Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Forty Six - Chasing Cars

John

The ride was long, and his eyes were fluttering shut by the time he drove onto the highway. He heard Sherlock's whimpers, and brushed curls off his sweaty head. He remembered Sherlock saying, "Not the hospital."

"You need medical attention," John had replied.

"No," Sherlock slurred. "They'll know. They'll know about the... the things. You... you do it. When we get to the hotel, I... I brought a credit... card, John, just... just do it."

John couldn't figure why Sherlock didn't want to get medical treatment. His arm was dislocated, swollen and red, and his curls were sticky with blood. Words were slurring because of the concussion he'd gotten, and he was whimpering quietly; fidgeting. Every once in a while he'd yelp.

"Sherlock, I'm here," John said, struggling to keep his eyes ahead. "Sherlock, wake up, you're here, with me." (That must have not been much of a comfort.)

He was shaking like a leaf, and his lips were parting to let in small, broken breaths. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered, and John couldn't help but drive to the side of the road, even though the hotel was only an exit away.

"Sherlock," John whispered, and Sherlock opened his eyes. They were wild, still hazed over, but concentrated. "Love, what's happened?"

"John... drive," Sherlock said. "Drive."

"I can't. I bloody can't."

"Drive, John. Please, drive."

"Just..." John said. "Please. Just tell me who did this."

Sherlock was holding in all his emotion. "Can't," he said, like if he formed full sentences the feelings would come pouring out with them.

The rain was louder than ever. Sherlock smelled like sweat and tears and blood and fear, so John pulled him up and rested his body in the crook of his arm, and Sherlock buried his face into John's chest.

"Shh, love," John whispered, shushing him. "I'm here. I'll always be here. Don't worry." John wiped Sherlock's curls away from his forehead as he quietly whispered promises.

Sherlock fell asleep in John's arms, still whispering. Every once in a while, he'd tremble, but John just steadied him with the one hand that wasn't on the steering wheel. 

They were at the hotel ten minutes later, and they registered for a room that was cheap and smelly. The manager said he didn't want any trouble from the police. John said that he could pay in full from the damage that he may cause, but he promised that there would be no subsequent trouble.

Sherlock was limping into the elevator, head high and chin up, refusing to show weakness. "You okay?" John said when Sherlock nearly fell. He put an arm under Sherlock's good one, but Sherlock shoved it away, giving John a stiff nod. 

"You sure?"

Sherlock nodded again, still not letting anything come through. 

When they got to their bedroom, Sherlock collapsed. 

"I've got to pop it back in," John said. "Before it heals that way."

"Do it," Sherlock moaned. "There are painkillers in the cabinet."

"I don't want to give you those."

"Why?"

"Because they're painkillers, that's why."

Sherlock held out his arm, wincing. "Alright, then, John. Count of three?"

"Yeah," John agreed, taking Sherlock's hand, and putting his foot on Sherlock's shoulder. "Won't hurt a bit."