#danielleblogsjohnlock

27) things you said on the phone at 4 am

“I can’t do it, Sherlock.”

You’ve got to. Yet unsaid and nonetheless true, the words hang between us for a long, long moment. I listen to the whisper of your breath and try and gather together something worth saying. Try and fail.

“Sherlock? Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m here. Erm.” Wish I had a cigarette (you used to change my nicotine patches for me)(a little pat and a little smile, as if you were proud of me), “Has something happened?”

You sigh, “Apart from. September.”

It shouldn’t but it strikes me as almost funny. Graze my fingertips over my wound and the answering twinge in my ribs sobers me, “Yes. Apart from that. Anything new?” I hear the cruelty of the words as they pass through my lips. Nothing for it now (will I ever do anything but break your heart?).

“No, she hasn’t done anything as horrible as shooting you in the chest.”

“Well. Good.”

You laugh bitterly, “Maybe she’s saving it up for a surprise.”

My gut twists, “John-”

“Can I come and stay with you? I mean. Just for a night or two. I need to see. I mean. I just need to get away for a bit. For a little bit. Please? Sherlock?I know I’ve got to live with. I mean. I know. I understand the plan but. Could I...? Please? I just need to be at home. For a bit.”

It is dangerous. Not the sort of danger that stokes the spark in your eyes. The two of us against the rest of the world. I swallow, “Home. Yes. Come.”

Is it that one time you or mr lid bought 500 condoms and didn’t realize they expired… ;)

“Goodness!” get out my phone at once and take a photo of Mycroft and Matilda. I’ve sent it to John before he even has the chance to glare and sigh. “What a pretty picture we have here.” Mycroft and Matilda are sat on the floor, amidst an array of Matilda’s favourite hair ornaments and a few pots of John’s hair product. Surprisingly, Mycroft looks only mildly put upon.

Matilda abandons the brush she’s still pulling through Mycroft’s barretted hair and bounds across the room to launch herself at my leg, “Bab!”

I scoop her up and hug her, “Are you having fun with Uncle Mycroft, Tilly?”

“We’re playing hairdresser!” she chirps.

“So you are! And look what a lovely job you’ve done with Uncle Mycroft, too, darling. His hair hasn’t looked so good since the nineties.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Mycroft rises from the floor, stretches, and looks into the mirror over the mantel, “Good lord, I look exactly like Uncle Rudy.”

“I was just going to say.” I kiss Matilda on the cheek, “Tilly, invite your uncle to stay for dinner.”

“Yeah!” Matilda shouts. “Yeah yeah yeah! Please Uncle Mycroft!” She squirms out of my arms to tug Mycroft’s sleeve.

“Gently please, Matilda,” I remind her. “And a touch quieter.”

OMG THIS MADE MY DAY