A!A here: I hadn’t planned to write a sequel, but then you got me thinking – what would John do? And this is the conclusion I reached. If anyone’s still checking the thread, thank you for the comments, and I hope they both still sound in character.
To repeat: trigger warning for self-harm, probably more so than the original fill.
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Somehow, the evening passed. John made the tea, then brushed his teeth, then went to bed. It would have been just like any other evening if he hadn’t been thinking theremustbetheremustbetheremustbe ceaselessly. Exhausted, he finally fell asleep at 3am.
……….
Somehow, days passed. John stayed on high-alert, hyper-aware of Sherlock’s mood and terrified of leaving him alone. He rushed home from the surgery, cancelled plans to see Mike. Felt his ears prick up like a dog’s every time Sherlock moved into a different room. Spent seemingly endless hours sat in his armchair, desperate to be there but not knowing what to say.
Three days in, Sherlock finally broke the silence. “It makes it harder. That you know.”
Voice rusty, John had to clear his throat before answering. “Why?”
“I told you. It’s the most fundamental plate.”
“Well, I’m sorry. You know I can’t just – delete things, the way you can.”
“So you’ve said. But obsessing over it doesn’t seem to be doing either of us any good, does it?”
……….
And somehow, weeks passed. John caught up with Mike, went for a pint with Lestrade, forced himself to take the picturesque route home. At first he took every opportunity he could to catch a glimpse of Sherlock’s arms, thinking if he could just work out when he did it… But it took Sherlock all of thirteen hours to catch on, and he delivered such a death-glare that John hastily switched to studious avoidance instead.
Gradually the air in 221b became a little less fraught, and life carried on. They shared takeaways, dashed out to crime scenes, bickered over exploding Tupperware in the cupboards. He never entirely forgot, but sometimes John went for days without the desire to take every sharp thing from the flat and pitch it into the Thames.
Sequel: Staying (Calm) part 1/4
A!A here: I hadn’t planned to write a sequel, but then you got me thinking – what would John do? And this is the conclusion I reached. If anyone’s still checking the thread, thank you for the comments, and I hope they both still sound in character.
To repeat: trigger warning for self-harm, probably more so than the original fill.
---------
Somehow, the evening passed. John made the tea, then brushed his teeth, then went to bed. It would have been just like any other evening if he hadn’t been thinking theremustbetheremustbetheremustbe ceaselessly. Exhausted, he finally fell asleep at 3am.
……….
Somehow, days passed. John stayed on high-alert, hyper-aware of Sherlock’s mood and terrified of leaving him alone. He rushed home from the surgery, cancelled plans to see Mike. Felt his ears prick up like a dog’s every time Sherlock moved into a different room. Spent seemingly endless hours sat in his armchair, desperate to be there but not knowing what to say.
Three days in, Sherlock finally broke the silence. “It makes it harder. That you know.”
Voice rusty, John had to clear his throat before answering. “Why?”
“I told you. It’s the most fundamental plate.”
“Well, I’m sorry. You know I can’t just – delete things, the way you can.”
“So you’ve said. But obsessing over it doesn’t seem to be doing either of us any good, does it?”
……….
And somehow, weeks passed. John caught up with Mike, went for a pint with Lestrade, forced himself to take the picturesque route home. At first he took every opportunity he could to catch a glimpse of Sherlock’s arms, thinking if he could just work out when he did it… But it took Sherlock all of thirteen hours to catch on, and he delivered such a death-glare that John hastily switched to studious avoidance instead.
Gradually the air in 221b became a little less fraught, and life carried on. They shared takeaways, dashed out to crime scenes, bickered over exploding Tupperware in the cupboards. He never entirely forgot, but sometimes John went for days without the desire to take every sharp thing from the flat and pitch it into the Thames.
……….