One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

A vit aler ror

@hiddenscreamer (sorry if it's not perfect)

The crime scene was a mess, the whole building a mess, there was blood splattered across walls and floors and the actual body itself was nowhere to be seen. The blood having been tested wasn't that of the suspect despite the large gash across his leg that would have bled heavily.

The whole plot to the crime scene was incompetent, the witness who had found the crime scene in the first place on the pent house of the hotel when their boss has told them to go check was inconsolable.

Sherlock however scavenged the scene, picked out minute details, usually covered in blood, and found intricate pieces of evidence that would eventually lead them to the next part of the case.

John stood at his side, despite all the other possible things he could be drawn away by, his presence was a comfort at crime scenes, the mere fact he had stayed this long still puzzling Sherlock after all these years.

A few more minutes and a single piece of paper, torn from a typewriter, one of the corners darkened with blood, was plucked from the mess and held between deft fingers, eyes scanning over the blood on the corner.

"What is it?" John asked reappearing at his side.

"Not entirely sure yet" Sherlock muttered softly as he turned it over in his hands, the paper creaking and leaving a dusty residue on his gloves.

"There's writing" the doctor pointed out just as Anderson headed over.

"I told you I don't want you contaminating it!" Anderson exclaimed in annoyance.

"Says the contaminant" Sherlock says under his breath as his eyes scan the writing. It was at that point they clearly began expecting him to read it out, he could already feel the swear beginning to build at the nape of his neck, his heart rate picking up pace.

Because despite the others around him, now also including Sally and Lestrade, Sherlock was adamant not to read this aloud. Not because it was indecent or because he couldn't bear to read it or even just because he was being stubborn.

The words were tightening together in the same way that his throat was, some of the letters spacing apart in the same way his heart was skipping beats at all the wrong times.

"I-" try harder! "Met..time..." he groans in frustration at this point.

"surely you can read, it hardly requires you all gawking at it like it's some kind of ancient treasure" the detective scowled as the words left his own lips before he shoved the paper towards Lestrade and left, his coat pulled tight around him and his coat collar up.

The words suddenly decipherable now it wasn't him reading them: meet me at the airport, 9:13 pm 2nd July - DH

John rushed after him as did Lestrade but he knew London streets better than the back of his hand and the detective was lost in the rain and smog that devoured London as they stood on the threshold of the fire escape at the hotel.

Lestrade had looked at john at that point.

"You knew?"

"Knew what?"

Lestrade had sighed then. "Of course he didn't tell you, dyslexia, the great git has dyslexia" he ran a hand through his slivering hair only to look around behind him. "You should head home, I'll set up something. We'll catch them"

And so with the internal battle John was faced against, he finally decided to head home, knowing...hoping, Sherlock would be back soon.

*****

Sherlock has originally intended on going to his brother, a refuge he wouldn't want to admit as the rain grew heavier, the wind stronger and each breath felt harsh in his throat, his lungs protesting with each inhale, his body ached from the cold and not even all the way there he was already sniffling as the cold weather hammered down on him.

*****

Around five hours later and John had arrived at 221b, having attempted to contact Sherlock but with no luck and was about to ring Mycroft when the front door opened, the steps that followed sounding leaden and tired.

Johns own pacing faltered, replaces by the sound of the tired steps that followed until he was finally face to face with the worlds only consulting detective who also looked pale and wet and red nosed.

"Sherl-" John started but cut himself off at the attempt of a glare he received.

"Not a word" the detective croaked, his voice raw. The coughing caught him by surprise as his eyes widened and he held onto the doorframe for stability at the sudden loss of his own breathing. When it subsided there was already a hand holding his elbow and a glass of water being held out to him.

"Drink it, it'll help" the doctor said in what was a soft voice but there was a stern under layer to which the detective begrudgingly obeyed.

Once the glass was empty he set it down on the nearest surface, at the time being the table as he moved to sit on the couch, wet coat now discarded beside him. "I'm fine John"

"You look it" John replied sarcastically as he took the coat and hung it up over the banister to dry.

"Of course I am, I should know what I'm capable of and what I need better than anyone else would" he said defiantly in a harsh tone that made his throat itch again, the coughing begging to make a reappearance twice as bad as last time but he holds it back, breathing through his nose harshly until the tickling subsides.

"No. You're an idiot, you could have told me and I would have read the bloody thing for you, instead of you storming off like you did and now you're ill." John exclaimed before exhaling a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and fore finger before looking back up at Sherlock and running his hand through his already messy hair. "You could have told me Sherlock, I wouldn't have thought any less of you for something as minor as that. I wouldn't even think less of you if it was major. Look I don't care" he saw Sherlock wince at that "not what I meant, I mean I don't care about the dyslexia, it's not you; it's just a tiny part of you and so be it. Everyone has faults who gives a shit. Just, fuck, Sherlock talk." He demanded at the end to the currently shivering and slightly confused detective.

"I...I realise that yes, I could trust you with this information but I was perfectly in control, I...I don't require help. I don't need special attention for something as minor as...as that! It's pathetic John!" And with those words the coughing started again and e didn't even notice the hands as they pulled the cold wet jacket and shirt off him and he was instead wrapped in a blanket that was warm from being near the radiator and his trousers removed as he was helped into pyjamas.

"Look you need rest, we'll talk about this another time alright?" John said finally once Sherlock was settled again. "For now I just want you better again okay?" And after receiving a nod the doctor left him to relax in the silence of the room.