dani_meows (dani_meows) wrote in bipolardanicats, @ 2011-10-01 18:19:00 |
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Current mood: | awake |
Law of the Preservation of Sherlock's Sanity
Title: Law of the Preservation of Sherlock's Sanity
Fandom:Sherlock BBC
Pairing:Sherlock/John
Rating:PG
Word Count:400
Notes: Written for prompt 55 law.
What was happening now was against the law (the scientific definition of something that can not ever be disobeyed like gravity) John not being here in the aftermath of yet another close call, Sherlock not knowing where John was...
Sherlock's mind referred to this law as the Law of the preservation of Sherlock's Sanity and right now Sherlock's mind was close to collapse.
John wasn't here. He sprinted to the remains of the building, part of it was still standing, and he didn't care about the criminal that had gotten away, Sherlock hadn't even thought of him until now. He cared about John.
John had to still be alive. His lover couldn't be dead. Where would he be without his heart?
He was at the building, the Scotland Yard that had shown up was trying to keep him from searching, well they had been until Sherlock had screamed in Lestrade's face that John had been with him and that when the bomb had gone off John had suddenly not been with him. Apparently, everyone listens to an out of control sociopath in shock because then he was allowed to join in the search for survivors.
Sherlock had nearly skewered Anderson when he'd refereed to it as a search for corpses but he hadn't had to since Lestrade and surprisingly Donavan had verbally skewered him. Then again maybe it wasn't surprising, John did things like remember birthdays and being friendly, all of the things Sherlock preferred to avoid.
He dug through the wreckage with his hands, his head and his eyes were failing him, he couldn't seem to observe... his mind was in a state of panic.
Wait, there, blood. Near the corner of the room where John might have been pushed with the blast.
He pushed the debris out of the way. John lay, still as death, on his stomach, and there was a lot of blood pooled underneath him. Sherlock called for the others, even as he raised a shaking, trembling, hand to touch his lover's wrist.
There was a pulse. It was weak and unsteady but there still was one. The paramedics rushed in and Sherlock was herded away by Lestrade as the medical team began to tend John.
Hours later, John was finally out of surgery and Sherlock was at his side waiting for him to wake up. It was almost enough to make him want a less dangerous life, one without bombs or bullets.