I Need You, Part 1
Sherlock fanfic | Pre-slash Johnlock | 4479 words | Post-TSoT
A/N: Penguin facts from here http://mentalfloss.com/article/56416/20-fun-facts-about-penguins-world-penguin-day and here https://spotlightenglish.com/listen/monogamy-mating-for-life.
The buzz of his phone pulled him from an odd dream, though he lost the threads of it as he awakened. The mobile buzzed again. Mary stirred, but did not wake up. Third buzz. John swiped a hand over his face in hopes of bringing himself to full consciousness. He squinted at the numbers on his phone. Just after midnight. For about two seconds he wondered who was texting him at midnight, his hopeful thought of who he wanted it to be turning to reality when he opened the messaging app. Sherlock. Of course. Who else?
He tamped down the joy and relief that tried to surge through him. It had been almost two weeks since he’d last heard from Sherlock, and John was getting worried. They’d texted and chatted on his blog during his honeymoon, well, until Mary called them out on it and John reluctantly put his phone aside and tried to enjoy the holiday. He’d texted Sherlock a few times on their return to London, but there had been no reply. Thinking Sherlock might be on a case, John had let the silence persist, though the longer it went, the more he worried.
He had been thinking only that evening that he might have to get in touch with Mycroft to make sure Sherlock was okay. And, as if Sherlock had heard his thought, here he was, texting John in the middle of the night. It reminded John of their days as flatmates when Sherlock would excitedly barge into John’s room at three in the morning, chattering on about DNA and blood and perfumes. At the time, it had annoyed the hell out of John, but now he missed it. Feeling nostalgic, he checked his messages, though without a hint of ire at Sherlock for not respecting boundaries.
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Received / 11:48 Penguins are only found in the southern hemisphere.
Received / 11:53 Gentoo penguins can swim up to 22 mph.
Received / 11:55 The earliest penguin relative lived 60 million years ago, which means they survived the extinction of dinosaurs.
Received / 12:01 Many penguins mate with the same penguin season after season.
Received / 12: 02 I wonder why. They don’t build homes, they live in large colonies, so you’d think one penguin would do as well as the next. It’s not like penguins have personalities and preferences. Perhaps it’s a pheromone thing. Do penguins have pheromones?
Received / 12:03 Apparently not. They recognize each other by their calls. And they’re monogamous because that’s the best way to care for their children. Like you and Mary. I thought maybe, before, that you two might not last, because the boring married life does not suit you, but now you’re having a baby, so you’ll stay together to keep the baby safe and healthy.
Received / 12:04 Does that mean you’d have stayed with me if we had had a child to care for together? Not that you’d have wanted that. Neither would I. The child I mean. Children are fine. When they’re not around me. But it might have been nice to have a reason for you to move back to Baker Street. Or to keep me from leaving in the first place.
Received / 12:05 I am sorry about that. Terribly sorry. It wrong of me to keep you in the dark, to leave you in the first place. I didn’t want to leave, not at all. But I needed to keep you safe. Does that make you my penguin chick? I just wanted to keep you safe.
John worried the further down he scrolled, catching up with the texts that had apparently started before he’d even woken up. What was going on? This wasn’t like Sherlock at all. Yes, he was rambly and loved to talk about odd facts, but this was… vulnerable. It was the most open John had known him to be, apart from when he was on the roof—
Not thinking about that.
Should he text Sherlock back? He was relieved at hearing from his friend again, but the texts were so odd. Maybe he should phone instead. Even though Sherlock hated calls. He’d start with texts and see how Sherlock responded.
Sent / 12:07 That’s all very interesting
Sent / 12:07 Are you okay?
Received / 12:07 John! Hello! I’m glorious. How are you?
Shit. This was not Sherlock. John slid out of bed and headed for the sitting room so he could call Sherlock without waking Mary.
It rang only once. “John.”
John’s eyes closed briefly from hearing his name rumbled in Sherlock’s low voice. Every time he went more than a few days without hearing it, it made his heart beat faster when he heard it again. It always had, much as he’d tried to ignore it. Hearing it the first time after Sherlock’s return had about killed him.
“Sherlock. You okay?”
“‘Course. Said I was glorious, didn’t I? Don’t make me repeat myself.” Sherlock’s voice was low and relaxed. Too relaxed.
“Yeah, exactly. The only time you’re glorious is when you’ve got a good case on. But when that’s happening, you’re excited and you talk too fast. But you don’t sound excited.” He took a deep breath. “Are you high, Sherlock?” He hurried toward the front door, shoving his feet into his shoes and grabbing his coat and keys. He needed to get to Sherlock now. Why had he not tried harder to get in touch? Why had he waited for Sherlock to make the first move?
“Hmmm. I do feel a little floaty, but it’s perfectly fine. I’m fine.”
