Nᴏᴛ Gᴀʏ {Tᴇᴇɴ/Jᴏʜɴʟᴏᴄᴋ}

№ 21

I awoke to the early morning sunlight hitting my face, reminding myself to get some effective curtains sometime. Sitting up in bed, I slowly let myself wake up completely, rubbing my face with my hands and standing up, walking out of the bedroom into the bright light from the window. Sherlock was sitting in a chair facing it, one eye dark because of a restrictive sleep schedule, the other eye dark from the fight. He held a cup of what smelled like coffee in his right hand, smiling at me as I entered the room.

"Hello, John."

"Hi," I yawned, my bare feet hitting the sunlit floor with soft thuds as I went to sit next to him. "How are things?"

"Wonderful," he said. "Would you like to know why?"

I nodded, watching him take a sip of coffee before pointing out the window and saying, "Look."

Following the direction in which he was pointing, I walked over to the window and looked out. Everything was white. Rooftops, the streets, trees, benches... Even the tops of cars were still covered in bright white.

"It snowed!" I said. "It's so pretty." I leant against the window, my chin resting on my palm as I looked out. The sky was even white, and it almost hurt to look at. This much snow didn't happen often at all. Usually if it snowed, it just barely covered the ground.

"Isn't it?" Sherlock said, slowly standing up and walking over to me. He stood by my side, wearing thick wool tracksuit bottoms, a loose shirt and a blue dressing gown that served as more of a replacement for his coat than anything else. We both watched the stillness below, becoming so contagiously silent ourselves that I thought I could hear my own pulse.

Sherlock took another sip of coffee, placing the cup down on the windowsill and pursing his lips. "I want to go walk in it," he said.

"What about your head?" I asked. "You got a concussion three days ago, Sherlock. You're supposed to be laying low."

He shrugged. "I think I'm almost completely recovered. I could stand a stroll on a beautiful day like today. Quick, let's get outside before everyone's footprints ruin it." He cautiously and carefully rushed to the door, grabbing both our coats and putting his on. I hesitantly took mine and put my arms through the sleeves, zipping it up to the bottom of my collarbone.

I opened our door as Sherlock tied his scarf around his neck - just the way I'd taught him, too - and walked out next to me, standing silently as I locked the door behind us and stepped in synchronisation with him him as we made our way, side by side, down the hall, my arms tense and ready to catch him if he stumbled at all at any point in time. He seemed to be alright, however, but I still thought it was best to be prepared.

Many people were moving in today. Classes started in just a few days, so the lift was fully occupied with people and bags and luggage, and we couldn't even fit in the lift at all. Not only that, but with all the stops it would make, we could easily walk down the stairs faster. We would also avoid all the stares we would have received if everyone saw the bruises and black eye belonging to my companion. Therefore, taking the stairs was a better option. So that's what we decided to do.

It was a very silent trip, and every time we would reach a new flight of stairs, I would grip Sherlock's arm tightly in my hand so he wouldn't fall. He focused on his feet going on each stair, his shoes hitting them with a soft clopping sound, and I couldn't be sure if he even knew my hand was there in the least. Did I want him to? Maybe.

Reaching the ground floor, I opened the door to outside, cold, still air immediately surrounding me as we exited the building. Our breath was visible in front of us, and I already felt my nose growing cold. It was freezing. No wonder it had snowed.