#sherlock!bbc

John was already in the cab, and only a few minutes away, when Sherlock’s name finally popped up on his phone. John rolled his eyes. After multiple ring outs he’d resorted to texting Anderson of all people for the location of the crime scene. He considered not answering, as payback maybe, but held the phone to his ear all the same.

“Would you look at that? Only took me five tries. Shall we call that the new record, then?”

Sherlock payed no mind to John’s sarcasm (he rarely did) and simple pushed forward, “Brilliant case, John. Brilliant. Who’d have thought to use sunlight as the weapon? Sunlight. A bit of well-directed sunlight would do the job, yes, of course-”

John laughed softly, shaking his head as Sherlock rambled on, “Yeah, of course. Why not.” He sandwiched the phone between his shoulder and cheek, listening while counting bills for the cabbie. He cut Sherlock off somewhere between recounting the effects of UV Rays on skin cells, “Where shall I meet you then?”

There was a beat, “You aren’t here?”

John slammed the door shut with a little too much enthusiasm at that, “What? No. Why did you think I’m calling you?”

Sherlock started to speak then stopped. John could picture the frown that was surely now set in place, “I was just talking to you…” Sherlock mumbled.

“Well, do you mind a bit of a repeat?”

Sherlock huffed, “Hate repeating myself. But you’ll be no use if uninformed, so, I suppose. The primary evidence wa-“

“Not now. Jesus, just tell me where to meet…”

“John?” Sherlock sounded more annoyed by John’s sudden lack of voice than concerned. He huffed, “We didn’t loose service, this is a prime spot. I’m on a roof for god sake. I can also hear you breathing. John, hello?”

Roof.

John felt as if the air had been kicked from his lungs. The feeling was a sudden, horrid squeezing that he hadn’t expected. He could see Sherlock very plainly on said roof. He could pick out the way his coat flapped around him even from below. Sherlock was stood near the edge, hand pressed to the cement ledge, forensic people milling about him. Much too close to the ledge. John squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly Sherlock was standing on the ledge, arms out, falling forward-

He opened his eyes. Sherlock was behind the ledge, not falling, phone still held to his ear. He blinked and he was falling again. John stumbled forward.

“John-“

“Sh.. Sherlock, don’t-“ His words gave out to a gasp of air, and his feet were carrying him forward at a run, “Don’t-“ He tried again.

“Don’t? Don’t what?” John watched as Sherlock turned, swore he could see the confused squint. His heart lurched. He was facing the ledge now. Totally oblivious to how it looked.

“Don’t move. God, don’t move.”

John took the stairs two at a time. The elevator would be too slow, and he wasn’t sure his heart could handle that right now. You’re being irrational his mind told him, and yet his heart thudded and images of fallingfallingfalling played behind his eyelids.

He burst through the roof door, gasping and zeroing in on Sherlock immediately. Sherlock’s eyes found him just as quickly, but it couldn’t have been that hard with the speed at which John was coming at him.

Sherlock held his hands out in a frustrated manner, “What is the point of phone calls if you aren’t going to-“

The rest of his sentence got lost in John’s hands fisting the collar of his coat and yanking him away from the cement barrier, the only thing separating them from air and space and fallingfalling…

Sherlock’s composure crumpled for just a moment, utter surprise breaking through at the contact. His hands came up to cover John’s as they stumbled, John nearly slumping against him. Sherlock stared hard at him, mind reeling:

Hands shaking. Anxiety. Cheeks flushed. Usually embarrassment but given trembling most likely also anxiety.

“Just- don’t stand there will you? God, just-“ John pulled Sherlock closer to himself by his jacket rather harshly, “Jesus..“ He bowed his head slightly, desperately trying to control his breathing.

Sherlock tried to steady John, tried to figure out what was wrong, assessing the situation. He added John’s sharp breathing to the list.

John had run right to him so clearly Sherlock was the source of this reaction. He backtracked to what he had said on the phone. The case. They’d only talked of the case. Not verbally triggered then.

General triggers for anxiety. They listed themselves, sparking through his skull. Verbal, Personal, Sensual, Locational-

Sherlock’s thoughts froze for a fraction of a second, then were sent reeling left, back to their phone call.

“Just tell me where to meet…”

Trail off. Tone change.

“I’m on a roof for god sake.”

Oh.

Verbal and locational trigger all in response to…

His mind screeched to a halt.

“Oh, John…”

“I know.” John was breathing deeply in through his nose, fists still tight on Sherlock’s coat, “I know. I just- saw you there. Up. Near the- Jesus, I know it’s-“

“John.” John finally stopped trying to speak at the sheer softness present in Sherlock’s voice. It was so rare that he was sure he’d always stop when it made an appearance. He didn’t look up though. He could still feel an insufferable sting behind his eyes.

“I didn’t even think. I didn’t realize the… the weight of those particular- of this particular situation.” Sherlock’s fingers tightened fractionally around John’s where they had remained from Sherlock’s surprise, “I’m sorry.”

John took one more breath, exhaling harshly and then straightening, slowly letting go of Sherlock’s coat, “Right. No, it’s fine. I should be able to be on a roof with you. This is… ridiculous. Sorry.” He huffed again, blinking and finally looking up at Sherlock, “Right. Okay, the case. Sunlight, UV rays or- something, what were you saying? Shall we take a look-“

John stopped again, closing his eyes briefly at the feeling of cool fingers catching around his wrist. He looked back at Sherlock, hoping his eyes didn’t show how hard his heart was still pounding. “C’mon then.” He tried. His voice cracked a little.

“I wouldn’t. Again. You don’t have to worry.” He was taken aback by the look on Sherlock’s face. So close to desperation, “John, I don’t want you to ever think I’d… leave… you.” He seemed tentative at his choice of words. “Not intentionally. Please don’t worry.”

John stared for a moment, aware of Sherlock’s hand still around his, aware that he was real and standing before him. He was hit again with what still felt like an unreal, monumental second chance with the man who he never expected to mean so much to him.

“I’m always going to worry.” He shook his head, offering a smile that was half pain half relief, “Sherlock. I’m always going to worry.”

Sherlock let John lead him back to work this time, images of bonfires and bomb vests consuming his thoughts.

He’d always worry too.

John H. Watson

W. Sherlock. S. Holmes