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A Bit Better	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3330 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1
- 2
If you haven't read part 1 and 2 you may want to go read those first...
Part 1 - A Bit Not Good
Part 2 - A Bit Worse
Sherlock was dead.
After three years of waiting and the hell they had both been through since his return he was irrecoverably dead. John could feel himself gasping for breaths as he rocked against Sherlock’s chest. Everything he had done to keep him alive, and John had been powerless to help him.
At some point he started muttering incoherently into the other’s chest, begging for him to not be dead, for it to be a trick again. John became so distraught in his state he didn’t notice the gentle hand that covered his weeping shoulder until a gasping breath lifted the chest beneath his cheek.
"John why on earth are you carrying on like that?"
A cough rattled through Sherlock’s body as he attempted to sit up. Discovering he lacked both the strength and drive, he relaxed back down into the mattress.
"Sher--?"
The name caught in Johns throat as he pulled away, thoroughly startled. His eyes blinked rapidly in confusion.
"You're alive?"
His hands skirted across Sherlock's skin as he spoke, feeling his pulse in various locations, his neck, wrists, and finally one hand settled over his heart, tan fingers splayed out over the pale chest. His brows furrowed and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, this time in relief.
"It appears so... Thinking back now, it would be unlikely for Moriarty to actually put my life in danger with Mary and Seb already dead... Perhaps this was meant to scare me into following him had I let you die and him live.... It all seems so clear now.... Why I didn't think of it before is beyond me.. Perhaps I wanted to think the worst to keep from being disappointed if I expected the best and it was the other way round..." He looked up from his rant and slowed as he took in John's state.
The last thing he could remember was asking for tea, the rest of it was mostly images and fleeting emotions. His hand moved up to gently slide over John's fingers and hold them tight.
"Hush now." He cooed softly, "I'm alright, as you have seen so thoroughly yourself. Now help me sit up." Not even alive five minutes and he was already being his pushy self again.
"It must have been some slow acting sedative, one that makes your heart stop for an undisclosed amount of time. I did feel a jolt as I woke. Perhaps a hidden time released center of adrenaline. They could certainly concentrate enough in the center of a capsule to restart ones heart... The tricky part is making sure the body continues to digest even after death. Hmmm I must ponder on this more later John..."
John barely heard the explanation, his mind too dazed to really absorb anything. Quickly he pulled the detective up into his arms, he didn't realize he was rocking slightly, nor did he hear the door open downstairs.
After nearly smothering him to death, again, John pushed him back to the bed. "Did you ask why I was crying?" His mind finally catching up, slowly processing everything that had been said.
"Yes I did, however, I feel it necessary to inform you that Mycroft..." He paused a moment listening, "and Lestrade are coming up the stairs. I think covering myself might be a good idea."
He looked down at his naked body as if to make a point. "We can discuss this further later, for now I feel we must handle the situation at hand..." One arm came up to push John to his side and weakly slid his legs under the duvet and pulled it up over his chest as footsteps entered the sitting room.
Sherlock gave a small yawn, rolling his head to look at John and reaching out to pat his hand gently.
John’s mind was still working in slow motion, but when he heard heavy footfalls making their way down the hall he hurried from the bed, sliding on his trousers, without pants, just as Mycroft softly knocked on the door. Grabbing one of Sherlock’s flannels that had been tossed to the side and throwing it over himself John opened the door and slunk out into the hallway. He needed to talk to someone that was making sense.
Mycroft had already seen into the room, and he had seen his brother tucked into his bed as if he couldn’t be bothered to die today.
“So it was a placebo then?” Mycroft seemed mildly surprised, if that. John reared back.
“No not exactly a placebo... Wait. You’ve gotta be kidding me! Am I the only one that didn’t see this coming?” He was furiously buttoning up Sherlock’s shirt with his good hand to hide the majority of the incriminating marks across his chest.
Mycroft shrugged minutely. “I had my doubts, but I decided to err on the side of caution.” His head cocked to the side and his eyebrows raised slightly.
John’s lips pressed into a thin line, as he shook his head. “And you?” He looked to Lestrade, the only man here that was supposed to be his friend before anything else. “Did you know as well? Let me go on believing he was dying? Again?!” He knew standing out in the hall had been a moot effort, it wasn’t like Sherlock couldn’t hear his every word.
"I had no idea he was even dying mate. I just thought he was being... Well you know, Sherlock." He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Mycroft wouldn't tell me anything, just said we needed to be over here in four hours and to expect the unexpected..."
