bakerstreet | On Your Doorstep

On Your Doorstep

They ended up on your doorstep, quite literally. Bloody, possibly. Bruised, most definitely, though the wounds may be mental. You probably don't know them from Adam, yet you couldn't find it in you to turn them away - whether they wanted you to or not. So you opened up your home, just for a little while.

But it's getting to be more than a little while. Both of you are finding a comfort zone, because you didn't simply open up your home. Admit it or don't, but you've opened up your heart all the same.

Their's is slowly following, if its reluctant at all.

1. Comment with your character, preferences, & what role you'd like to play.

2. Tag others.

3. Thread

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[Sherlock answers the door just a couple seconds after John knocked. He'd heard from Lestrade what had happened and he'd had the internal battle against his instinct to go poke his nose into whatever had happened and the logical knowledge that John would come to him before going anywhere else.

There'd been no kidnapping, so that meant he had nothing to do but wait.]

Get inside!

[He snaps at him, but there's no anger behind it. Just fear that someone unsavoury might have followed him. He puts his hand on John's shoulder and ushers him in, then he closes the door behind him. He calls for Mrs. Hudson to bring up some supplies for a baby, but he's too busy fussing over John to explain what for.]

[ John's still in a bit of a daze. The only thing he knows is that he feels safe with Sherlock and that he can't let anything happen to his daughter.

Quietly, sinking down onto the stairs because he can't seem to make his legs work anymore, ]

Sherlock--I...

You're a bloody idiot!

[Literally and figuratively. Sherlock could smell the blood when he opened the door and even Lestrade would be able to tell that the amount of damage John had taken is a bit not good. He doesn't want to make the calculation of how much blood he's lost because he needs to focus on keeping him from losing more.]

Mrs. Hudson can handle the baby. I'm taking you upstairs.

[He moves in to scoop the baby out of John's arms. She shouldn't be bathing in her father's blood, anyway.]

[ John wrenches away when Sherlock moves in to take the baby, his reflex being to snap, ]

No!

[ After what he had experienced in trying to protect her. But it's enough to make the child whine, face scrunching up at being woken up. ]

John, you're in no condition to hold a baby. Mrs. Hudson can take care of the baby while I keep you from passing out and crushing her.

[Sherlock cringes a bit when the baby starts to cry. He's not sure how to make it stop squalling like that, so he hopes Mrs. Hudson knows how to handle the situation.]

As soon as you're patched up, I'll bring her upstairs myself.

[ He's starting to shake, which just makes the baby cry more, ]

You promise?

I'll protect her with my life if I must.

[Sherlock holds his arms out for the baby. By now, Mrs. Hudson's fretting near her flat door. It won't take a moment to hand off the child to the landlady, then he can assess the damage done to John.]

[ John watches Sherlock and then looks to Mrs. Hudson before finally handing the baby over, telling her it'll be alright. His hands and arms are trembling, the adrenaline and blood loss getting to him finally.

He's got at least two fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, bruises forming all over including on his face, busted lip and cuts from a knife being sliced at him. He had managed to avoid being stabbed, at least. ]

Fetch supplies and take her to the top storey.

[As soon as Sherlock's done speaking the order, he turns to get a look at John. With a sigh of relief, he decides none of the injuries appear immediately life threatening. He might have to stitch up a few of the defensive wounds on his arms, but other than that, he can rely on minor first aide and medications.]

As soon as you're cleaned up, we'll bring her back down to the flat.

[His flat. Their flat. He doesn't feel like getting caught up in the details.]

[ John continues to watch Sherlock as soon as the baby is out of view, reaching up with a trembling hand to cup the other man's cheek. Gently, slowly, he rubs a thumb along the skin.

He had been worried he would never see him again. He remembers that now. As he had been fighting. Not just for his daughter but for Sherlock, too. ]

[Sherlock blinks a few times rapidly, looking at John for a few seconds. The odd bit of tender emotion and physical impulse is enough to catch him off-guard.]

Just stay with me, John. Let's get you upstairs.

[He wraps an arm around John's waist to help support him. Between that and the handrail, it shouldn't be too much for them.]

I'm going to need you to walk me through some of this, alright?