Shit. Double shit. John scrambled into his car. At this time of night, it would be the fastest way to get to Baker Street. He put the phone on speaker so he could keep Sherlock on the line while he drove.
“Sherlock. I’m coming over okay?”
“You’re coming home? Good. I’ve missed you.”
John tightened his hands on the steering wheel and tried not to speed too much, worry roiling in his stomach. He was glad Sherlock had missed him, he’d missed Sherlock too. But Sherlock admitting it? Not good.
“Sherlock. What did you take? How much have you taken?”
“Oh, John. Don’t worry. I’m a graduate chemist. I know what I’m doing. It’s for a case you know. I’m glad you’re coming home. I want to tell you all about it.”
But instead of waiting for John to arrive, Sherlock explained it all, in a very confusing manner, right there on the phone. Something about that Magnusson fellow—the newspaper mogul—and blackmail. Janine, Mary’s friend, was involved somehow, though John didn’t understand that bit at all. Or maybe she wasn’t involved. Maybe they were friends now. She and Sherlock had been far too chummy at the wedding, in John’s opinion.
By the time John arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock was talking about penguins again, and John was trying not to have a panic attack. Luck was on his side, and he found a close parking spot on the street and hurried to the flat. He let himself in the street door, then rushed up the stairs as quietly as possible to avoid waking Mrs. Hudson. The door to the flat was cracked, and John pushed it all the way open and practically felt through in his haste to get to Sherlock. The buzz of adrenaline calmed him, and he looked around the sitting room, taking everything in.
It was much as it had been when he’d last seen it, piles of books and newspapers crowding all available surface and, a few teacups scattered around. The only thing missing was the wedding planning wall tacked above the sofa, which Sherlock had likely taken down as soon as it became unnecessary. On the sofa lay Sherlock, his laptop and mobile sharing space on his chest. John had hung up when he arrived at Baker Street, but Sherlock had apparently not noticed, as he was still talking about penguins.
“Sherlock?” John shut the door behind him and came to sit on the coffee table in front of his friend.
“John!” A soft, warm smile lit Sherlock’s face, causing John’s heart to race just a bit more. He’d missed that smile. It had been rare ever since Sherlock’s return. “Wait. How can you be here? You’re on the phone.”
Jesus. How far gone was Sherlock? John took his pulse while answering. “I’m not on the phone. I’m here now.”
“Mmm.” Sherlock’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Then who am I talking to?” He held up his phone and stared at it.
“No one. I hung up when I got here. Can you sit up for me?” John removed the laptop from Sherlock’s chest.
Sherlock sat up slowly while John pulled out the pen light attached to his keys. “I’m going to look at your eyes, okay? It’s going to be bright.”
“Why? Your eyes are prettier. You should look at those instead.”
A breath caught in John’s throat, but he forced himself to ignore the words. Sherlock was just saying random stuff because he was off his tits. It meant nothing. Sure enough, Sherlock’s speech continued on about eye color and what caused it.
John finished his examination, then put a hand to Sherlock’s arm to stop the rambling. “Sherlock.” He waited for his friend to focus (sort of) on him before continuing. “What did you take and how much?”
Sherlock’s gaze shifted away from John’s face. He looked sort of thoughtful. Had he even heard the question?
“Hey. No. Look at me.” John squeezed Sherlock’s arm.
Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “I’m always looking at you, John,” he said petulantly. “You’re the one who doesn’t look at me.” He shook John’s hand off, then started rooting through his dressing gown pockets. Coming up empty, he continued to his trouser pockets, his eyes lighting up when he found what he was looking for. He produced a crumpled piece of paper with a flourish.
John took the proffered paper curiously. It just said heroin in Sherlock’s messy scrawl. “What is this?” Well, he knew what it was, but he didn’t understand why Sherlock had written it down instead of just telling him.
“The List,” Sherlock said dramatically, twirling a hand in the air before slumping back against the couch with a smile.
“The List?”
“Yes. Mycroft requires a list of everything I’ve taken. It’s not really a list this time, because there’s only one thing on it, but I’ve found it easier to write things down as I take them, so I don’t forget. Mycroft gets so cross when The List isn’t complete.” His face was pained, much as it often was when he talked about his brother.
“Ah. And how much did you take? When did you take it?” John dropped the paper so he could push up the sleeves of Sherlock’s gown. Both arms were clean.
“Ingested. One pill. Just needed to… relax a little.” Sherlock shrugged.
“Are you sure you just took one? You’re pretty…loopy.”
“Mmm. Maybe more than one? I don’t remember. My tolerance is pretty low now though. Wouldn’t take much. It’s been…years.”
John was glad to hear that at least. Sherlock hadn’t talked about his time away. He knew things had been…not good, but apparently they hadn’t involved drugs. “Good. That’s good.”
“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to, but I need to. It’s for a case, y’know.”
“So you said. Why do you need to be on drugs for a case? Something about blackmail, right?”
