Sometimes It Storms

A Storm Rages

 "I'm home, John," Sherlock called, the door slamming shut behind him. Water droplets dripped from his black hair onto the floor and his shoes. He didn't hear a reply, so he checked John's chair. John's jacket was there, same as it always was. He wasn't out, then; he would've brought it if he'd left the flat. "John?" He said again, irritated. Sherlock stripped himself of his coat and hung it on his own chair, mirroring John's. The only sound was the rain bouncing off the roof and the crash of distant thunder.

"John?" Sherlock's voice rose with concern. He started towards the stairs, wondering if perhaps John was upstairs and had his earbuds in. Last time John hadn't answered.... Sherlock's thoughts returned to the night in the tramway, the dim lighting failing to conceal the blood running down John's face. Sherlock felt his pulse speed up and he sighed, frustrated by the sentimentality John had inflicted upon him.

"John?" Sherlock called once more, straining to hear an answer, or a noise proving that John was there.

Faintly, a reply came. "I'm in here, Sherlock," John's muffled voice said. He sounded frightened. With startling speed, Sherlock reached the top of the stairs and pushed open John's door. His eyes scanned the room, and fell upon his companion huddled on the floor of his closet. John's hands were pressed against his ears, his whole body shaking as he looked up at Sherlock through a mass of sandy blond hairs.

Sherlock looked around again, searching for the threat, and finding nothing. "John?" He tilted his head inquisitively and looked to John for an explanation.

Not a moment later, another crack of thunder ripped through the air, and John jumped, his face paling even more. John hid his face between his knees, too embarrassed to look at Sherlock.

Perhaps this was a correct choice, because Sherlock looked at John, mildly amused. "You do know that thunder has never killed anyone, do you not? Studies suggest a correlation, but that comes from a confounding variable skewing the results, of course. Thunder can do nothing to harm you, it is good for naught but to frighten children.." he paused and looked at John again, adding, "and some men, I suppose."

"One could argue that it serves as a warning for lightning, which, unlike thunder, does possess the power to cause harm - though, compared to those whom we interact with on a weekly basis, lightning is hardly something to fear, John. Lightning is credited for less than 2 deaths in the UK each year, whereas homicide has a rate of around 12 deaths per million people. Clearly, a fear of thunder is irrational." Sherlock looked to John, seeming surprised to see him still curled up.