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gregorovitch-adler · 1 year

Text

Burnt

His entire body was on fire. Fortunately, some good samaritan had dragged him out of the bonfire. As if God Himself was testing John's faith; taking him to the brink of death and dragging him back.

With half-open eyes, he tried to make sense of his mostly blurred surroundings. John felt the samaritan's hand faintly patting on his cheek and screaming his name. But wait, what was this? The samaritan had shown up in a long, black overcoat; with his black, curly hair falling over his forehead; with no protective gear? This saint had dived straight into the fire without giving a damn about himself.

Sherlock. Of course it was him. He saw a faint figure of Mary too, before the whole world around him blurred and went black.

***

When John opened his eyes, he found himself covered in linen sheets. He tried to touch the fabric of whatever he was wearing. Something loose and thin. Then He looked around himself and gathered that he was in hospital.

His head was throbbing with pain. As if someone had forcefully inserted a hundred nails into his skull and was shaking his head mercilessly.

When he tried to move his face muscles, John felt a bit of swelling around his temple and cheek. There was some swelling on his forehead, too. He tried to touch his face with his left hand and realised that the skin of his face had been charred. His lips were so chapped, they were almost glued together.

His right hand was connected to an IV bag through a syringe and tube. To take care of his dehydrated state, perhaps.

Sherlock was sitting on a chair next to John's bed, hands steepled beneath his chin, and seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

In front of John, there stood a set of bottle-green portable curtains.

Too tired to move, John just turned a head a little in Sherlock's direction. It was as though his head was made of a ton of bricks. "Sherlock." His voice was just above a whisper.

Sherlock was disturbed from his state of trance. He didn't seemed to mind, though. He just got up from his chair and moved it closer to John's bed. Sherlock leaned in, looking concerned. "How are you feeling?"

John thought of a reply. "Smoked."

Sherlock chuckled. "Thought I'd lost you."

"What happened to me? What did the doctors say?"

"Second degree burns, and they suspect a mild concussion. You'll be taken out of here for a CT scan as soon as this IV bag is empty."

John nodded and looked away for a moment. "And what about you?"

Sherlock held out his right palm. It was swollen and red. "The doctor gave me a gel to apply and some pills to consume."

John gulped down his throat, trying to make sense of everything.

Sherlock somehow showed up on time to save his life, and he was the one who went straight into the fire with little protection, enduring first degree burns as a consequence. And John could still remember the way Sherlock was shouting his name.

"Where's Mary?" asked John, frowning.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "She was here in the ER for a while, with me. She's gone home, now. She said that she was exhausted and needed some rest. She had asked me to keep her updated about you."

"How is she, otherwise?"

Sherlock opened his mouth for a moment but then he pursed his lips. "She's fine," he said, after a moment. "She wasn't that close to the bonfire. But she said that whatever she had witnessed was a nightmare and that she needed to leave."

John nodded. So, Mary, his girlfriend, was at a safe distance from the fire. Meanwhile Sherlock had risked his life for him that night.

Not that John blamed Mary for thinking about her own safety. Any sane person in her place would've done the same. John was just trying to take it all in.

Sherlock, the same man whom John had punched- three times no less, that too at a public place- was still in the hospital, sitting beside his bed and enduring first degree burns himself; meanwhile Mary had gone home when she saw fit.

This didn't make much sense. John was comparatively stable, now. Why didn't Sherlock leave, or at least go out of the ER for some time to take a break?

John looked over at the IV bag. It was still half-full. The rate of drops was quite slow.

John recalled the night he had strangled Sherlock and winced.

"What is it, John? You okay?" asked Sherlock.

John came out of his thoughts and looked at Sherlock with his brows furrowed. "Why did you fake your death again?"

Sherlock gaped at John with his eyes narrowed. "John, now is not the time-"

"It can take half an hour or more for this bag to be empty. We both have nothing else to do. May as well talk."

"I tried to, that night," said Sherlock, looking away with a neutral face. "Last time I remember, my nose was bleeding. Figured you weren't quite interested in talking," he said dryly.

