Johnlock fluff oneshots

Sociopath? (neuro divergent detective: part 1)

Yo my bros! I know, I know, I said I was finished. Surprise! I felt kinda bad as I know these are helpful to some people and make yous smile so I thought I would write a few more for your enjoyment. I felt like writing and Johnlock is as good a thing as any so yay, your welcome:) I will write a bigger an at the end I thinks🤔😋

Trigger warning: Sherlock sadness I guess, not angst though I don't think. As always, let me know if there are any others I need to add, enjoy<3

Word count: 1475

"For the last time, I'm not a psychopath, I'm a high functioning sociopath! Do your research!" He practically screamed at Anderson before swishing his coat around him and practically running away from the crime scene. I shot one last glare at the inept police officer before chasing after him. I rounded the corner, expecting to see his black figure far away already as he strode to get a taxi. I didnt see that. Instead, I nearly landed face first on the wet concrete of the alleyway as I tripped over a huddled mass on the floor.
"Sherlock?" I asked as I steadied myself against the wall beside him to avoid the painful fate I just described.
"Go away!" The shuddering lump sniffed.

I bent down and placed my hand gently on the pointiest part that I took to be a knee (it was hard to tell as he had wrapped his overcoat almost entirely around him so he resembled more of an egg than a fully, possibly even overgrown, human).
"Are you... ok?" The words felt clunky in my mouth but this wasn't a situation I was prepared for.
"Does it look like I'm bloody ok John? No, I'm actually perfectly fine. That's why I'm crying in a ball on the wet floor in a London alleyway. Of course I'm not ok!" A curly mop of hair emerged followed by red rimmed eyes that looked at me accusingly.
"Yes, ok, not ok. Got it." I stuttered and tried to collect enough words from my malfunctioning mind to form a proper sentence. I'd never seen Sherlock cry. Not like this anyway and I must admit that I was rather at a loss as to what to do.

Just then the world decided for me as there was a sudden crack and the dark grey clouds that had been threatening the sky all day, burst open and heavy, cold droplets of rain began to fall. I had a short internal conflict on what was best to do then decided that a sick and upset Sherlock was more than I could manage so it would be good if I could get him home.
"Right, give me your hand." He looked at me in confusion then complied silently. I thought I saw a light blush creep across his cheeks although that may have been from the crying, I couldn't be sure. I pulled him to his feet then put my arm around his waist to reassure him and provide support.
"Come on. We're going home so that I can get you a cup of hot tea and a blanket so you can tell me all about it."
He nodded and leaned his head in my shoulder. He sniffed again then murmured, "Yes doctor."

Back at the flat I pulled off Sherlock's soaking coat and hung it up carefully before settling him on the sofa and going to fetch a warm blanket, pausing to remove my own wet clothing on the way. He had been silent on the journey home. His head had remained on my shoulder. He was still apart from the tapping of his long fingers on his leg. The same sequence over and over. I had been in the army long enough to recognise Morse code when I saw it: 3 taps ... a pause followed by 3 slower taps --- a pause, line dot line dot-.-. Pause .. pause --- pause .--. Pause .- pause - pause ....

I re-entered the sitting room carrying 2 blankets and 2 cups of tea. I wrapped him in the blanket and handed him the tea. I hovered for a second before going to sit in my own chair opposite him. We sat in silence for a while, each of us sipping tea, unsure of what to say to the other. After about 3 minutes of uncertain silence (I just spent several minutes looking up whether Holmes counts the passage of time precisely or whether that is another fictional character. I have a very clear recollection of someone announcing how many seconds have passed precisely but I cant remember who it is. If anyone recognizes this habit and could let me know who it is that does it, I would be much obliged) I suddenly blurted out, "I dont think you are you know." And then winced at the harsh sound and stupidity of my words.
"Hmm?" He looked up from tracing the pattern of the blanket with his willowy index finger to stare at me. His eyes were a startling blue but there was still a red look about them.