Hello! This is my entry for the Sherlock fanfic theme hour!
I'm super pleased to bring this to you, as I have been suffering from some major writer's block, and this was just what I needed to get my creativity flowing! So thank you for this opportunity. c:
I might polish this up a bit later and publish it on AO3, depending on how I like it in the morning, so please don't repost it anywhere else. In the meantime, please enjoy the first draft! Thank you!
This one-shot features established Johnlock and a lot of unspecified anxiety.
Within This Singing Skin
Soft grey light filtered into the room through a break in the curtains, the chorus of pre-dawn birds and the first sounds of morning traffic seeping in to fill the gaps in the shadows that the light was leaving. Sherlock was sitting upright in bed, back propped against a mound of pillows, staring unfocused at the wall opposite. He'd been sat there for hours now, stomach twisting itself into too many knots to sleep, no matter how many times he went through the elements of the periodic table (normally a calming action, like 'counting sheep') or tried to school his breathing to a more meditative state.
It was times like these, when Sherlock felt himself getting overwhelmed, that he normally turned to organisation, to an experiment, any kind of distraction, really. It was an itching against his skin, something hammering inside him desperate to be free, it was the need to run and run and keep on running despite his legs feeling heavier than lead.
Sherlock closed his eyes again, pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids under he saw patterns of light appear in his vision. He watched them dance until the pressure of his hands became too much to bear and he had to lower them, blinking as his vision returned to normal and readjusted to the thin morning light.
This wasn't helping. None of this was helping. Sherlock wanted to scream, wanted to crawl right out of his skin, felt much too big within it. What he wouldn't give for the ability to peel his flesh back, shed his physical form entirely, allow his mind to wander fresh and free like some ungodly butterfly. He felt his physicality like a brand against his skin.
It was too much. This was all too much, and he knew it would last until he found some alternative to sitting there and allowing his own mind to torture him. How long had it been? It felt like hours, could have been seconds. Only the growing shadows, stretched by the rising sun, indicated that he had been there for at least an hour, probably more. He could not trust his perception of time when he got like this, not that it was ever particularly accurate even when he felt fine.
A soft sigh startled Sherlock out of his thoughts, and he snapped his head left and downwards, eyes falling on John, who was blinking slowly awake. He looked softer like that, wrinkles formed by expression smoothed out with ease and the forgiving light, hair mussed by sleep and flopping onto his forehead now he'd allowed it to grow out longer.
"Sher..." John mumbled with a drowsy smile, his eyes flicking up over Sherlock. When they reached his face, they paused their ascent, and John tilted his head. Evidently, he could see how Sherlock was feeling in that single glance. Silence beat between them a moment, then John shifted onto his side, extending his arms as an offer for Sherlock crawl in. After a second of indecision, Sherlock obliged him and lay down, tucking himself in against John's chest. He closed his eyes as John's arms slid around him, wrapped him up in a protective embrace.
"Been awake long, love?" John asked quietly, voice softened by sleep and the knowledge that too much noise might make things worse for Sherlock.
Quiet stretched out between them as Sherlock failed to reply for a full minute, battling an internal conflict just to make his feelings known.
"Long enough." He finally replied, voice sounding too loud for his own ears, too deep, too much, though he'd barely spoken above a whisper. John gave a slight nod, as though this confirmed what he had expected to hear.
"Alright. We'll rest a while longer, see if this es, and if you're still awake in a couple of hours, I'll get up and make us some tea. Okay?" John suggested, and Sherlock, having no alternative plan, nodded, grateful for John's , his understanding.
For the next few hours, Sherlock lay against John, eyes closed to focus on the presence of him, allowing his warmth to soothe the tension in his muscles, his heartbeat to regulate his breathing, his occasional quiet reassurances to steady his mind and prevent it from spiralling away from him.
And when sunlight spilled into the room, casting it gold and bright, and John saw that Sherlock was still awake, he remained true to his word. Pushing Sherlock's fringe back to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, John slid from the bed to make them a cup of tea.
Love could not rid Sherlock of the heaviness is his bones, nor the tiredness in his mind, nor could it make his skin stop singing. But it could make it more bearable, at least, and Sherlock felt more at ease waiting for John to return than he had done all night.
Comments (4)
This is the cutest thing omg!!
^~^ Thanks!
I loved it!
Thank you!