John's nose was flared and his lips must forming a thin line. "Well, last time I remember, someone had made me grieve pointlessly for two bloody years."

"I didn't do that willingly. Moriarty had compelled me to do that," said Sherlock in a raised volume.

"Couldn't you have let me in on your plan? Many other people as known about your suicide being fake. Why not me?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Would you just listen to what happened from my side? Without your annoying interruptions?"

"That's not-"

"Listen to me John. Otherwise we're not talking about this thing again."

John bit his lower lip and stared ahead at the curtains. He clenched his jaw and nodded.

"I had asked you to go to Baker Street, when someone told you that Mrs Hudson was shot, over the phone. You rushed to 221, Baker Street, only to find Mrs Hudson perfectly alright. I had to go to the roof top at of that hospital, alone, in the meantime."

John turned to look at Sherlock, abruptly. "Hang on. So, you knew that the phone call was fake?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded.

"And you still let me go?" John asked, feeling hurt.

"I had wanted to go with you, up there. Moriarty must have ordered his minions to plant that hoax phone call to push you away from me. What was I to do? I had no choice but to go ahead with whatever he was doing to get the knack of his motive." Sherlock compressed his lips. "Sorry about that, too."

"Continue," said John with a nod.

"When I was there, facing him finally, I thought it was probably for the best that you had gone. He was playing mind games even during those final moments. He told me that there was no keycode. It was all a lie.

"I was trying hard to find a way out of all this, so that I wouldn't have to have to fake my death, or worse yet, die for real."

"Then he asked me jump off the roof, telling me that he had planted three snipers on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. All three of you would die if I didn't jump.

"He revealed that those snipers could only be called off at his signal. And then he shot himself in the mouth, later on, blowing his brains out." Sherlock paused for breath.

John gasped softly. He wanted to reach out for Sherlock's hand to hold.

"If I'd not jumped from the roof to go ahead with Mycroft's plan, that was to fake my death in front of those snipers, they would've killed you.

"You had figured that the phone call was fake and were back at the pavement across the road from that hospital," said Sherlock and bit his bottom lip.

"My staged suicide had to look convincing to everyone, including you, John. I did what I had to. I'm sorry for hurting you like this."

John's heart sank and his brows were furrowed. "It's not the staged suicide itself that made me angry. Your timing was shitty, showing up at the restaurant in a waiter's disguise, just when I was about to propose to Mary. And you laughed at my moustache, on top of everything."

Sherlock looked down at his lap. "Sorry again."

"You don't have to keep apologising. What happened next? Where did you go?"

"Many parts of the world, trying to dismantle Moriarty's network. Most of my days were spent in Eastern Europe. Serbia, mainly."

"Why?"

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. "You don't want to know."

John's lips were parted. "Yes, I do. Please, tell me what happened there."

Sherlock swallowed. "I'd been abducted and those people had trapped me in a small dungeon. I was confined within those four walls, chained and handcuffed."

"Jesus! What else?" John's eyes were pricking with tears around the corner.

"They used to whip me frequently, on my back. Sometimes they would use a knife, with or without burning flames, as they pleased. Starved me to death. Didn't let me sleep for days altogether."

John's eyes were welling up. He blinked furiously and swallowed. "Sherlock," he whispered. "I strangled you and your back had hit the floor that night, and your wounds were still fresh? I even punched you, three times, no less, in that condition. It's good that I'm here, I guess. Burnt. I had it coming."

"Don't say that-"

"But it's true!" John exclaimed and closed his eyes tightly as tears were streaming down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't have the first idea. I seriously apologise for hurting you after what you'd already been through," he said kept sobbing for a while, aggravating his headache even more. He stifled his sobs with his hand and tried to cover his face. "Could- could you please forgive me?"

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and held it tightly in his own. "Of course, I can. I already have. I didn't even think about it in that way. You did not have the full picture of the situation. You didn't know," he said and interlocked their fingers. "I told you, now was not the time."

