headache.

“I’m alright, just hit my head,” I said, hoping that was enough information to appease them. After another moment of fussing after me, the paramedic decided I was being truthful and began to pack up her things again.  Behind her, the two Fittes agents whispered to each other, while the officer checked his watch impatiently.  When they had returned to their own scene, I let out a peeved sigh.

“Great, now Kipps will hear about this,” I grumbled, imagining the jibes he would come up with about the whole affair.  Yes, a certain understanding had passed between us since the case at Aikmere’s, a ceasefire of sorts, but that did not end the sardonic comments every time we interacted since then.  There was still a fundamental difference in the way our agencies operated, and consequently, our values also clashed.

Holly huffed, stood up, and dusted off the front of her dress.  “The perfect reason for you to get some actual sleep,” she replied. “Now, if you’re not about to pass out again, I suggest we go home.”

Gratefully, I took her offered hand, trying not to wobble too much as I stood and strolled with Holly to our cab.  As we were greeted by our mildly confused driver, I stared out at the early London sky, a painting of pale pinks and golds, wondering if Lucy was doing the same.

[i-was-a-well-kid-once]

“Like Real People Do”

My take on ~the walk scene~. I wrote this late at night so please excuse any typing mistakes.

•••

Slowly, carefully, I picked up the necklace and hung it around my neck. Then I put in my jacket and ran for the stairs.

Lockwood stood waiting for me patiently in the hall, hands hidden inside the pockets of his new coat.

I pattered down the stairs to meet him, mumbling a thanks as he handed me my coat. 

As he mentioned before, it was a beautiful evening. The sun was out warming the peaceful street of Portland Row, just beginning to descend back down into the horizon. The air was cool, almost crisp. Hence the need for a coat. 

As we stepped outside and made our way down the front steps and to our gate, an easy silence fell over us. Yes, I still felt that warm and jittery feeling I always get when I’m with Lockwood, but it filled me with a sense of peaceful joy, rather than the persistent urge to say something in order to fill the silence. 

We fell into step along the sidewalk, side-by-side we casually strolled. Hands finding warmth buried in our pockets, our boots making soft thuds against the concrete. 

“Have a particular place in mind?” I finally asked. Not that I cared really. What I was really thinking about at the moment was how happy I was to be at Lockwood’s side. The past few weeks since we confronted Fittes has been a sort of eye-opening experience. It made me realize how lucky I was to have found the people I not only call my teammates, or my housemates, but my friends. 

I was immensely relieved at the recovery of our team, though it’s been slow, and we’re still doing so, nobody lost any limbs. So that was always something to be glad about.

Lockwood had been watching the orange sky ahead. He smiled. “Not particularly.” After a few minutes, he added, “Though, George did ask me to grab some orange juice while out.”

I snorted softly. “Off to Arif’s then?”

Lockwood cast me a sidelong glance, flashing his smile, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we took the long way.” 

I smiled back at him. It was impossible not to, when he smiled like that. 

Arif’s store stood at the far corner of Portland Row. The walk was less than five minutes from our home. However, since coming outside, we had crossed the street to the grassy park. Meaning, by “the long way” Lockwood had meant we’d walk wherever we wanted to walk and eventually circle around, stopping at Arif’s on the way home.

I was more than fine with that, of course.

Silence overlapped us once again. Though this time, I knew I wanted to say something. But how? There was a certain feeling I always felt when I was around Lockwood. When I fought with him side-by-side against a Visitor, or on those lazy nights spent researching in the library while George is at the archives. It was a feeling I didn’t get when I was around the others. It was a feeling I had tried to put into words so many times, but I failed every time. 

I glanced up at Lockwood. He had a soft smile on his lips as he took in the scene around us. Children still played in the front yards of their houses, starting to clean their toys up and head inside. Friends still walked along the streets. I guessed they were on their way to their own houses as well.

It had only been a week or so since the whole Fittes situation. The bruises and cuts Lockwood suited were slowly starting to fade. He had a small bandage above his right eyebrow, a few bruises on his cheek. 

He must have noticed me watching him, because his smile widened as he glanced at me. I felt the warmth rising to my cheeks. His eyes fell to the necklace that rested against my chest. “Do you like it?”

