the richenbach hero // johnlock

Chapter Ten

Sherlock had his arms around John, pulling him close. John's body was shaking from sobs, the salty tears leaving streaks down his cheeks. John was broken, and Sherlock was part of the reason. All that had happened in the two years he had been gone, John had been hurting. Mary broke him. She was his weak spot, the chip in his armor, and she used it against him. Sherlock felt so much anger. At himself and at Mary. John's sobbing was calming down, but Sherlock didn't move his arms from around John. John tugged at Sherlock's shirt, trying to pull him closer, even though that wasn't possible. Everything was a whirlwind of emotions and John felt weak. His shaking had calmed, but his cheeks were still sodden with tears, eyes rimmed red. He felt Sherlock sigh against him. John's glassy eyes met Sherlock's, and he smiled weakly at the man. Sherlock smiled, genuinely, the skin around his eyes crinkling, making John feel warm.
"Are you alright, John?"

"No, not really"

"Yeah..."

"Thank you, Sherlock. For this. I know you don't take affection lightly, so this means more than I can say"

"Of course, John"
Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss onto Johns forehead. John sighed and snuggled down into Sherlock's arms.
"Can we just stay like this all day?"

Sherlock giggled and smiled
"Of course we can"

The plan came to form, and Sherlock picked John up and moved to the chair, flicking on the telly. He pulled a blanket up around them, and let John curl up tightly against Sherlock. Sherlock's body was warm and comforting, and John had exhausted himself with crying. Sherlock's arms squeezed the smaller man softly and kissed Johns head. The next several hours were lazy lounging about, watching crap telly and laughing at Sherlock's mocking of the programs that came on. Mrs. Hudson had came up the stairs once and gotten the wrong idea, and hadn't come back since. That had made them both blush. But it was hours ago, and Sherlock was now in the kitchen, attempting to prepare a nice dinner for John, and failing miserably. A loud frustrated sigh came from the kitchen. John giggled
"Sherl, do you need any help?"

"Sherl?"

"Yeah, thought you needed a nickname that only I can use"

Sherlock scoffed
"And sherl was a good choice?"

"Eh, I'm working on it"
John was grinning, and Sherlock was smirking. Sherlock turned back to his dinner.
"Oi, do you need any help?"

"No, no I've got it"
As if on cue, the food literally caught on fire. John nearly fell out of his chair from laughing. He was shaking with laughter. Sherlock frantically grabbed the fire extinguisher and began to put out the dinner. John was on the floor, howling with laughter as Sherlock doused the flames. When the fire was out, John was in tears. Sherlock walked over to him and bent down over him.
"Something funny, Watson?"

"Yes, actually"
John said, attempting not to laugh again.
"That...was bloody hilarious"

"Well, I'm glad you find my failure funny John"
Sherlock was only slightly annoyed.

"Aw c'mon, don't be like that. You gotta admit that was funny'

Sherlock slumped down into his chair.
"I have to admit to nothing"

"Nope, that was too perfect, you had to find it funny"

Sherlock only huffed. John chuckled and stood. He walked to the kitchen and picked up the charred food, and threw it away.
"Okay, my turn"
John flicked on the stove and started pulling things from cupboards left and right. Soon, the sizzle of a pan started, and food hit the metal saucer. John was working like an actual chef, which surprised Sherlock. The entire flat filled with the aroma of food. In a few more minutes, plates clattered on the tile countertops, and John announced that dinner, was served. The plate was covered in yellow rice, steamed broccoli and carrots and broiled chicken. Not a fancy meal, but it was homemade, and Sherlock loved it. The two sat across from each other, eating the sort of hodgepodge meal in silence. Sherlock missed this, the quiet dinners, the glances over the table tops. Everything just felt so right in that moment, like nothing in the world could break them, and Sherlock couldn't figure why. It was just dinner. Just a simple dinner with John. Not unlike any other one he'd had. But it was perfect. Every second was amazing. Maybe it was him, maybe it was John. Sherlock smiled down into his plate. His belly was warm and he was content with the world. John stood, and took his half eaten plate to the sink. Sherlock became worried then, John always ate his food, and all of it when he had the chance. Sherlock came and stood behind John, glancing down at the plate in his hand. John sensed it immediately.
"Sherlock. What're you doing?"

"You didn't eat"

"Not much of an appetite.."

"John. Don't lie to me"
Sherlock's arms found their way around the smaller man's waist.
"You didn't eat"
He repeated

"Sherlock, I wasn't hungry...not after today..."

Sherlock looked for any signs of lying, but, to his relief, found none. Sherlock kept his arms tightly around the doctors waist and hugged him softly.
"Okay. I believe you"
He gently kissed Johns cheek and hugged him again. Sherlock pulled away slowly, much to Johns dismay. Sherlock's arms were so safe and warm, John never wanted to leave them. The room was almost blanketed in silence, but there was a tapping. A rapid tapping. Like heels on linoleum floors. John turned his head to the sound. The tapping grew closer, and it ascended the stair case. Sherlock instinctively moved to protect John. The tapping reached their door and stopped. Nothing. Silence echoed loudly throughout the flat. Neither men dared move, out of fear of the other side of the door, for it could be a number of people, looking to kill either one of them. Absolute silence. Then, a sound that seemed louder than a bomb rang out. A knock at the door.