He gave John a half shrug that clearly said, They're Holmes' what can you do?
"I should think you were relieved in my not passing John. Should I go about it some other way to appease you?" Came the snarky reply from the bedroom, "If you are all going to talk about me where I can hear you, you might as well come in here with me so I don't have to shout..."
Letting his head fall back, John let out a defeated sigh. Pushing the door open and stepping back into the small bedroom he gave Sherlock a soft smile. “Of course I’m relieved Sherlock. Just in shock is all.”
His hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans and the flannel shirt hung awkwardly as he’d missed two buttons in his haste. John could sense the two men hovering behind him, one still worried, the other simply befuddled.
Stepping around John Mycroft moved towards the bed, absentmindedly fingering the various items that lined the shelves. He seemed completely unbothered that his brother was obviously naked beneath the covers, perhaps the fact that he was alive was enough, or maybe he simply didn’t have any sense of privacy when it came to Sherlock. “We really should go back to the hospital brother. You may be alive, the pill obviously still served some sort of purpose. Not to mention the care the rest of your wounds need.”
John brightened slightly as he looked at Mycroft, for once he wasn’t the one telling Sherlock to take care of himself. Normally, of course, John cared for any injuries Sherlock acquired during their adventures, but currently John had a few problems of his own. His adrenaline and the lovely meds he’d been given at the hospital, were both wearing off, making him quite aware of his own battle wounds from the past few days.
"I'm fine..." The detective waved off his brother. He knew John would make him go eventually, but agreeing with something Mycroft had told him to do was far too complacent and dull.
"I feel a bit groggy, and tired, but aside from that nothing really feels out of the normal, I just want to be at home for now thanks..." He crossed his arms, keeping his injured one on top, and looked away from his brother as if to signal that the conversation was over.
"Is that true Sherlock? Or are you just afraid they'll keep you because of all the cocaine you've been taking?" Lestrade's voice seemed to ring out between them, and Sherlock's head snapped back in his direction, proving that yes that was very much a reason he didn't want to go. The younger man didn't say anything however and settled for a glare before turning away once more.
"Are you two quite finished mucking about in our lives?" He asked after a moment, "because I think there are things John and I need to discuss privately."
“There is one more thing,” His brother said, sniffing arrogantly, “There is the matter of the murder of Irene Adler, Mary Moran, and Martin James Roy. I have no doubt that a court will render the death of Martin self defense, and technically there was no record of Irene Adler, but as for Mary Moran...” he trailed off, “We will do all we can to keep your name clear Sherlock, but it will be difficult to do so while you are strung out on drugs. You will need to cover your withdrawals as best you can.”
“It will be a private hearing then?” Sherlock asked, seeming bored.
“Obviously.” Mycroft looked toward John, his eyes silently demanding that he ensure Sherlock was properly cared for. John nodded shortly, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. Mycroft hesitated for a moment before turning on his heel and striding from the room without a word.
Lestrade hesitated, his jaw was set, obviously irritated with the whole situation. He shot Sherlock a glare before following after the older Holmes, muttering, "Keep me updated," to John without even looking at him.
After he heard the door to the sitting room close, a little harder than necessary, John returned to the bed. He didn't know how to act now, it had been simple before. Now Sherlock was alive, and he'd gone and acted as if it wasn't a good thing. Sitting on the edge so he was facing Sherlock his lips pulled to the side nervously.
"I'm sorry Sherlock. That wasn't... I was just shocked." His eyes met Sherlocks adamantly.
"Perhaps I should get you a blanket?" He interrupted, his voice sounded more irritated than he actually was, "For god’s sake you've been thinking so loud my brain actually hurts, just come over here and shut up." His agitated fingers began tapping at the sheets nervously, the only tick that belied his addiction and how much the events had actually taken their toll on him.
"I don't feel like going anywhere just now, and I've lost a lot of blood and some friend of mine had gotten me used to sleeping normally before this all happened. I'd like to take a nap before the poking and prodding begins." His tone was haughty but it didn't hide the fact that the hand resting in the empty space beside him was an invitation for the soldier to join him.
Let out a heavy breath Johns shoulders relaxed. “Yeah alright.” He said as he fell into the open space, his body fitting snugly against Sherlocks. John wasn’t too well off himself, he was exhausted and his entire body ached, not to mention the emotional turmoil he had been through. “Don’t think this is getting you out the poking and the prodding.” He teased as he carefully situated himself so he wasn’t putting too much pressure on his arm. His better hand lacing with Sherlock’s as he stared up at the white ceiling.
