Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

A Bit Better	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3330 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We do not own/have no affiliation with BBC's Sherlock or ACD Sherlock Holmes. No profit is made from this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Sherlock swore that Mycroft would be the death of him. Somehow, the man had known exactly when and where John was dragging him to be treated, and had showed up just as the nurse slipped out to get the phlebotomist to run an IV. They wanted to keep Sherlock overnight to flush his body of toxins and monitor his levels. Of course, Sherlock swore up and down that John could do that from the flat but the nurse just smiled sweetly and patted his hand like he was an oversized lap dog.
He’d looked to John for help but the doctor hadn’t seemed to take his side either and so he resorted to pouting. When his brother walked in, minus the labrador like DI that was usually in tow these days, he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.
“As if my day couldn’t get any worse, you decided to burden us with your presence.” He grumbled but even the insult was half hearted.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows at his younger brother before turning to John. “I assume you’re both doing well then?”
Most of John’s injuries had been treated when they’d been rushed to the hospital the first time round, so this visit had been all about Sherlock. He was leaning back in one of the hospital chairs, his bandaged on arms crisp and clean, just replaced. Chuckling softly John nodded, “Yeah we’re fine. Turns out there was no real permanent damage to either of us, nothing of consequence anyways.” Though Sherlock had made it very clear scars were permanent and did count. Jerking his head toward the miffed ginger he continued, “He’s just a little worked up right now. They’re still working everything out of his system.”
That was an understatement. The couple had slept for close to eleven hours when John awoke from Sherlock writhing in his sleep, and as soon as John had woke him it became evident he was going through withdrawals. Surprisingly it had been easier to convince Sherlock to go to the hospital in this state, his mind too addled to coherently voice his refusal.
Cocking his head to the side Mycroft gave John a look that could only be seen as condescending. “Honestly John? And you think he’d be more amiable if he was in good health?” Shaking his head he turned back to Sherlock.
“They recovered Moriarty’s body from the Thames, it washed up on shore a little ways down. A full autopsy has been performed, and it appears the man was plagued by Alzheimers, that of course explains the sudden need to find the best and brightest.” Mycroft said this as if it was basic knowledge, John popped up from his chair to stand beside the elder Holmes, looking back
and forth between the two.
“What do you mean? The man was a lunatic, how does that explain anything?” John’s brows pinched together slightly as he waited for one of them to explain.
“It means John,” Sherlock said, as if explaining why two and two together was four, “that his mind would have deteriorated slowly, effectively losing his mind piece by piece. I’m sure you can imagine what that would do to someone with a mind like mine.” Sherlock swallowed at the unintentional comparison to himself and covered his uncomfort by rolling his eyes as if John was the most daft man in the world.
“He wanted to find someone to carry on his legacy. He wanted someone as cunning and ruthless as himself to continue on the name of Moriarty and the consulting criminal. But, on the other hand, if things ended with a less than expected result, at least he was dying his way and not slowly slipping away. That would be a horrible way to die.” He suppressed a shudder, and finally looked back at the two.
“If that’s all you came for Mycroft, I think John is company enough for me up here. You would have them keep me an extra two days if you could and I won’t be having any of that.” He crossed his arms like a petulant child and glared at his brother through half lidded eyes. Just then there was a knock on the door.
“I’m here to put in your IV Mr. Holmes!” Came a bright voice from the cracked hospital door. Sherlock looked at John, his eyebrows drawn together and lips curved down slightly. Do I really have to do this? However, when he found no sympathy, he sighed and called for the nurse to come in.
As the young woman bustled in and began preparing the IV Mycroft gave Sherlock a placating smile. "I came by to check on you brother, make sure you were being taken care of. I wouldn't dream of making your stay any longer than necessary. Might be considered cruel and unusual punishment to the poor staff." The young woman stopped and stared between the men for a moment, slightly caught off guard by the statement. Sherlock simply threw out his arm, desperate for it to all be over.
