sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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John has one of his nightmares. Sherlock hears the noise and comes up to his room to wake him up. John doesn't react well to being touched and/or having someone looming over him and/or shouting at him, though, and manages to deck Sherlock a good one (or otherwise injure him). John feels terrible about it afterwards.

+1 if there's either no prior relationship or their relationship is new and they haven't worked out the kinks yet (hence why John is still used to sleeping alone)

+10 if Sherlock pretty much deserved to be punched

+100 if John's feeling terrible leads to something angsty, romantic, or smutty :-D

((Warnings: un-beta'd, scientifically dodgy, written in a rush, broken nose.))

Sherlock was increasing the acidity of a chemical compound when he heard the dull thump from upstairs. He didn’t pay much mind to it, preoccupied as he was by how corrosive this particular solution had to be in order to damage the bronze hinges of the wardrobe as much as it had seemingly done. By all accounts, John was just exorcising his pre-bedtime cup of tea.

He continued until he found the levels of the elements that perfectly matched the aforementioned damage (25mg hydrogen; 10mg chlorine) and left the kitchen to find his phone. It was only once he got out of the kitchen that he realised that John hadn’t made any more sound, save for that one thump.

He closed his eyes, running through the possibilities. No smashing sound – no struggles – window was never open – sound was too soft to be anything hard or heavy – John didn’t fall out of bed – sound was too soft to even be –

“Something that hit the floor,” Sherlock finished aloud. “John’s having a nightmare.”

At that moment, what sounded like a tortured scream ripped through the flat, albeit muffled by the division between their rooms and the rest of the flat. Snatching up the phone and sliding it in his pocket, Sherlock loped upstairs, following the whimpering sounds that were now coming from John’s room.

Without thinking, he pushed the handle down and almost slammed the door open. He was greeted with the half-lit sight of John writhing in the bed (albeit not in the way he’d imagined recently), fighting with the covers. Sherlock immediately swerved around the bed and to John’s side, crouching down to the mattress level and placing his hands on John’s shoulders.

“John!” he shouted, vigorously shaking him. “John!”

John’s face was screwed up, deeply locked in his nightmare. He was still flailing, and Sherlock had to duck in order to avoid being hit by his limbs. He let go of John’s shoulders and decided to slap him once on both cheeks, not really knowing what else to do, since he couldn’t leave him in this state. The doctor’s eyes immediately flew open. Sherlock only saw a flash of something in them before a fist hit his face, stars exploding in his vision and pain rocketing through his face. He heard a muffled curse and a flurry of bedsheets. He touched his nose gingerly, hearing a crunching sound.

“Shit, Sherlock, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Fuck.” John was wide awake and gazing at the younger man, worry on his face.

“Unh,” Sherlock replied, inclining his head a few millimetres backwards.

John started. “Sherlock, you’ve got a broken nose. Don’t tip your head back.”

“You broke my nose, you mean,” Sherlock muttered, voice sounding thick.
“Yes, alright, I broke your nose,” John sighed, running to the toilet and returning with wads of tissue paper. “Head forward and hold this to it. Back in a sec.”

John disappeared and Sherlock manoeuvred himself against the bed, pressing the wad of tissue to his nose. A sharp throbbing spread across that area, pulsing in duller waves across his cheekbones. Soon enough, he heard John return, turning the light on in the room.

“Move the tissues, let me take a look.”

Sherlock did as he was told and John placed a hand on the side of his face, ostensibly keeping his head stable so he could take a proper look at it. However, his fingertips were caressing Sherlock’s temples in a wordless apology. Sherlock raised his hand and lightly stroked forgiveness across John’s fingers.

“Okay. You haven’t broken it too badly, but you will need to let it heal. Hold this against it, it’ll help with the swelling. Do we have painkillers downstairs?”

Sherlock tried to nod, but this served to aggravate his nose. He uttered a thick “yes” instead.

“Good.” The professionalism melted from John’s voice, replaced with tiredness and concern. “I’ll pick up some more tomorrow, okay? I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t,” Sherlock replied, taking the half-full bag of frozen peas from John and pressing it against his nose as best as he could. “You couldn’t control it. ‘s your automatic reaction after a nightmare.”

John nodded, scooting to kneel by Sherlock’s side. “I’m not even going to question how you know that,” he murmured, running his hand through Sherlock’s curls. “I s’pose it’s a good thing we’re not sleeping together yet. Could have been a lot worse.”

Sherlock caught the yet and held onto it, resisting the urge to press his scalp on the palm of John’s hand. “Yes. You could have woken me up.”

John rolled his eyes. “Like you were sleeping, anyway.”

“No, that is true. I was conducting an experiment find the exact levels of hydrogen and chlorine that would cause as much damage as it did to bronze hinges.”

“Oh, the Mason case?” John shifted, resting his hand lightly on Sherlock’s shoulders. “I take it you did, then,”

“Of course,” Sherlock replied, but there was nothing of the usual arrogance in his voice.

John swallowed. “What time is it?”

Sherlock checked his watch. “Two forty-seven. You have five hours and thirteen minutes before you have to be awake,”

“Thanks, stopwatch.” John chuckled lightly and began pushing himself up by his hands. “I’m going back to sleep. And since you haven’t slept since Monday and you’ve finished an important experiment, you’re joining me.”

“But John – ”

“No ‘buts’.” John got to his feet and extended a hand to Sherlock, who took it with an eye-roll. “Get into bed, I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Where are you going now?” Sherlock asked, but John didn’t reply as he left, taking the bag of peas with him. The younger man got up and slid into bed, sitting up as he waited for John to come back. He soon returned without the peas but with one of the pillows from Sherlock’s bed, dumping it on top of the spare, unused pillow on the right-hand side of the bed.

“Why are you – ”

“For your nose. It’s to help ease the swelling, as long as you sleep on your back,” John explained, returning to the left side of the bed and climbing back in. Sherlock laid straight down, shifting until his head and neck were supported.

“How’s it feeling?” John asked quietly. “Your nose, I mean.”

“Well as it can be, given the circumstances,” Sherlock muttered.

John smiled, resting his hand lightly on Sherlock’s arm. Sherlock shifted himself closer to the older man and raised it, allowing John to be as close to him as he wanted. Sure enough, John wriggled closer to him until he could comfortably wrap one arm around Sherlock’s waist, quickly falling asleep again.

Resting his forearm on John’s extended arm, fingers slipping in the gaps between John’s, Sherlock lay there, forcing his mind to wind down until it let him fall asleep, the physical proximity guiding him to an easy one in a way that drugs never did.

Not OP, but I enjoyed this :) Lovely and sweet ending.

Not OP either, but very very nice. Loved their dialogue

Dude this is JUST WHAT I WANTED.

Thank you so much for filling this!

-OP

N'aawww, this was adorable! Wonderful stuff. Thank you for this.

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