One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

Underlying messages

It was all going well, criminal just ahead and they did catch him, after a very dramatic fight between Sherlock and the mad serial killer who then proceeded to throw Sherlock into the Thames, a desperate John Watson diving in after. But only when he'd dislocated the murderers jaw.

John managed to find Sherlock clinging onto some weeds by the edge of the Thames, to weak to climb successfully out but lucky to have John to help him, carrying him like a lifeguard and swimming with him over to the edge of the river and onto the bank, Sherlock was becoming unconscious in his arms from having breathed in a few to many liters of dirty Thames water along with his now rapidly decreasing temperature.

John dropped Sherlock onto the bank to find Sherlock now unresponsive and not breathing so he began to beat against Sherlocks chest to the hammering beat of "staying alive" and every ten beats breathing his own oxygen against Sherlocks cold lips and filling his lungs making his chest rise and sink again without Sherlock consciously being in control of his own breathing.

After a few minutes John felt Sherlock writhe underneath him and gasp for air, spluttering water in the process. Sherlock reached out holding onto whatever felt stable and warm, which in the end ended up being Johns jumper, sopping wet but the body heat being radiated underneath being desperately craved.

John held tightly to Sherlock until his coughing subsided, all the while tracing gentle circles into his back through his drenched coat. Sherlock practically reveled in Johns warmth. The police came down after a while and John met them, carrying Sherlock under the legs and across his back, because Sherlock was still too weak to stand. Lestrade fetched a old woolen blanket from his car and draped it over Sherlock who was lying in Johns arms and then gave them a lift to their flat in the back of his car.

Lestrade always filled in for a father figure when the blood relatives weren't there to make the difference, although Lestrade probably wasn't much older he had that sort of fatherly affect on those he cared about and two of those people being John and Sherlock.

They made it back to the flat, Lestrade said he had to take care of the murderer who he had also caused him enough injury to put him into medical care, because like John no one can put Sherlocks life in danger and got away with it.

John trudged up the stairs, his own shoes squelching as he walked, his jeans and jumper clinging uncomfortably to his skin and he couldn't wait for a warm shower but sherlock came first. Sherlock always came first.

John pulled off Sherlocks trench coat and scarf, deciding he'd need to probably get the coat dry cleaned so as not to damage it or shrink the material. Sherlock was barely conscious and his skin was like ice, but as John figured that was probably to be expected during winter when someone fell into the Thames.

John made quick work of the buttons on Sherlocks clothes, jacket off and shirt now over the armrest of a chair nearby, he then proceeded in leaving Sherlock standing in nothing but boxers as he pulled a duvet around him to try to warm him and fight the closing in hyperthermia.

John made him tea and once Sherlocks chattering teeth and shaking fingers had finished the beverage, John helped Sherlock towards the bathroom, Sherlock was still barely conscious and too weak to protest as John undressed him from what he had and washed him down in the warm water that scorched his skin but in a pleasant way. John washed his hair and cleaned his skin of the bacteria that mostly clung to it from his swim in the Thames.

Once he was clean, John fetched a towel and dried off Sherlock and then wrapped him back in the duvet in an attempt to savor any body heat that Sherlock did still have. The doctor then proceeded to carry Sherlock to his bedroom across the hall and sat him on his bed as he rifled through drawers hunting down pajamas and then helping Sherlock into them, all the while Sherlock lay limp and unconscious, completely vulnerable and dependent on Johns help.

Once Sherlock was dressed in a grey t-shirt and blue striped pajama bottoms that hung loosely to his skin, John wrapped the duvet around him and lay Sherlock down in his bed, fetching his own duvet for good measure. John then ran off to change and quickly shower, returning with some soup in a flask for Sherlock if he needed something warm when he came back to consciousness.

Sherlock writhed around in his blanket and pulled his arms around himself trying to warm himself.

"John?" He said in no more than a whisper barely audible but just a note over the silent flat. John came and sat next to Sherlock on the bed, pulling Sherlock out of the duvet and into his lap, their skin only separated by the thin cotton of their t-shirts, Johns body heat thawing Sherlocks frozen skin and cold blood that pulsed through his body. John then pulled the duvet back over Sherlock and around them knowing that he needed all the warmth he could get. 

Sherlocks tucked his knees up to his chest and the side of his face nuzzled against Johns warm chest and steady beating heart. John wrapped his arms around the detective, gently tracing his hand over Sherlocks arm, the numb feeling that was there being replaced by a new tingling sensation as the person he secretly loved made contact with his pale skin, something he would never admit he craved so desperately.

"You feeling a bit better?" John asked gently, his other hand now gently trailing patterns through Sherlocks hair and then along his neck and then down his back making Sherlock shiver but in a warm way that he actually loved.

Sherlock nodded in reply to Johns question, his voice hoarse from the cold water that had singed it, it felt burnt, the opposite of what he imagined swallowing ice cold water would do. The tea had helped, he would really appreciate anything warm right now.

John seemed to read Sherlock like a book, and reached an arm out to the nightstand that held the flask, he poured some soup into the lid and then held it under Sherlocks nose letting him inhale the sweet tomato scent that made his face feel warm.  John gently cupped Sherlocks face on one hand and held the lid to Sherlocks lips and gently poured it, ever so slowly, letting Sherlock drink in the warmth as it melted the coldness away in his throat.

He had soon finished off the soup john had given him along with another serving of it until he felt comfortably warm, wrapped in Johns arms, vulnerable but the safest he had ever felt. He was feeling sleepy as his body warmed under his skin, the duvet just a small extra compared to the tender warmth that the doctor provided him with that made his eyes flutter close and his body lazily fall further into John, his hair being gently massaged on his scalp and a gently tickle as Johns fingertips traced beautiful and meaningless pattern into his skin, leaving a invisible mark that only Sherlock could ever feel, a mark of unknowing affection.

Sherlock didn't get hyperthermia, but he did go down with something a little more complex, a defect in his heart, he was lovesick but his doctor fixed it without realizing, gentle kisses to his forehead when he fell asleep, 'i love you's hidden in other words, an unbreakable enigma.

--"because your an idiot"--
--"i love you"---

But after the event and waking in the mornings, John said one thing that cured Sherlock, sewed him back together once he'd been torn and gave his own heart to fill the cavity in Sherlocks chest, "because your an idiot and I love you"