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Sherlock awoke to the glitter of dust in the golden rays of sunlight poring through the sitting room window.He was wrapped up on the couch, in both a bedsheet and a blanket from his own bed … but he didn't remember coming home?All he remembered … was yesterdays downpour and finding himself hopeless and helpless at the foot of where his knitted soldier should have been … ?A clink of silverware in the kitchen. China. Cupboard. Kettle.
… was someone making tea?
"Mrs. Hudson?" His voice sounded hoarse and hollow, even to himself.He doubted if someone in the next room could even hear him.The rustle of teacup and plate confirmed his suspicion."Mrs. H-?" Sherlock tried to be louder, but his throat hurt.He fumbled to get out of his blankets and fell onto the floor in the struggle. Grunting.Everything hurt. His head was pounding, and he probably had a fever … ? His mouth felt so dry. Tea would be welcome. Sherlock considered crawling in towards the kitchen, but thought against frightening Mrs. H as she carried a tea tray. Could result in a mess, and no tea.He looked down. Determined to wait. Now that he was shivering, he looked down and noticed he was mostly naked underneath the warm blankets. When had that happened?A light bulb kicked on as he added up the facts before him: Someone (not Mrs. Hudson) had carried him home … ? Someone (not Mrs. Hudson) had subsequently undressed and dried him … ? and someone (not Mrs. Hudson) had wrapped him in his blankets on the couch?
Mycroft.
Sherlock felt sick.It was bad enough waking feeling this lost and awful, but the knowledge that his brother, Mycroft bloody Holmes might have come to play house and mollycoddle him, was unbearably worse!"Piss Off, Mycroft!" Sherlock managed to spit out as he climbed and crawled his way back up onto the couch and turned so that his back was to the sitting room.He was determined now to ignore whoever was trying to make him tea. "Sherlock?" Sherlock felt a jolt of electricity run up his spine and spark an ignition in his brain.That … voice … ?!He froze. Paralyzed by the feeling that A) this could not be possible, and B) he had obviously gone around the bend. "Sherlock? … I uh … I made tea?" The voice sounded so nervous …So disjointed from reality … and yet so familiar with him … ? Sherlock craned his neck to look back. Nearly falling off the couch again at what he saw: Loose green knit. Everything from shirt, to breeches, to gloves. On a very human, very uncomfortable in his attire … being. The soldier?! "Hi." The hello came with a shy smile, and Sherlock knew he must still be dreaming. Maybe he died? Under that tree? Was this even real?He pinched himself. Flinching as the pain seared his skin and ran up his arm. Radiating pain. "F-ck!" he exclaimed loudly.The soldier was by his side in seconds. Tea tray deposited on the table. "You okay? What hurts?" The soldier was turning him towards himself, scanning Sherlock's exposed torso and arms, honing in on the reddened skin from Sherlock's pinch … his eyebrows knit together. Confused. "Wait, why did you-" Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he asked a question of his own; "You brought me home?" The soldier froze, hovering over him. Uncertain. Worried for him.He liked the care in the soldier's deep blue eyes. Liked the closeness. Despite the strangeness of the situation …"I did," the soldier slowly backed away then, rising. He went and began pouring tea out for both of them, "you were a bit … soaked … when we um …" he nodded at the door and looked around the room. "Sorry, I didn't get anything but a street before you blacked out. Had to call on a few doors before I found which was … yours." Sherlock blinked.This man, had somehow come to life; Found a practical stranger near death; proceeded to carry him all the way home; and then deposited him in the most comfortable way he knew how …"You stayed?"Sherlock was amazed. He accepted the cup of tea with gratitude and sat up, tucking his sheets in around his waist as he settled back. "Sorry? Should I-?" the soldier glanced his way, and then at the door. Wetting his lips.
Was he scared to go?
"No. Please?" Sherlock indicated the other end of the sofa, "John. Stay." "So you do remember me?" John smiled. It was like a ray of sunshine. Captivating. Sherlock grinned into his cup of tea, And both men took a deep breath, as if relaxing for the first time, in a long, long time … (to be continued ...)