sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

THE MEME NEEDS ARCHIVISTS!

GUIDELINES

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Please consider warning for prompts that may trigger people (and also for fills, because some people read in flat view) and phrasing prompts in a manner that strives to be respectful.

Things which you might want to consider warning for include: Rape/Non-Con, Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Underage Relationships, among others.

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PROMPT FREEZES
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CONTACTING MODS
Your mods for this meme are

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MEME LINKS
Pinboard Archive - Delicious Archive - Guide to the Archive
Filled Prompts Posts: Parts 1-23 - Parts 24+ - Spoiler Free
The Glorious FAQ - Page-A-Mod

Flat View of This Page - Newest Page in Flatview - Newest Page of the Meme

Love Post - Chatter Post - Searching Post
Concrit Post - Story Announcement Post - Orphan Post
Spoiler Free Prompt Post - Overflow Post

Links to previous prompting parts

OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

sherlock_rant: A place to rant about or discuss anything with few to no restrictions.

sherlock_rpf: This is a kinkmeme for RPF about the show.

sherlockcrit: A multi-fandom betaing/concrit community, with a focus on BBC Sherlock.

sherlockbbc: A community dedicated to the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.
Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

NOTICE: All links on the meme are now being screened because of spambot issues. When you submit a comment containing a link, it will be marked as spam. Please don't worry, the mods will unscreen it as soon as they can.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It had only been a few times when John had woken up in the middle of the night to find Sherlock silently standing beside his bed as if he’d come to check on him, maybe having heard something. It should have been unsettling, and embarrassing too, but it hadn’t. Moreover, those had probably been the only moments when John had felt that Sherlock still cared for his presence at Baker Street, because at other times Sherlock had acted as if John hadn’t been there at all. They had never spoken about these night visits afterwards.

Perhaps Sherlock’s detachment had been one of the reasons that had finally prompted John to settle things with Mary.

The more strange it is to lie beside Sherlock now. It reminds John of his bizarre stag night when they had fallen asleep on the stairs, pressed against each other. It had felt… cozy if just a bit uncomfortable. Like they’d been sleeping together for ages.

Sherlock nuzzles against his shoulder, sighs, drifting off into slumber. John contemplates the thought of texting Mary that he’ll be late, but he doesn’t want to fumble with his mobile and disturb Sherlock. Mary knows he’s at Baker Street. She’ll understand.

John lies staring at the ceiling and with no intention of going to sleep. Later, he’ll slip out of the bed and sneak stealthily into the living-room… Later… In a few minutes… Sherlock’s body is pressed against his side, and strangely, it feels like home. There’s nothing sexual about it; it’s just very comfy.

It’s utterly selfish to be glad that Seb is now out of Sherlock’s life, but John can’t help thinking that it’s good news, especially because Sherlock had said that it wasn’t working for him anyway. John hazily wonders what arrangement they might have had.

The twilight is slowly enveloping the room. John considers what conclusions Mrs. Hudson might draw when it sinks in that he’d stayed for the night, but finds himself realizing that he doesn’t care.

Sherlock’s breathing is hypnotically even. John closes his eyes… for a moment only…

It’s a text alert that wakes him up. Oh hell, it must be Mary worrying where her usually punctual husband might be. Feeling a bit muzzy-headed, John shifts to get to his phone out, but in vain: Sherlock is now clutching at him in his sleep.

“Sherlock,” John calls out softly, trying to dislodge himself from the firm grip. Sherlock suddenly sobs into his shoulder—a strange, muffled sound. It doesn’t look like he’s awake. A bad dream? It’s somehow strange to think of Sherlock having dreams, let alone nightmares.

“Hey?” John calls him again, hesitantly, as Sherlock starts mumbling something utterly incoherent: the only word John manages to catch is his own name. Another barely audible half-sob, half-gasp wrecks through Sherlock’s body.

“Sherlock, that’s getting a bit scary now. Wake up.” John slightly pokes him in the shoulder.

What he gets is unexpected. Sherlock does wake up, or so it seems as he goes stiff and still for a moment, but then he only draws John closer, in a feverish hug, and whispers in a tight voice: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt? Oh god, of course you are.”

Prompting Part XXXV

Fill: The Light Long Gone (5c/?)