His body relaxed, but his mind whirled. Moriarty was dead, Sherlock was alive. It was over, they were safe. And they had just had sex. There had been something between them before that of course, but this was Sherlock. Sherlock marriedtomywork Holmes.
“So.” John started, his voice just above a whisper, “You said we have things to discuss, or was that just to get your brother out of here?”
Sherlock allowed the doctor to cuddle up to him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders lightly. He would never tell him, but it was extremely comforting to feel the other's weary body against his own.
"It served more than one purpose. It did get my tedious brother to leave, and I assumed you would want to talk. All I can offer is to listen and input where I can. You of all people should know that emotions are one of my few weaknesses, talking about them even more so." His lithe fingers gently tapped against John's knuckles but their urgency was gone for the moment.
"You assumed right, but you always do..." His voice trailed off as he lowered his gaze, watching Sherlocks small movements against his hand. "I won't beat around the bush with it then. What are we?"
He turned his head so his nose was gently brushing Sherlock’s cheek. His voice was level, and as emotionally stable as he could manage.
Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question. He felt like a child that had been given a question to answer that was far beyond his cognitive abilities. He'd spent all his life studying so that he never had to encounter this feeling, but nothing could have prepared him for such a loaded question.
It was obvious to him how much John had invested in his life and vice versa, and he'd never felt the overwhelming need to touch and protect someone as he did with John, but what did that make them? Boyfriends seemed like such a flamboyant and juvenile term in his mind, colleagues didn't really sum them up either. He supposed partners or significant others were the terms of choice among homosexual males their age. But then again they didn't really fit into that category, as he was not generally sexually attracted to anyone, and John seemed to cling to the term straight like a life jacket. But the more he thought about it, the last two did seem to fit. They were partners, as John would follow him all over London if he asked, and even Anderson could tell John was significant to him.
However, he didn't say any of this for a long time, and when he finally spoke, he opted for something that would lighten the doctor's spirits and perhaps distract him from the heaviness of the day. The added bonus of frustrating John incessantly by being obstinate was a guilty pleasure of his.
"We'll John, if you must know, we are males of the genus homosapien. You are a retired Army doctor that inflicts his opinions upon the unsuspecting world through your blog, and I am the most brilliant mind of my time. However I settle for the modest role of consulting detective."
He wasn't looking at John and he was finding his typical emotionless expression harder to come by than usual. He bit the inside of his lip to discourage the corners of his mouth from curling up.
Giving Sherlock a gentle shove, mindful of both their injuries, John turned away, looking back at the blank ceiling. “You would say that.” He muttered irritably. His lips quirked to the side as he tried to think of something that wouldn’t provoke such a snarky response.
John knew what he wanted to ask, it was forming the words that was posing the problem.
“Do you remember everything? Before you... lost consciousness I mean.” John had told the bloody man that he loved him, and he was making jokes about them being homosapiens. Johns fingers fidgeted in Sherlock’s hand as he stared at pointedly at the ceiling.
Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief at John’s slight change of topic. He knew the bugger would get back around to it eventually. It was his way, figuring out how to work his way back up to the questions he wanted answering without Sherlock realizing it sometimes.
“I remember sending you away to make tea, because I could tell whatever I took was starting to break down. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and I didn’t think you’d want to see projectile vomit or intense bleeding if it came to that. I remember being, hot, then cold, and then hearing glass break.” His eyebrows knit together as the picture became foggier in his mind, like a dream. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples in attempt to catch the tails slipping through his fingers.
“I remember your hands on my face, and you were saying something.. but I can’t hear it in my mind.” he let his hands fall back to their place as he let the memory swim away from him finally, “And I remember saying something clever, and then numbness...” he trailed off as if the fact that he couldn’t recall specifics were truly devastating to him.
Trying not to sound disappointed John moved on, again letting the unresolved issue lie yet again. Sherlock didn’t remember, and for all John knew, that might be for the best. Choosing his words carefully, his eyes never faltering as he began to see shapes in the uneven surface of the ceiling above him, John continued.
