Sherlock Holmes & The Knights Templar

It's All Good, Everything's Fine

As Sherlock made his way to a nearby Bedouin Oasis, John barely stirred in his arms, he was wrapped up tight in a blanket and Sherlock held his charge as if he was a hand-blown glass ornament.

“John, we’re almost there, so hang on and then I will give you a nice refreshing bath. The water is quite warm and I am quite sure you will enjoy it.” Sherlock said softly as he looked down into John’s vacant expressionless eyes.

Sherlock slipped a little in the sand as he made his way to the water, but continued to hold tightly on to John. Once he reached the water’s edge, Sherlock removed the blanket that held John’s body as he eased his him into the pool. John’s eyes got bigger when he felt the water wash over him, but Sherlock held him tight and then helped him stand as he sponged him off.  Sherlock winced at the feel of the bones that protruded from John’s thin frame being careful not to touch the red-looking brand of the letter “M”, that Moriarty had burned into his flesh.

When Sherlock had first seen the brand, he felt as if he was going to faint, as it was he had fled the tent John was in and threw up his breakfast of flat bread and olives, as the camels brayed with curiosity at the sounds of his retching. John had not spoken since he had been rescued, yet Sherlock felt certain that he could understand what the people around him were saying. A faint movement brought Sherlock’s mind back to the present for John was wriggling his toes in water.

“Quite refreshing, isn’t it?” Sherlock said in a cheerful voice as he steadied John’s body against his own. Guilt flooded Sherlock’s mind for as John leaned back into him Sherlock become aroused when he felt John’s lower back rubbing against his groin. “Well, bath time is over, let’s go back and get some lunch,” Sherlock said as he lifted John out of the water, working to avoid eye contact when John’s wet torso emerged from the water. Though Sherlock tried he couldn’t help sparing a glance at the patch of flattened pubic hair that lay swirled in different directions against John’s white skin, beads of water lay curled up in its folds, and Sherlock took a deep breath as his eyes followed each droplet downwards to….”Jesus, get a hold of yourself,” Sherlock thought as he ran over and wrapped a blanket around John, his heart almost breaking when John held out his arms to be lifted up like a small child. As Sherlock held John close to his chest, he was rewarded with a small smile that Sherlock’s memory grasped upon for future reference, so that he need only recall it when darkness threatened to overwhelm his soul.

“John,” Sherlock whispered as he kissed his forehead.

Once they were back in the tent, Sherlock helped John get dressed and then waited for a woman to bring them something to eat. Sherlock dreaded meal times for it was like forcing a toddler to eat. Finally, Sherlock settled on bribery telling John that if he ate a few bites he would take him outside that night to visit his horse, Hope.

Though John was perfectly capable of walking on his own, the brilliance of the desert sun, heat, and general activity of the camp during the day were all too much stimuli for him and often he would drop to the ground and hug his knees and rock. So, that was when Sherlock resorted to taking John out at night to exercise with his horse.

John liked his hair washed at night, his skin was so sensitive to touch that the first time Sherlock attempted to wash John’s hair, John screamed as if the water were boiling hot. After testing the temperature of the water and finding it tepid, he realized that John’s skin must be so sensitive due to his PTSD. Now, Sherlock gently massaged Jojoba oil into John’s scalp, and then cupped his hands in the wash basin, until John’s hair was clean. The process was very laborious and as Mycroft watched them he marveled at Sherlock’s patience.

When he was through Sherlock gently rubbed the excess moisture out of John’s hair and asked, “John, how is that?”

John licked his lips and stuttered out the word, “Good, everything’s…fine.”

Sherlock didn’t miss the nuance as he thought back to the time when he and John had dinner at Angelo’s and John had asked him about his dating life.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” John had asked.

“Girlfriend, no, not really my area,” Sherlock had replied.

“A boyfriend? Which is fine by the way.” John had said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and remembered his last words to John’s questions about his sexual orientation, “Thank you.” Sherlock had said after John protested that he wasn’t asking Sherlock out.

“We would have saved so much time if one of us had just said yes that night,” Sherlock thought as he extended his hand to John and led him outside to where Hope was restlessly pacing.