sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXIV

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Prompting Part XXXIV

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OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

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Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

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John and the tiger moved simultaneously. The tiger bit at him and John's knee flew up to crash into its jaw. The tiger's teeth closed on the dog tags rattling across John's sweaty chest and ripped.

The dog tags tore off of his neck like wet tissue paper.

He had to get to the knife. His life depended on getting to that knife. There was no time to make a new plan, to strategize, to dance around the big cat conservatively and bide his time.

Get the knife get the knife get the knife there's only one way to get there in time go go go go go that's an order, Captain

Ignoring the pain in his mauled arm, John grabbed the ruffle of fur on the back of the tiger's bent neck and hauled himself bodily over the oil-smooth back. The cat yowled and whipped around like a housecat whose tail had been trod upon. John slid off of its back and was scrabbling desperately away on his elbows in a military belly crawl.

He felt white hot pain in his back as claws sunk into his skin but there was no time to scream. Instead, he snatched up the knife and flipped it so that the blade pointed backwards in his palms. He ducked his head down, feeling his back succumb to numb agony as the animal raked its claws through his back like a hot knife through butter.

John thrust the knife up and into the tiger's face at the same time as it's big head descended to deliver the killing bite to the back of his neck, like he was a felled deer.

I am not prey.

The knife connected and this time it was the tiger's scream that filled the room. Immediately the pressure on his back abated. The tiger scrambled away from John in pained terror like the sea receding from the shore.

Today, I am the predator.

John got up. He had a split second to register Moriarty's ashen face through the mirror before he turned and

charged

at

the

tiger.

His bare feet slapped wetly down in the blood spattered floor, a mix of the pig's blood that was oxidizing slowly on his trousers and the warm liquid that dribbled down his arm and throbbed with the beat of his heart down his back. The tiger was crouched on the floor with blood gushing from its mouth where John's knife had penetrated.

John sprang down onto its back, and felt it convulse with anxiety below him. Without hesitation, John used his steady left hand to sink the knife into the animal's neck deeply. He wasn't entirely certain precisely where the jugular lay a big cat's neck, but he knew that if you stabbed anything deeply enough it would die.

The tiger sunk liquidly to the floor.

“I'm sorry,” John heard his own voice say, as if in a fever dream. “There's a good boy, shhh, shh. I'm so sorry. Please... forgive me.”

Numbly, John realized he was gently running his fingers through the tiger's bloody fur.

Gasping for breath, John laid quietly on top of it, resting his head on the animal's and feeling its life ebb away beneath his sweating cheek. A long white whisker bent against his forehead. His own weight felt too impossible to hold up anymore. Shock began to set into his extremities and his head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton.

Time passed.

John registered movement; he was being lifted off of the tiger's rapidly cooling body. Everything hurt. His body roiled with pain. He had no energy left to do anything but hiss inaudibly. He was laid face down on the cold cement. Something was wrapped tightly around his arm; there was pressure applied to his back. The tiger's body was taken away.

John was left alone in the cold room, in a bad way, but the door to the cement room was left open.

And that was how it stayed, until Sherlock and a team of Mycroft's people found him soon after.

– * -

A month later, a mysterious package arrived at 221B.

It had no return address, and had only Johnny Boy written in spidery black script. After deciding that it probably wasn't rigged with explosives, Sherlock loomed like a vulture as John opened it. It was awkward work one-handed, as his right hand was still in a sling. Sherlock eventually grew impatient and batted John away to rip open the packaging instead.

Inside was an authentic tiger skin rug.

Sherlock exhaled gustily behind John.

It unfurled with a leathery snap and a soft spray of traveling dust. It was in beautiful condition, and gleamed bronze and orange in the lamp light. The tiger's face had been reconstructed into a silent eternal roar at the front of the rug. An expert taxidermist's touch disguised the stab through the cheek.

As John lifted up the heavy pelt, a slip of paper fell out. Sherlock snatched it out of the air.

“What's that, then?” inquired John mildly.

Sherlock looked down his nose at the paper clasped delicately in his large, graceful hands. “... 'To my dearest Johnny boy: I was wrong! You're not a puppy dog at all.'”

Here, Sherlock paused. John waited.

Sherlock sighed, clearly resenting the drama of it all. “'You're a wolf.'”

“Mm, charming,” said John. He began the tedious process of rolling up the tiger-skin rug one-handed.

“What are you doing?”

John tried to stuff the pelt back into the box, wincing as the motion pulled the stitches on his back.

“Binning it,” replied John with a grunt.

Sherlock gasped, “Don't!”

John stared at him.

Twin spots of pink bloomed on Sherlock's pronounced cheekbones and he pursed his lips peevishly.

“It's just that... I think it would go rather well with the wallpaper.” Sherlock gestured vaguely in the direction of the fireplace.

John started to smirk.

Sherlock was definitely blushing now, and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.

“Honestly, John, you'd think you're the first person to ever kill a tiger with your bare hands.”

John's smirk widened.

Sherlock's expression gradually transformed into a tiny smile. And then, suddenly, they were both laughing together in the familiar warmth of 221B.

His left hand did not tremble.

Authornonny here, hope you dig the story. I like the prompt. If you liked the story you can donate to Defenders of Wildlife to help protect tigers in real life. Cheers!

holy god, this is incredible

BAMF!John is wonderful. And do I sense a BAMF kink on Sherlock's part?

Ooh, this is splendid. I like the way you use text to show the apparent slowed-down quality of John's perception while he's thinking. And I'm glad that he apologized to the tiger at the end.

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