Skinny Love: A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter Twelve

"Who am I, darling for you? Who am I? Gonna be a burden in time, lonely. Who am I, to you?" ~'Promise' by Ben Howard

John

"Quiet, John, quiet," He thought to himself as he tiptoed up the stairs. He could see nothing in the near-darkness but the outline of his hands. He licked his lips nervously, resting a tentative foot on the next step. "Only a few more-"

He was rudely cut off by dramatic creaking underneath his foot. He paused and held his breath, listening for any signs of life.

Finally, his heart pounding widely in his chest, he attempted to scale the next step. This one let out a moan loud enough to wake the dead.

"Shit!" He whispered fiercely, but it was too late. He sensed a swift movement behind him. His instincts told him to turn and aim, but he couldn't do it. He was frozen in place. His palms grew clammy around his gun.

"I found you," A deep voice chuckled a few feet away. "You thought you could escape me, didn't you?"

John could hear him coming closer, could hear the creaking of the floorboards. It was only a few more seconds until the end.

"You're so brave, Dr. Watson," The voice was only a few meters away. "But now it's time for you to- ACK!" The approacher's sudden scream was followed by a loud thud. "Ow..." It then groaned weakly, somewhat muffled.

John doubled over with laughter.

"It's not funny, John!" The voice yelled from somewhere on the floor. "I was about to get you! Damn coffee table..."

John continued to giggle while searching for the light switch. "You had me for a second there, Sherlock. But I'll have you know that I was a soldier. I will always win at this."

"You were a doctor!" Sherlock huffed. John heard a Nerf gun's trigger, and a foam bullet hit the back of his head.

"Ow! Not fair!" John rubbed his head. "Just let me find the light, will you!"

Finally, he felt the switch under his hand. The lamps behind him turned on, followed by a hissing from Sherlock.

"God," he groaned, sitting up and nursing his toe. "Who's idea was it to fight with toy guns in pitch darkness?"

"Yours, you git," John said, starting to pick up Nerf bullets from the ground. "Stop being a poor sport just because I won."

"Ever heard of handicap?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up, surprised. "You want me to go easy on you because-"

"No!" Sherlock interjected, looking away, "It was just a joke."

John slowly nodded and returned to cleaning up. The playfulness of the moment was gone, replaced by a familiar awkward silence.

It had been a week since Sherlock's meltdown at the clinic. Dan had sent John numerous links and instructions on home-feeding. One of the things he thoroughly recommended was for Sherlock to be "pushed out of his comfort zone".

"There's a thing called exposure therapy," Dan had written. "In most cases it's used for phobias or anxiety disorders. For instance, say you were terrified of lifts. I would slowly expose you to lifts: possibly standing in front of one to start. Slowly, you'd become comfortable enough to go on a crowded lift without me. For Sherlock, he obviously has anxiety towards food, but there are other abnormalities about him as well. Take him to new places, and slowly make him have new experiences. You may find that since he is starved, he will become fixated on food. This will only fuel his anxiety. Make food part the experience, not the main focus. Soon enough he should be enjoying himself rather than worrying".