I smiled, a soft scoff escaping my lips. “Of course. I love it, Lockwood. It’s beautiful.” I fingered it gently.

He looked back up, smiling still, “Good. I think it suits you well.”

I wanted to thank him for giving it to me. But when I opened my mouth, I realized I would mention whose it was before it was mine. I didn’t want to ruin what we had right now. I didn’t want Lockwood to shut down, like he does (almost) every time his past is brought up.

We walked on. I hadn’t really been paying attention to where we’ve been going. But now that I looked up, I realized we had just been walking around the park a couple streets down from our own. The park was deserted, now that the sun was almost fully hidden away. Now that it was almost curfew. 

“How are you feeling, Lucy?” Lockwood asked, suddenly. For the first time during our walk, he turned his head so he could see me better, not just a glance this time. 

I knew without needing to clarify that he was referring to our most recent scrap with the chairman of the Fittes agency. The one that had resulted in the destruction of pretty much the entire building that we happened to be inside of.

I had come out of that with a good cut in my side, a mild concussion (from the force of the explosion in the penthouse), and a few minor cuts and bruises spread out here and there. Despite that all, I was feeling okay. Especially now. 

“I’m good.” I met his eyes. I expected him to not believe me, to call me out for downplaying my true state (to be fair, I did that fairly often after particularly tough cases). But he didn’t today. He only nodded. 

“And you?” I asked. Lockwood had suffered a concussion similar to mine, being there with me during that bloody explosion. Having thrown his arms protectively around me (as he does in situations similar to this one), he had probably suffered the worst of the blow. But as far as I knew, he was recovering well, as the rest of us were. 

“You needn’t worry about me, Luce.” He said, his grin reforming. 

“Oh, but you know I do, still.” I said, fighting the smile trying to sneak its way onto my lips. He did this often, waving off other’s concerns for his own well-being, locking his emotions up. The problem with that, however, was like I mentioned before: it is hard not to smile when he smiled at me like that.

“Yes, I do know.” There he goes, waving off my concerns for how he’s doing. Heaven forbid we know how Lockwood is faring. “Are you really alright? Your cut isn’t bothering you anymore?”

Okay, I was wrong, then. Today was no different than any other. I shook my head. The day after the explosion, I had been forced to see the doctor (practically against my will) and received stitches. It’s been healing well since, though it still hurts when I roll over in my bed, and someone (Lockwood) has forbidden me to practice in the training room with my rapier until my cut heals. 

“I’m fine.” If he can wave off my concerns, he better believe I can do the same to him. 

However, he seemed content with this. We continued in silence. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, hidden away. The sky was beginning to change from orange to deep blue as the ghost lamps flickered on. 

The air became chillier, but not too cold. Again, I was getting the feeling that there was so much to be said. So many words I wanted him to hear, yet I didn’t know where to start. 

Across the street, walking along a row of houses, we saw a team of agents. There were six of them, rapiers gleaming at their sides, large duffel bags being hefted along. They wore the lilac jackets of the Grimble agency, on their way to a case. 

We watched them hurry by. “Do you think we did anything to help fix the Problem, really?” I wondered aloud. “I know we stopped Marissa from bothering them on the Other-Side, but nothing’s seemed to change so far.”

“DEPRAC is still working on undoing everything Marissa has messed with there, Luce.” Lockwood said, “After that, we’ll see. I think it’ll help, for sure. Ghosts won’t just be restless for no reason other than being disturbed on the Other-Side.”

“Let’s hope so.”

A few minutes passed. 

“Luce?”

“Hm?”

“Back at the Fittes house, this last week.” He took a breath. He had regained his usually easygoing, calm stature as we strolled along the sidewalk together. “I don’t want you ever running off on your own like that again.” 

It had been about a week since that whole incident. I had expected he would bring this up at some point after arriving back home, but since he didn’t, I’d honestly forgotten about it until now. “Out of everyone, I thought you’d be the most understanding.” I said, moving my gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of us.

Unlike all those other times after I made a mistake during a case, Lockwood didn’t look mad, or even mildly annoyed. Instead, his eyebrows were knit in concern and his eyes filled with worry.