“And everything that happened before that... Was that...” He stuttered slightly, “Would that have happened had you not been drugged?” Part of John really wasn’t sure, Sherlock had been faced with death, or what they thought was his death, and he’d been high off of cocaine for the better part of a day. Yes Sherlock had kissed him at the Christmas Party, but now they had crossed into completely foreign territory. Even John was a bit lost emotionally.
Their relationship had already been an enigma to him, but he had been growing to accept it, no matter how new and different it was. But this was different. He was at a loss.
“Would I have engaged in sexual intercourse with you?” Sherlock thought for a long moment on how best to answer that question. If he had not known he was going to die, would he have pressed things the way he did? Would he have rushed into that physical aspect of a relationship?
Letting his eyes slip closed and his head loll sideways to rest on John’s, he finally decided to speak. “If I had not thought I was going to die, I would not have... instigated things to that level.” He took a deep breath and fell silent again. He could feel the tension growing thick in the air, felt John’s muscles tensing at his response, and realized that he might have been a bit too vague that time.
“John do not misunderstand me.” he pulled away finally, and moved so that he was looking into John’s eyes, his gaze calm and unwavering. “I do not regret what we did. But look at it logically from my point of view. I have suspected for a long time that things were... changing between us. The dynamic was different, we were closer, and more intimate, but I knew you weren’t ready to face it. Then I let them talk me into pushing you into a corner underneath the plastic plant... and you ran away from me. Then you got yourself kidnapped and I had to traipse all over London to find you. If that all happened from one kiss when you weren’t ready... to scale the entire earth might have been destroyed if I’d pressed you further. Perhaps the earth is too dramatic, but my world at least, would have been destroyed.”
In that moment his eyes were serious. What he was saying sounded juvenile, but when he thought about it logically it made sense.The negative reaction to pressuring John into a kiss was already so drastic, taking things further would have meant annihilation of everything they’d strived to accomplish since he’d returned from his three year death jaunt.
“But…” John started, his brow furrowing as he met Sherlock’s gaze, “We’ve gone far beyond a kiss under the mistletoe Sherlock, and as far as I can tell the earth still seems to be rotating. So we went farther, and our world didn’t collapse...” He took a breath, his eyes cutting away from Sherlocks finally. “I only meant to go for a walk you know. What Moriarty did, that wasn’t an effect of you kissing me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the kiss. If that wasn’t already evident, I rather enjoyed it up until the point that, you know, it ended and I had to face everyone.”
Sherlock had been so worried about protecting John, easing him into whatever insane relationship they had formed, that he seemed to have failed to realize John did want this as much, if not more, as he did.
“At the time I had no evidence to suggest that you were feeling the same attachment I was other than my own inference, and you and I both know that social grace is not my forte. To further argue my point, it was because of my supposed imminent death that you were ready to take such a step with me, where areas, at the christmas party I can only assume you were still wildly confused about whether you were gay or whether it was just me you were attracted to. Therefore my logic is still sound that had you not been ready, I would not have instigated such things, because as you say, that would have been... tell me would it have been rude or selfish?” He waved off the question as if it really didn’t matter, the results were the same.
“And if you are worried that my actions were merely the side effects of a drug induced high then clearly you are not as versed in your knowledge of me as you seem to think.” A hand reached out and brushed a thumb against John’s cheek.
“I am no waxing poetic John. I’m barely good with words that a typical passerby can understand. All I know is that for my entire life the thought of touching someone for anything other than gathering information was repulsive. I once retched after a girl in university hugged me on a whim. Something about you makes me want to seek out your touch John. I’m sure even you can infer the magnitude of confusion and inexperience this revelation has thrust upon me.”
Covering Sherlock’s hand with his own John pressed his cheek into the others palm. “This is confusing for me too Sherlock. I don’t expect anything different out of you.” John found he was much more relaxed now that Sherlock had suddenly opened up so much. “I was scared before, unrightly so honestly, but I was. It wasn’t that I was worried about being gay or not, I knew I had feelings for you, that wasn’t the issue. I just didn’t know how to be open about that fact when I have identified as a straight soldier my entire adult life. I still don’t know I guess, but I do know I want... something... I don’t expect you to be my boyfriend,” He put an emphasis on the term that made it obvious he was not interested in it at all. “Hell I don’t want you to be any different than you are... But we’ve already crossed a line, and I don’t know where that leaves us.” He realized he’d been rambling slightly, probably making things even more confusing for Sherlock.
“I just want to know what you want Sherlock. Do you want this? A relationship?”