[ He hisses at the arm going around his waist, flinching. ]

My ribs.

[ But he hooks an arm around Sherlock's neck, willing himself to take a step once he's up. He grits out, ]

You know how to stitch, don't you?

Sorry.

[Sherlock moves his hand lower to grab at John's hip instead of his side.]

Yeah, I know how to stitch up a wound.

[He doesn't know how to do it like a medical professional, though. He'll leave ugly scars with the work he does, but it's a price to pay to keep John alive and out of Moriarty's or Mary's or whoever's done this's reach. Whoever it is wouldn't be dumb enough to come in and face him head on, would they?

He turns his head away from John and calls out for Mrs. Hudson to phone Lestrade.]

[ John's trying his damnedest to keep his breathing regulated, calm. And to keep his eyes open. Don't pass out, John Watson. At least wait until getting to the damn sofa. ]

They--they won't be there.

[ Even if John had left them on the floor, David was groaning as he left with the baby. ]

John. Stay with me.

[Sherlock can see the colour draining from John's face. Fainting halfway up the stairs would be dangerous for an assortment of reasons. He adjusts his hold so he'll be able to keep him up even if he starts to go down.

It feels like it takes ages to get into to flat and lay John on the sofa. Bloodstains be damned, he can reupholster the furniture later. He hovers over his friend, patting at his cheek a couple of times to make sure he's still responsive. He wants to know more details, but it'll have to wait until he can get some fluids - water and pickle juice for electrolytes - into John and the sutures started.

He's only out of the living room for three minutes. When he returns, he'll have the medical kit and the two drinking glasses.]

We need to get your clothes off.

[Not all of his clothes, just from the waist up, but he's in too much of a hurry to correct himself.]

[ John will barely be conscious when Sherlock comes back, weakly getting out, ]

Have... at it.

[ Sherlock said he could stitch, so he's going to hold him to that. He's trying to stay awake and aware but he's already fading in and out. ]

[Sherlock stands over John while he unbuttons and unzips everything with buttons and zips, then he holds him up with one hand to start taking his clothes off layer by layer. When he's nude from the waist up, he lays him down again.]

You need to drink something.

[He picks up the pickle juice first.]

Here.

[He holds the cup to John's mouth and tilts it a little.]

[ The smell it what wakes him up, groaning softly and turning his head away. His expression is a mixture of pained and disgust. ]

Ugh. What are--stop it.

You need salts or you're going to pass out. We don't have sports drinks, so this will have to do. Now drink.

[Sherlock starts to tilt the cup again.]

I'll give you water after to rinse the taste out of your mouth.

[ John weakly shoves at Sherlock, still keeping his head turned away. ]

I'm not drinking that!

Give me water now!

[ Doctors always tend to make the worst patients. ]

If you were treating me, what would you do?

[Sherlock pours some of the water into the pickle juice, then he tries again.]

There. I've diluted it and you're wasting time.

[At least the slice appears to be an oozer and not a gusher.]

[ If it were John, he'd hold Sherlock's nose and force it down. But like hell was he telling Sherlock that.

He keeps his head turned away, ]

I'd rather pass out.

John, you've got a crying newborn downstairs and you want me to let you pass out? You're wasting time.

[Sherlock's frustrated, so he sets the glass on the edge of the table so John can lean over and pick it up if he wants. He needs to clean the wound and sterilise his instruments, which he starts to do by picking up his bottle of distilled water - the same one he uses for his kitchen experiments - and holds it over John's arm.]

I'm going to flush the wound, then I'll clean it with alcohol.

[ He whips his head around to look at the other man, ignoring for the moment how the room was spinning. ]

You are wasting time. Get on with it!

[ He has had a long, trying night to say the least. He is in no mood to be pushed around further. Even if Sherlock has a valid point. ]

Am I?

[Sherlock shakes the distilled water bottle a bit before he squeezes it and sends a steady stream of water into the wound.]

I guess that means you don't want me to warn you about what I'm doing.

[It doesn't matter much on his end since he isn't the one that will need to brace himself for the onslaught of pain. All of this is his way of trying to be gentle and caring, but it's discouraging with a grumpy patient.]

Your drink's right there. Feel free to take it up any time.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject