Charlie Price (![]() ![]() @ 2012-07-04 19:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !plot, {john watson, {sherlock holmes |
Who? John Watson & Sherlock Holmes.
Where? Their room.
When? Wednesday evening.
What? John eats a chocolate, and shrinks down to a few inches high. Sherlock finds a use for his teacup.
Rating? Hilarity. Nudity? Squeakysqueaky bad language.
It had been a strange day. Admittedly, it had been a strange week. Getting his memory back, while of course it had been a good thing, it had made him aware of just how in control the train was. It was frightening, more so than he cared to admit aloud. If it had done the same thing to Sherlock, and he hadn't been around to look out for him... it didn't bear thinking about.
And then there had been realising that Moriarty was on board again (sans memory), and all of the pain that brought with it. He'd snapped, initially, leaving Sherlock to do damage control (rather unsuccessfully.) John was anxious, but more than that, he realised that he was slightly jealous.
There had only ever been two people that John was jealous of - Irene Adler, which they had spoken about at length, and James Moriarty, which that hadn't spoken about properly at all. He'd old Sherlock that he wished he wouldn't keep calling his meetings with Jim 'dates', but he got the impression that his partner just didn't understand. He didn't see it the way John did, although perhaps that was a good thing. He didn't think that Sherlock was sexually attracted to Jim, but then it was Sherlock - of course he wasn't. But Moriarty had always interested him - John had seen the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he tried to unravel his games. What was John? He didn't inspire the same excitement and interest. He wasn't a genius. Wasn't mental stimulation more important to Sherlock than anything else? Jim offered him something that John couldn't, that was what it boiled down to. He felt threatened, in more ways that Sherlock likely realised. He was carrying his gun at all times, now. Yes, he was very anxious.
Thirdly, the sudden disappearance of Jo's friends. Lovers? It had shaken John, just like the amnesia had. The train was in control. What if it decided Sherlock was next? How would he even begin to deal with that? His mind readily supplied the answer that he would shoot himself- it wasn't inspiring much confidence in his ability to bounce back.
So, he'd done what any reasonable British gentleman would do in such an emotional situation. He'd gone and made them some tea.
He returned to the room, placing down the cups and locking the door behind himself - the door was staying locked these days, given Moriarty's threats a few months ago.
"Tea? I didn't even ask if you wanted-" he smiled, a little tension draining from his shoulders as he reminded himself for the millionth time that everything was okay. "I made you some tea," he finished, nodding to the cup. He would drink some tea and then have a shower and try to calm the hell down again. There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing was wrong. Sherlock was right there with him.