Jawn is having a row with the chip&pin machine again…I wonder when will I have my milk…
the previous <this> :)
[Another fic-inspired-by-pic, with sevnilock’s heartbreaking art. This piece really got to me when I first saw it, so I had to write a ficlet]
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“Oh you don’t need an umbrella John, it’s not going to rain. No point in carrying it around and slowing us down,” The wet doctor repeated, imitating his flatmate’s words from earlier, “John it is possible for one to smell rain due to a chemical change and imbalance in the air, and there is no indication that rain is imminent, despite this overcast sky… I’m cer-“
Sherlock’s deep baritone finally interrupted, “Yes, thank you, you’ve made your point.” he hissed; John was uncertain whether the genius’ cheeks were flushed because of the damp chill… or his embarrassment.
“S’alright, really. You dragged me out of the flat so early this morning - I didn’t have time to shower. This works out well.” John hummed, rocking back on his heels bemusedly as they stood just outside the London Zoo, having sought shelter from the downpour under the small roof-lip of a concession stand.
Sherlock huffed out an impatient breath, “We can’t waste anymore time here. It’s rain, John, not acid. Considering we are already fairly wet from the unexpected downpour moments ago, it will not hinder us one way or the other.” he explained curtly. “Come along.”
“Easy for you to say, you have your coat.” John muttered a bit bitterly. He’d barely woken up this morning when Sherlock had barged over to him, and pushed him out the door while explaining rapidly that there was a new case regarding a rare (and evidently stolen) animal at the London Zoo.
He’d been herded out the door without his jacket, much less his required morning tea. John was thankful he at least had a jumper on… but it was in no way waterproof, and now he found himself an extra pound heavier with the weight of his soaked clothing.
As Sherlock briskly took off into the pouring rain, John sighed, bowed his head, and followed; squinting as they braved the weathered onslaught. The pair only just made it to entrance of the Zoo, and John was already beginning to shiver. He opened his mouth to suggest they take the tube… when he was distracted by a ‘swish’ of dark fabric in front of his eyes… and then… cover?
John frowned, and looked at his lanky flatmate – who had removed his long coat, and swung it atop the two of them in a makeshift shelter.
“Your shivering is annoying…” Sherlock muttered; that same, faint rosy tint still starkly obvious against his otherwise pale skin tone. His complaint didn’t have any ‘bite’ to it, however… and if John knew Sherlock (and he did), he would venture a guess that this was the Detective’s way of apologizing.
John smiled fondly, and moved closer to Sherlock, grabbing hold of the other side of his huge coat to hold it up over himself, “Cheers.”
For lack of anywhere else to put his arm, John bravely slung it behind Sherlock’s shoulders – his mind more focused on the notion that the closer they were, the more shelter the coat would be able to provide. Sherlock seemed to believe the same thing… since he soon felt the Detective’s arm tentatively slip around the middle of his back.
As they began to walk, John found himself giggling at the whole scenario. Sherlock glared petulantly, “I don’t find this funny in the least. I despise the rain when I am required to trek through it.”
“I know you do. You claim it’s because rain washes away evidence, and makes everything busier, more rushed, ‘inconvenient’…” John recalled with a smile, “But I know it’s really because if your curls get damp, the product you leave in washes out, and your hair puffs up to oblivion…” he laughed, thinking back to the first time he saw his flatmate sans-hair product.
Sherlock tried to glare at John, but ended up giggling along with his flatmate as they made their way down the streets, avoiding swarms other citizens who were rushing by with umbrellas in their attempts to get out of the rain. It was a rare, almost childish moment between them… and when John felt Sherlock’s arm squeeze around the middle of his back a bit tighter, John simply returned it with the arm slung across Sherlock’s shoulders…
He wasn’t sure when he’d taken to wearing Sherlock’s coat instead of his own.
The first time it happened, John had been completely unaware – and only noticed he hadn’t donned his own after he received a number of sympathetic looks from Ms. Hudson, Lestrade, Mike and Molly.
John made a point to consciously look at the jacket he was picking up from then on… but didn’t stop wearing it all together. When he was going to work, or to meet with friends, naturally he wore his own.
But when he ventured down to the shops, or out for a walk, he would take the Detective’s trademark coat.
John had been visiting Sherlock’s grave, wearing said-coat when it started to rain. He winced as the heavy droplets began to hit his face and pelt against his head; the flowers he had brought to the gravestone were being equally hammered, and beginning to droop with the weight of the unexpected shower.
Without thinking twice, John removed Sherlock’s coat – and slung it over the gravestone, sheltering both it and the flowers… allowing himself to soak, instinctively inclined to cover and protect what was more important.
John wasn’t sure when he’d started to weep… but it hardly mattered.