A new silence fell over us. This time it was more uncomfortable. I wanted to defend myself to him. I wanted him to understand that he’s done worse. Every reckless action he makes. I know he’s doing it to be selfless, for his team; the agents he’s responsible for as a leader. 

“You know It’s different for me, Lucy.” 

“Hardly.” I met his gaze. “Just because you’re our leader, doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t care if you die.” I hadn’t meant to raise my voice at him. We’d had this conversation before.

He looked at me with those sad eyes again, before his mask was reformed and a grin was spreading across his lips. It was slow to come, almost as if he were scared of my reaction to his smiling. As he should be. 

I only sighed. “Just know that I’ll kill you the next time you even think about stupidly risking your life and almost dying.”

He raised a playful eyebrow, “You’re going to kill me if I almost get killed again?”

“I will.” Funny how he brought this up so he could scold me about my recklessness. 

“Duly noted.” Lockwood chuckled. 

The moon was out now; the skies were a darkening blue. I really would’ve been fine if our walk had lasted for hours and hours longer, but we were slowly nearing the Arif’s corner store, meaning soon we’d be back in Portland Row. Surely I’d have another opportunity like this to talk to him. I had a lot I wanted to say. Why should I wait?

“Lockwood?”

“Mm?”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, taking a breath. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was nervous, but despite the chilly weather, my hands were damp. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat. 

Lockwood stopped when I did. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, awaiting my next words. 

“This necklace you gave me.”—I turned it over in my fingers, gently—“your mother’s necklace.” I paused. Where was I going with this, really? I shouldn’t have stopped, I should have just kept walking, enjoying his company.

“Yes,” Lockwood replied, waiting for me to continue.

He’d given me Jessica’s necklace too. When we were preparing 35 Portland Row for the inevitable attack of Winkman’s men, I had stored it away safely in my attic room. If not, I would have been wearing it while in the Other-Side and during the fight and explosion in Marissa’s penthouse. When he had first given it to me, for the Fittes party, I was terrified of losing it, or damaging it somehow. That fear hasn’t gone away. And now he gives me a necklace that is not only  worth a lot because of its precious sapphire in the center of the pendant, but it also has significant sentimental value. 

I swallowed. My voice was small. “You’re sure you want me to have it? I know it was important to her.” 

His concerned expression melted into a soft smile, so unlike the cocky, confident grins I was so used to. 

I watched his eyes, afraid of what he was going to say. I really was regretting it now. I should have just kept walking.

Lockwood seemed to be studying me, his eyes on the necklace around my neck, then raised up to meet my eyes. He stepped closer, reaching for my hand. 

Lockwood enclosed my hand in both of his. I was surprised at how warm they were. “Do you remember what I told you about it?”

I nodded, swallowing hard again. My other hand fingered the hem of my skirt.

“I want you to remember that. That’s why I gave it to you.” 

We stayed like that for what felt like a long time, but it must have only been a few seconds until Lockwood cleared his throat, then his gentle smile broke into that oh-so-familiar grin. “We might want to go and get that orange juice now, before it gets too late, or we both know how cranky George will be.”

I grinned back at him, and he squeezed my hand. 

We continued our walk, a little faster than before. Lockwood’s hand was still interlaced with mine, our arms swung slightly as we walked. The air surrounding us was lighter now, easier. 

We now talked about small things, carelessly, such as the latest in the gossip magazines Lockwood has read, or what needs to be done next on our seemingly endless “house repair” to-do list. 

And when we made it to Arif’s, we couldn’t recall whether George liked pulp or no pulp in his orange juice (Lockwood swears he does, I said I think he doesn’t) so we ended up getting both. And we might’ve picked up a few chocolate biscuits to share before bed (we knew if we didn’t eat them tonight, George would find them in the morning). 

After everything that happened this last week, with the break-in and near destruction of 35 Portland Row, our journey through the Other-side (mine and Lockwood’s second time), and the whole fight and explosions at the Fittes house, I was finally starting to feel okay again, especially now, with Lockwood by my side, hands clasped together, our grocery bags swinging gently at our sides, I felt more at peace than I could ever ask for. 

•••