John chewed at his lip, his expression open and curious all at once.
Sherlock didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to peg this down and call it something he wasn’t even sure if it was. He wanted to spend the rest of his life running with John. Thoughts of what they’d done earlier filled his mind and he decided he'd like more of that too if given the chance. But as his eyes slipped down over John, taking in his haggard face, the bandages on his arms, he couldn’t help but think that being close to Sherlock was not something that was necessarily safe or sane for John to want. Perhaps it was the loneliness that had driven them together. Maybe there really was something there, but the detective was not about to lay down any kind of boundaries. He would leave his request open, so that if anything happened, there would always be an out.
“Why do we have to have a definite answer?” He asked, his mind racing to think of how to word this right, “Why can’t we just learn about it together?” He rubbed a hand over his brow in frustration, he hated talking about emotions, it always made him feel so juvenile.
“Obviously we both enjoyed our sexual encounter earlier. It would have been difficult to proceed with it had that not been the case. I enjoy your company, you generally enjoy mine, and we already sleep together to keep nightmares at bay. Why not just... what is that phrase.... ‘let the waves take us out to sea’ I don’t know...” he looked at John almost desperately, needing him to understand his meaning
Nodding a little too vigorously John offered Sherlock a half smile. “We don’t need a definite answer, I just needed to know that we were on the same page here. That’s fine, it’s all fine.” He thought about asking about them being exclusive, but dismissed the thought. Like Sherlock had said, this wasn’t something he did.
So they would play it by ear, John was fine with that. They were best friends, flatmates, shagbuddies... John had to stop his mind there, it wasn’t really helping him come to terms. Something deep in his mind reminded him that Sherlock wouldn’t get better at talking about his emotions. This limbo could become their normal.
Pushing the thought away quickly John nuzzled in closer, determined to carry on now that things were settled, or as settled as they would be. “We’re supposed to be taking a nap aren't we?” He pulled Sherlock against him softly, tugging on his fingers until the detectives body was draped behind his.
Sherlock nodded softly, his mind still in a whirlwind of insecurities.
“Yes... we were weren’t we...” His fingers were pulled so that his arms were wrapped around John’s chest, instinctually pulling him in and threading a long leg over and back through John’s. For the first time in several days, Sherlock felt a semblance of peace fall over him. His arms rested low on John’s hips and suddenly he was very aware of three things. He was very naked, John was very not, and the doctor was wearing the detective’s plaid shirt.
Sighing readily, he blew hot air against the doctor’s ear as his hand tugged lazily at one of the buttons low on the shirt, close to the top of his jeans. He only spoke one word to convey what he wanted.
“Off....”
The breath on his ear mingled with the command made a shiver run down Johns spine. He rolled his shoulders against the detective and chuckled softly as small hairs along the base of his neck stood up. "Oh.. Not up for sharing?" He teased as his hand found hold on the buttons of the shirt, essentially halting Sherlocks efforts.
“You’re a little overdressed,” He grumbled, fingers pressing underneath the shirt and fingering over his ribs like the strings of his violin. Softly, he let his fingers drift upwards, moving up over the tight muscles beneath warm skin. He hummed approvingly when his fingers reached the hollow of John’s throat, and started the slow slide back down. Closing his eyes he let his fingers massage small circles back down until they slid across John’s lower abdomen, fingers brushing against his beltline.
“I don’t really want to get chafed while we’re sleeping either.” His thumb hooked in the front of the man’s jeans and popped the button. “So I repeat. Off.”
John was beginning to realize just how intoxicating Sherlock’s voice could be. His breath hitched for a second as the command was repeated, this time he didn't hesitate. His fingers were fumbling with the buttons of the flannel quickly and soon enough he was shimmying out of the denim trousers, determined to lose the garments without pulling away from the detective.
Sherlock’s body felt comfortably warm next to his. The skin on skin contact was still deliciously new and exciting. "Better?" He quipped lacing his hand back through Sherlocks.
His fingers threaded through John’s, pulling him tight against his body, his hips fitting right against the swell of the John’s backside. His leg slipped between John’s and his nose tucked behind the other’s ear.
“That’s better.” he said, a sigh brushing down the back of the smaller man’s neck, “Get better soon so I don’t have to go to the hospital.” His thumb brushed over the back of a hand as he settled in for some much needed sleep.

A/N: Yeah okay.. we lied. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, we will be updating every sunday for now. Enjoy =)
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A Bit Better