Posts tagged watson

“It just doesn’t make any sense, John. Surely you can see that it’s completely irrational?”

“I know it’s irrational. That’s why it’s called a phobia,” John replied tersely from the couch. The ‘debate’ had been going for about twenty five minutes and Sherlock didn’t seem to have been at all swayed by any of John’s arguments. He simply refused to believe that his room-mate was a phobic.

“Yes, but otters, John,” Sherlock remarked. John clenched his teeth.

“Lutraphobia. I’m not the only person who has it, and it’s not like it has a major effect on my everyday life. I live in bloody London!”

“It had an effect today.”

“Yes, well it’s not often that I find myself falling into a country river while you chase down a madman on a steam boat, is it?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “In our line of work one must be prepared to face anything. Even otters.”

“Fine, I’ll get over it. I’ll look at some pictures of otters then go to an otter sanctuary or something! Happy?”

Two weeks later, John very much regretted that statement. Struggling in Sherlock’s grip as the creature swept past his foot, John barely listened to the taller man telling him that flooding had much higher success rates than systematic desensitisation.

He managed to resist punching Sherlock that evening. Or at least he managed to resist punching Sherlock until he opened his laptop to see the scarily high definition photograph that was locked as the background of his computer.

((Hope you liked it. Feel free to send more prompts but I might take a little longer to answer them than usual))

((sorry it’s short, my brain couldn’t handle so much angst))

Sherlock had seen it. From the very beginning he had recognised the signs. He had watched as John isolated himself; as he forced smiles and joked about how clumsy he was; as his best friend visited his grave, even then tugging down at his sleeves in the presence of the cold marble slab that was all John had left of Sherlock. Still, Sherlock had waited. He had told himself that John was a doctor. John was strong.

He knew that John was strong, but apparently he had - not overestimated, rather - not realised how much he had meant to the doctor. And all Sherlock could think of was how different things would be if he had returned sooner. How he would probably have gotten punched in the face, properly this time.

And as Sherlock burst through the door just in time to see the bullet tear mercilessly through his best friend’s skull he pretended that he hadn’t seen that sickening moment of realisation on John’s face as the door had opened. He knelt down by his friend and wept, telling himself that the mixture of shock, regret and love flashing through weary eyes all at once had all been an illusion. Because it made the impossible guilt just a little easier to bear.

((I know what you’re thinking, but yes, the sentence fragments were entirely necessary if only to satisfy my own need to attempt a third person stream of consciousness. Hope you liked it, I accept prompts though they might take a while if you send them now))

John was struggling to contain his laughter. Which in this situation was very difficult - verging on completely impossible.

“I know you find this funny, though I haven’t a clue as to why.”

At that, John burst out into a fit of laughter. Tears of mirth gathered in his eyes at the sight of Sherlock - his arms crossed and practically pouting - sitting stoically inside a baby-pink teacup that whirled the both of them round and round to the jingle of whimsical music. Sherlock glared as John’s laughter died down, resulting in just the occasional giggle whenever he looked up at the consulting detective.

“I don’t understand why you chose this ride anyway, it’s clearly designed for small children,” Sherlock continued, looking around at the yelling children and exasperated parents sitting in the surrounding teacups.

“You said you didn’t want to go on the rollercoasters!” John replied, breathless from laughing.

“I fail to see how this is better than the rollercoaster.”

“Well, I just assumed you were scared of the rollercoasters and I didn’t want to call you out on it.”

“Please, John. I’m not moronic enough to be scared of such an infan-“ Sherlock began. John cut him off.

“Alright, alright. We’ll go on a rollercoaster… just as soon as the teacups stop moving.”

Sherlock leaned back, arms still folded across his chest, and stared over at the rollercoasters. Stupid things to be scared of really.

—-

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

They were strapped to a cart, along with about 6 other people, as it trundled up the steep metal rails.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

John sighed. “We’re going up at the moment. People generally get on the rollercoaster for the downwards ride,” he explained. Glancing up, he saw that they would soon reach the top.

“I understand that, John. What I don’t understand why you insisted that we queue for thirty minutes just to get on this particular ride when I doubt it will last for more than a minute. In addition, I do not see what everybody seems to be so worked up abo-“

Sherlock was cut off again, this time by the sudden force with which their little cart began plummeting down the second half of the rollercoaster.

John grinned and pretended to be too exhilarated to notice Sherlock’s hand grab hold of his.

((for you amusement park connoisseurs, this is based on the ride Stealth in Thorpe Park, my absolute favourite rollercoaster. Thanks for the lovely prompt))