“Mmm. Decided to kill two birds with one stone. I needed to forget for a while, then I thought that it would be a good way to get Magnusson’s attention. Couldn’t just go out to a drug den straight off though. Got to build up a tolerance, as you can see.” He gestured lazily to himself. “Start here, then work up to the drug den. Got to keep my wits about me.” He nodded solemnly.
“I can see that.” Something Sherlock said caught in John’s brain. “What did you need to forget?”
“Hmm?” Sherlock pulled his feet up and curled into himself on the couch.
“You said you needed to forget. What did you need to forget?” John wondered if this had to do with Sherlock’s time away. He’d seemed fairly normal on his return, but perhaps the reason Sherlock had dived so deep into wedding planning was to help him forget, and now he didn’t have that anymore, so he’d turned to drugs.
“Oh. Yes. Mmm. My brain thinks a lot. Sometimes I need it to stop. But you weren’t here. You’d think I’d be used to that by now, but I’m not. Or perhaps it’s knowing you’re close by, but out of reach. Or maybe it’s that while I was away, I needed to remember. But I’m here now, and there’s Mary and a baby, so I needed to forget.”
John was getting an inkling of what Sherlock meant, scattered as the conversation was. His heartbeat ticked up, and he took slow breaths to calm himself. No, his brain was making silly inferences. Sherlock only meant that he needed an accountability partner. John had been that, for a while. That’s all it was. Sherlock needing a friend. Nothing more. He pushed away echoes of the best man speech. John Watson, you keep me right.
“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come…”
“I’m an adult, John. I can’t come running to you with every little problem, when you’ve got your own responsibilities to see to.”
“I’m your best friend, Sherlock. I’m here for you–”
“No, you’re not! You married Mary. You’re there for her and for the baby. If you wanted to be here for me, you shouldn’t have marri–” Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he cut himself off. His face closed off. He flipped himself to face the back of the sofa. “Please leave, John. I’ll be fine once I sleep this off. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
John’s fists were clenched, his breathing had sped up. God. Why was this happening now? John had prayed for something to happen before, for there to be a reason to call off the engagement, to stop this snowball from growing out of his control. Mary had been good for John at the beginning. She’d been a kind ear, a drinking partner, a friend. She was funny and intelligent. Without Sherlock to keep him occupied, John thought marriage was a good idea, a way to give him stability. And he wasn’t getting any younger. Mary seemed like a good choice. At least she wasn’t boring.
And John needed to grow up. Blogging about adventures with a man who was too stubborn to put on clothes to visit the palace was fine in your thirties. Probably less acceptable when you hit forty. So despite wanting to be around Sherlock always, John let himself be pulled along by wedding planning and couples’ parties and an office job, even though he’d never been more bored in his life.
But one word from Sherlock—a single hint that he wanted John at his side—and John would’ve called an end to it. Because he was a fucking sucker for danger. And for Sherlock. But Sherlock seemed happy for John. He even liked Mary, and she him. Perhaps Sherlock had decided to grow up as well.
At least, that’s what John had thought. But then Sherlock had given his best man speech, and now he was saying these things that sounded like regret and accusation. Things that didn’t admit to anything, but that nevertheless hinted at something deeper, something John had fervently wished for for months. Could Sherlock be wishing for the same things John wanted? Could they both have been waiting for the other to step forward and say something?
John laughed to himself. Leave it to them, men of action, to huddle cowardly in the corner, waiting for the other to make a move.
“Why are you still here? I said leave.” Sherlock sounded miserable, even filtered through the sofa cushions.
God how John had missed this. Why had he thought Mary could replace it? John needed unpredictability and danger. He needed to be woken up in the middle of the night for a petulant detective. He needed to be pulled out of work to go search a flat for clues. He needed Sherlock. He’d wished for him during those two years apart, but when Sherlock came back, John hadn’t allowed himself to have what he wanted. But he was done being angry about Sherlock’s deception. He was a fucking idiot, but he was John’s fucking idiot. And John was Sherlock’s. At least, he wanted to be. So John took a deep breath and made himself take the first step forward.
“I’m done leaving you. If you’re done leaving me.”
Sherlock’s body froze, then his shoulders shuddered. After a few moments, he said, so quietly John had to strain to hear him, “I needed you, and you weren’t here.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now. We both did stupid things. I want to stop. Do you?”
Sherlock turned over slowly. His eyes were rimmed red, his face tense and pained. He gave a slow, single nod. John let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Good. Get some sleep, so I can yell at you in the morning.” Now was not a time to have a heart to heart. They needed to be sober and completely awake for that.
“You’re staying?” Sherlock’s eyes were wide. With hope?
“I meant it. If you’re done leaving me, I’m done leaving you.”
“But Mary…”
John shook his head. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
Sherlock nodded slowly, then settled back into the sofa. “Okay.”
Continue to Part 2
