JohnLock - One-shot [English]

Damsel in distress

Me ? Influenced? Nope at all! It's not like I had this idea when I saw Sherlock for the thousandth time.

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To say that Sherlock Holmes was a jealous man was an understatement of the truth. The sociopath was a man deeply uncertain of his ability to endear himself to others.

That John Watson agreed to be his roommate was already extraordinary. That he had become her best friend was already closer to a miracle. So now that the two men had officially entered into a relationship, raising Rosie together at 221B, Sherlock couldn't risk losing his new family.

Unfortunately for John, dating a jealous sociopath who could sense your every interaction could be somewhat exhausting. The man now divided his time between his job, his daughter, investigations, and his new boyfriend. His days, while satisfying, were also exhausting.

So when a new investigation showed up at the door one Sunday morning, he was about to slam the door in Lestrade's face.

John sighed, let the man in, and poured him coffee. Rosie was quietly playing on the carpet, and clapped happily when the policeman came to greet her, stroking her hair.

-Hello pretty ! She is growing up so fast. Does she recognize me?

-It seems like. She always smiles when she sees you. I'm going to get Sherlock, he must be finishing his preparations.

Lestrade thanked him with a smile, and continued to play with the child, while John went into the bedroom.

After some negotiations with the detective, they had finally agreed that it was better to move all the experiments upstairs, and to keep the rest of the apartment clean for the well-being of the little.

- Our favorite detective is here.

- He said for what?

The detective sighed, and the doctor left the room before he even had time to reply.

-He is coming.

John sat down in an armchair, went back to reading his newspaper, with his tea. Quickly, Sherlock entered the room, and the two men began to chat. The doctor was listening, of course, but with a distracted ear. Sunday morning is sacred, and even for a murder, he would still take the time to enjoy a cup of tea, and play with his daughter.

If there is one thing he has learned over the years, and the death of his wife, it is that there is always another investigation, another death, another murderer. On the other hand, there are never two identical mornings with the people he loves.

-Another death. The 4th already. Another man, rather young, who just wanted to party. No obvious cause of death. Apart, of course...

-Undetectable poison I told you about.

-Exactly.

-Where ?

-Picadelli.

-I'm joining you.

Lestrade greeted the Watson family, and left. Sherlock glanced at John, who didn't look up from his diary.

-John...

-No Sherlock.

- You are not reasonable! Four murders!

- And you are stubborn. I told you I wouldn't do all the investigations. And that I also had to have days off with my family.

Sherlock gritted his teeth, grabbed his coat and left the room. Pissed off and frustrated, he left to solve the murder.

For his part, John took care of his daughter for a while, before deciding to join the detective. He entrusted her to the good care of Mrs. Hudson, who, as always, was delighted to welcome the little one.

This crime scene was like any other. Few clues, drunk or married men, or both, who weren't supposed to be there, so even fewer witnesses.

That's why, that night, Sherlock decided to go bar hopping. Not to have a drink and relax, much to the doctor's chagrin, but to investigate.

John wasn't quite sure how it all happened, but Sherlock spotted someone, ran after them, which triggered panic pretty quickly, given the screams he was uttering about murder.

The blond, without even knowing who he was after, was following his boyfriend. After taking a turn, they found themselves in a dark alley, with no trace of the assassin in front of them.

Behind two large dumpsters, John was the first to hear the muffled cries. He approached slowly, not even paying attention to Sherlock who had already left.

-Are you alright ?

There, between two garbage cans, a torn red dress, and the make-up having run down her face, a woman observed her for a few seconds.

-I won't hurt you. My name is John Watson. I am a doctor.

The woman blinked for a few moments, before nodding softly.

- I... I recognize you. You work with the detective, don't you?

-Exactly.

He held out his hand to her, helped her get back on her feet, before wrapping his jacket around her to warm her up a bit. Still unstable, she leaned heavily on him. John slung an arm around her shoulders.

-It's okay, okay. I will take you home.

-John !

Sherlock appeared at the end of the driveway. Immediately he rushed at them.

- Get away from him!

-Sherlock! That's enough ! This young woman is terrified. We have to take her home.

-No John you don't understand, that's-

-Sherlock !

The detective, shocked, had a hard time understanding what was happening. He obviously didn't want to lose John, and in his mental palace he never found any solution for the problems they couldn't face. He found it quite ironic, knowing that it was always John he went to see when he had social problems.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Defeating, Sherlock began to walk away, before blurting out:

-She's the killer.

The police arrived at the same time. John didn't have time to get over all this, Sherlock was already far away. When he got back to the apartment, he wasn't there either.

Considering the time, he preferred to let Rosie sleep with Mrs. Hudson, and pick her up later. So he settled into his chair and waited. May his boyfriend, best friend and roommate come back. Because he knew he had screwed up. Because he knew that this man, so imperfect, feared more than anything to lose him.

But sometimes, for John, it was too much. Too much guilt, uncertainty, responsibility. Not enough time for breaks, rest, freedoms.

So when Sherlock came home at first light and found John asleep in the chair, he gently stroked his hair.

-Forgive me John. I promise you that I will try. I would learn everything I can about relationships. I love you.

And he left to lock himself in the bedroom, to try to recover a few hours of sleep. John opened one eye. Guilt choked him once more, but slightly different.

-Shit... I love you too, Sherlock.

He ran a hand through his hair, forgiving the man without even thinking about it. But for now, he had to go take care of his daughter.On the other side of the door, the detective smiled, relieved.

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There you go... So I'm sick so I don't guarantee the quality at all, huh