Unperturbed Mycroft went on in the same bored drawl. "You know Mummy heard of everything that happened... She's very worried. When you are free of this place I must insist you go visit her."
John who had been watching the phlebotomist out of habit, making sure she was mindful of the damage already there in the crook of his arm, popped up at this. He had only met 'Mummy Holmes' once before, and under rather terrible circumstances. "That would be lo-"
"Absolutely not." He said, cutting off John’s words. Sherlock wasn't looking at either of them, instead he was staring out the window. "As much as mummy wants to see me I doubt she wants to see her son strung out on drugs. No. Absolutely not. Not until I'm...." He trailed off trying to think of the right word.
"Better." He finished flatly.
"I will hold you to that." Mycroft deadpanned before giving John a small nod and turning on his heel from the room. If possible the girl now adjusting the IV bags looked even more nervous with Mycroft gone.
John waited the few extra seconds as she finished and rushed out after Mycroft, muttering to call the nurses if we needed anything. Once it was just him and Sherlock he stepped closer, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I know it's not the best circumstances, but I'm sure she'd really like to see you." His brow furrowed as he met defiant green eyes.
"I mean did she even know that you weren't dead the past three years? When was the last time you saw her?" John knew it had to have been before his ‘death’, even if she'd known Sherlock wouldn't have risked seeing anyone. He didn't know the woman very well but she had been incredibly kind to him and John felt they owed her that much.
Sherlock let out a small growl of irritation as he ran his hands through his hair, bandaged fingers on his left hand making it difficult for him. When he had calmed a little, he returned his attention to John. His eyes were sharp and irritated, but there was a small warmth beneath it, belying that he appreciated Johns concern, even just minimally.
"John, I know you have this incessant need to talk about every small detail but I do not want to talk about this now. My decision is final." He looked away again, tried to cross his arms and grew frustrated again when he couldn't because of the IV. He settled for steepling them under his chin and tried to calm his irate mind.
John’s mouth opened, as if he might try and argue, gearing up to present the case for letting his mother come see him and cut his line of thinking without even opening his eyes. "John, don't pester me, I'm sick, look I've got an IV and everything..."
Shaking his head John snapped his jaw closed, he’d drop the subject, for now. It probably wasn’t best to engage Sherlock at this point anyways. Dragging the closest chair over to sit beside the white hospital cot John settled in for the evening. He pulled out a tattered novel, the same one he’d been reading the night Sherlock had turned up on the stoop. Odd as it was things finally seemed to be falling into place.
Doctors came in and out checking on Sherlock, the nurses made their rounds observing his vitals and asking him about the pain and symptoms, and after a long time, Sherlock seemed to be relaxing. His eyes were beginning to drift when he finally shifted over on his side to watch the doctor read.
“You’ve not finished it yet.” It was more of a statement than a question.
Peeking over the top of his book a wry smile found its way to John’s lips. “I’ve been a bit busy as of late, so no I hadn’t finished.”
“Read to me?” The slight questioning tone at the end was only to keep it from sounding like a demand as he pillowed his head on one hand, the other extended to keep the IV from digging into his veins. His eyes were heavy, but he wanted to hear John’s voice as he drifted off. He’d spent too much time worrying he’d never hear it again to spend the rest of his time in silence.
Letting the book drop slightly he studied Sherlock carefully. “You sure?” The book was a Hercule Poirot mystery novel, something Sherlock was sure to deduce a few pages in and berate John for spending time with in the first place. He was holding the book open with his thumb, cradling the spine in his hand. Letting the hand holding up the book drop to his lap he leaned forward a bit, his free hand reaching for the remote on the other side of Sherlock. “I can turn on the telly if it’s too quiet.”
“John.” he stopped the hand as it reached across him, catching it with the one not tucked beneath his head, “If I had wanted the telly on, I would have said so.” He wasn’t looking at the blonde, his eyes were closed as if he didn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore as he pulled the hand back down against the mattress.