John kept crying softly for some time. He had been in love with Sherlock, when they were still living together. John hadn't dared to say anything, for the sake of maintaining their friendship.

John still felt the same way about Sherlock, even more so after everything he had learnt about him, just now.

John had been in a relationship with Mary so that he could create an illusion of being alive. Because to him, Sherlock really was dead at that time. He had liked Mary but the love he had felt for Sherlock was something else. So far beyond. He really was an idiot for physically hurting Sherlock like this.

At the back of his mind, John couldn't help but feel actually good about his proposal being interrupted, that night. He'll have to explain himself to Mary, of course. Break it off with her, probably. But that discussion could wait.

John wiped his tears from his eyes and hissed in pain because of a burning sensation. He stopped crying and turned to look at Sherlock. "I'm really sorry."

Sherlock was still holding his hand. He gave it a squeeze. "It's fine. I mean it," he said, holding John's gaze in his own.

John couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock. Something about the way Sherlock was looking at him... he had never seen that emotion in Sherlock's eyes before. What was it?

That's when it hit him: could it be love? It seemed to make sense, given the physical and mental torture Sherlock must have been through for two years, for John's safety.

And after he was abducted and pushed inside the bonfire, Sherlock had saved his life, yet again, while Mary was standing far away. First degree burns were no joke. The way Sherlock was screaming his name; the panic in his eyes at that time.

"Why was I kidnapped, Sherlock?" John needed to know. "I thought those people were after you. Why did they kidnap me, then?"

Sherlock broke the gaze and looked away, freeing his hand from John's. "Uh... I don't know. Good question. Speaking of which, I need to go through the graphs and posters that I'd made for this case, at home. I'll get back to it, once we're out of here."

Sherlock's mere hesitation and the way he had abruptly changed the topic looked like a confirmation, in itself.

It was love.

"How long have you been sitting here?" asked John.

"As soon as we were allowed to visit you in this ER," said Sherlock and shrugged. "The doctor had asked us to wait outside for about an hour. He then asked us to visit you. You were still unconscious, probably sleeping, when we got here. For two hours, probably."

"Go out and eat something. I'll be alright."

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock said, bending over to grab his phone from the table beside John's bed.

John came to the conclusion that Sherlock's actions made little sense if they were not out of love for him. John tore his gaze off Sherlock's face and looked away with a small smile.

"Thanks for telling me everything," said John.

Sherlock nodded, without looking up from his phone.

"My turn to be honest," said John and took a deep breath. Sherlock looked at him with curiosity. Time to just spit it out. "I love you." It had come out in a whisper.

Sherlock gaped at John with his eyebrows raised. "Aren't you engaged?"

"No. Not technically. I was planning to end things with her, anyway. Apparently, I'm unable to stop feeling for you the way I do. Continuing this relationship is not exactly fair."

Sherlock reached out to hold John's hand again but hesitated. John was the one to interlock their fingers this time.

"Why did you go out with her, at all? I thought you had moved on when I decided to visit you in that restaurant."

John shook his head and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I didn't. I was with her because I was trying to move on. You were dead and so I thought it was time I did. I failed, obviously."

Sherlock leaned in quite close. John could feel Sherlock's breath on his lips. "What if I told you to stop trying to move on?"

John smiled again. "I already have."

Their faces came even closer and they pressed their lips together. John grabbed the collar of Sherlock's shirt as they kissed again. They shared a few more kisses and then Sherlock kissed John's forehead as he sat back.

"I love you too, John." That same emotion was back in his eyes.

John couldn't stop grinning. The transportation staff will be here, anytime soon, to take him out of here for a CT scan. He closed his eyes and was still smiling, feeling quite relieved, after what had felt like ages since the time Sherlock had supposedly died. "I'll break it off with Mary, as soon as I'm out of here."

"I know," said Sherlock, squeezing his shoulder.

Knowing what the future held for him and Sherlock, John felt like he could truly take some rest.

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Thanks for reading! Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely, @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl, etc.

(Somewhat inspired by this post).

Prompt Rest by @notjustamumj (May 13).

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