One-shot | ACD! Sherlock Holmes - Late Night Labwork
Fandom: ACD Sherlock Holmes (original stories)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson
Relationship: QPR (queerplatonic relationship), but you can interpret this one-shot however you want to.
Warnings: Mention of War, Bombs, gunshots and death; mention of PTSD
A/N: Inspired by these tags I saw under this post.
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The sound of gunshots roared through the hot Afghan air. My comrades, one after the other, went down. Hit by bullets and other projectiles. Bombs were exploding around me. The air was filled with horrible screams as young men were shredded into pieces by shrapnel. Ducked down in the trench, I tried my best to shoot as many enemies as possible, trying to ignore the unbelievable suffering around me, but I knew it was hopeless. They were too many. We were all going to die.
Suddenly everything was quiet. I shot up in what I later realised was my bed. Adrenaline and Cortisol rushed through my bloodstream. Chest heaving and covered in cold sweat I had no idea what was going on or where I was there was only one thing on my mind.
'Danger' I was in danger. 'I need to survive'
I jumped to my feet and examined my surroundings. It was dark, I could barely make out a thing. Slowly the realization crept in. I was in my bedroom, at Baker Street. The war was over, at least for me. I was at home.
Letting out a sigh of relief I dropped back down onto the edge of my bed. Head in my hands and blood rushing in my ears I tried to calm myself down but as soon as I closed my eyes I was back in that trench in Afghanistan.
I desperately longed for Holmes's presence. I didn't necessarily need to talk about this, I just needed him to be there. Simply sitting in the same room as him, while he smoked his pipe, or tinkered with some experiment would be enough to soothe my tormented soul.
But it was the middle of the night, Holmes was probably asleep and I couldn't possibly bring myself to just knock on his bedroom door, wake him up and ask him to... - well pointlessly sit in the living room with me. Tears leaked from my eyes and dropped to the floor below me when -
There was the sound that woke me, again. It came from the living room. 'Is someone in there? Are we being robbed?' Panic threatened to seize my body a second time tonight.
No, that was the sound of glass clinking. Holmes! No doubt engaged in some chemical experiment. It wasn't unusual for him to be up in the middle of the night doing research or, very much to my annoyance, playing the violin, shooting the walls or whatever other shenanigans he could come up with. These unusual habits of his were often the subject of my anger or mockery, but that night, I was eternally grateful for them.
I slipped into my dressing gown and made my way to the living room. Upon my entrance, Holmes looked up from his lab equipment and gave me an apologetic smile.
"Ah dear fellow, so sorry to wake you"
"Nonsense. My dream was ... not pleasant" I answered although he had undoubtedly deduced that by now from my constitution.
"I see", he nodded. "Then perhaps you might assist me with this experiment? An extra pair of hands would be most welcome."
I gladly accepted the offer and he got up to get me a chair and a glass of water. I emptied it in one go and so my friend went back to the kitchen and this time brought the whole jug which he placed on the table among his various other chemicals. Pouring me another glass he eyed me carefully.
I can only imagine how I must have looked at that moment. Face covered and hair soaked in cold sweat with hands shaking so much that I could barely hold the glass of water without spilling it all.
However, he didn't say a word and neither did I. Trying to find excuses for my appearance would have been pointless. He had seen me like this countless times before.
Summoned to my bedside by my screams of terror, frantically shaking me awake, ripping me from the nightmare and sitting with me in the light of a candle until the gruesome images in my mind faded.
Still, with a tilt of his head and an expectant rise of his eyebrow, Holmes silently asked me if I wanted to talk. When I shook my head his attention returned to his chemicals.
He assigned me to stir various mixtures and monitor the temperature of numerous boiling liquids. All things where I wouldn't have to hold and therefore couldn't break anything. Tasks suitable for my trembling hands.
We took to work in silence. Holmes' presence keeping me anchored to reality and distracting me from the horrid images still vividly present in my brain.
Sitting here in our living room, next to Holmes working on an experiment I didn't understand a thing about, had exactly the soothing effect on my frayed nerves I hoped it would.
Slowly the shadows lifted from my soul. I could finally breathe again without that terrible feeling of constriction in my chest. Soon my heart rate returned back to normal and the cold sweat on my body began to dry. When my friend noticed, I was getting chilly in the process he wordlessly got up, fetched a blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders.
Wrapped up cosily, I adjusted the flame of a bunsen burner heating an to me unknown liquid in a vial.
In moments like this, I was beyond grateful to have Holmes by my side. I knew that I could have talked to him, anytime, had I wanted to. He wouldn't necessarily have been the best with comforting words, but he would have listened and he would have understood. But I didn't need to. This was enough.
We sat together in silence even long after the experiment was finished. Holmes in his usual armchair and me on the sofa. He tinkered with his pipe, absentmindedly plucked his violin or simply sat there lost in thought, while I soaked in, the calming atmosphere of 221B and the company of my friend.
Nonetheless, he kept a close eye on me. I noticed his glances, assessing whether I was reasonably alright and if I had everything I needed. Occasionally, I flashed him reassuring smiles to indicate that I was indeed feeling better.
A warm fuzzy feeling had found its way into my chest. Coexisting with the heightened anxiety that still lingered from my nightmare. And when the first beams of sunlight finally illuminated our little home again even the last shadows lifted from my mind.
Holmes noticing my improved mood got up from his chair. "I think I will make us some tea. What do you think Watson?" I nodded in approval.
"Holmes" I called out just before he was out of the door of the living room, "Thank you".
My friend answered with a knowing nod and a gentle smile and with that, he left the living room.