“I’ve asked for you to read to me. If you do not wish to, you merely have to say so.” His fingers curled over John’s slightly, unwilling to break the contact just yet, “However if you refuse, know I will bother you until you do.”
John’s lips quirked to the side slightly in amusement, the familiar snarky attitude was almost reassuring at this point. Lacing his fingers up through Sherlock’s he flipped back to the first page and began reading and after no time John could see him relaxing, his fingers laxed in John’s and his brow softened. He was happy to take him away from the dreary hospital room, even if it was just for a short while.
The timbre of John’s voice had almost instantly put the detective into a dreamy half sleep, and he felt the fingers tighten around his when John thought he had fallen into slumber. He was glad to hear him continue to read anyway, and felt his lips curling upwards. He didn’t have the consciousness to stop it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. So, with John reading aloud to him and their fingers twined together, Sherlock fell into his first dreamless sleep since waking up Christmas Eve morning.
----------------------------------------------------------------
“John I am not an invalid! I can quite manage the stairs on my own without you coddling me!”
The detective shook John’s hand off his arm and burst through the door to 221B and gulped down the familiar smell of books and chemicals. Carefully he slipped his coat off of his arms and hung it up on the peg next to his belstaff and ran his fingers along the edge of the bandage they’d placed on his burn. He’d contracted an infection while in the hospital thank to his immune system being practically as exhausted as he had been due to the cocaine. They’d kept him for two more days until the infection had been cleared. He had almost murdered someone out of boredom.
John had been his only saving grace, bringing books to read him and card games that usually ended with Sherlock tossing the cards across the room. Now he sank into his familiar chair and relaxed bonelessly into the familiar feel of it for a moment before lifting his violin from where it sat near the bookshelf. He was tuning it lovingly when John finally made it through the door with the small bag of supplies and medicine that the hospital had sent home with them. Gauze for both of their injuries, and a long list of tablets for Sherlock to take to help aid him in the coming months through his addiction and to deal with the lingering infection.
“Now all I need is a cup of tea.” he mused more to himself than John as his fingers ran up and down the strings, plinking out a familiar tune.
Leaving the bags on the sofa John moved to his own chair, falling into it softly. “May I refer to your previous statement?” John quipped as he leaned back, watching Sherlock carefully as he tried to place the melody, “What was it? ‘I am not an invalid.’ “ he mimicked playfully, slipping off his shoes. John knew in the end he would go make tea for the both of them, and he didn’t mind, because that was their normal.
He watched Sherlock for a moment more before giving up on placing the tune and standing again to make the tea. His own injuries were healing with little difficulties, the worst being the deep gash running up his right arm. The hospital had stitched it up, all he had to do really was keep the dressings clean now. Still as he walked he kept the arm bent close to his chest instinctively. Opening the fridge John let out a sad sigh, muttering to himself softly about never having milk as he turned away to turn on the electric tea pot.
Preparing their cups so all that was needed was the water, John leaned against the counter, gazing back out into the sitting room. He considered saying something, asking about what it was Sherlock was playing, how he was feeling, but decided against it. Instead he simply watched, basking in the fact that they were home. As hard as the next few months would prove to be, it was finally all over.
The plinking stopped and Sherlock looked up to find John watching him. It had been a while since he’d been under the scrutiny of the smaller man’s gaze in such a relaxed setting, and it made his chest flush to find himself being watched with such an intensity. His fingers stretched out over the neck of the violin, and he attempted to pluck a few more notes before he put it away..
The past few days had left little time to talk or act on their new found relationship. Now, as he sat here, watching John watching him, he realized that he wanted nothing more than to have the doctor pliant under his hands again. Was this a typical human response after such extremes?
He supposed so, and if not, John was sure to comment on it when he acted upon the desire. He tried his best to keep the lust out of his eyes as he cocked his head to the side and let the corner of his lips lift in a semblance of a smile. He’d let the doctor come to him, he’d seem less eager that way, and eager was the last thing he wanted John to assume he was.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Bit Better