Sherlock | Crappy Fanfics

Hugs

The silence was a concrete wall between them. John longed for it to be knocked down; longed to say something meaningful to him, but it wouldn't be received. As soon as a crack began to show, Sherlock would hurriedly plaster back over it, quickly covering it up and never mentioning it again. It made John want to buy a bulldozer.

Now, the concrete was thicker than ever. Sherlock had been a shit. A complete and utter twat, that had resulted in two people losing their lives, John to find himself in the midst of a headache and Sherlock to be yelled at by a string of people, including Mycroft, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson. The last one had been horrible to witness. John actually thought he'd stepped into a nightmare at one point. The look on Sherlock's face was heartbreaking. It wasn't technically his fault, but he was being shitty enough for them not to listen to him, no matter how hard he tried to tell them.

"Sherlock?" John cleared his throat, looking at the man in front of him.

Sherlock was sitting hunched over on the sofa, hugging himself tightly and gripping onto his elbows tightly, staring blindly at the coffee table. It was clear from his dazed look that he wasn't really looking at it, but rather thinking heavily. John frowned.

"Sherlock?" He tried again, voice softer than before as he sat down next to him, watching the younger man rock backwards and forwards. "Are you going to talk to me?"

As he expected, Sherlock shook his head.

"Okay..." John sighed, rubbing his forehead and thinking heavily. "Okay... Are you cold?" He asked, seemingly randomly. Sherlock shrugged, and John's frown deepened. He hated seeing Sherlock like this. To see him this upset physically broke him, and he desperately had to stop himself from rubbing Sherlock's back reassuringly. Sherlock wouldn't appreciate it.

"You know it wasn't your fault, don't you?" John says quietly, deciding against his previous thoughts and rubbing Sherlock's back. He was surprised to find that Sherlock leant slightly into him at that, shuffling a bit closer. "I mean, you were an absolute pain in the arse. Five times you ran off, Sherlock. Five. Do you know what that's like? Especially during a stake-out-" Sherlock looked down, closing his eyes and John immediately regretted his decision.

"Look," he started softly. "I know you got excited today. And I don't blame you. It was an interesting case. Time was important. But you have to learn not to run off. Those two... Who tried to follow you-" Sherlock went pale and John swallowed. Usually deaths didn't effect Sherlock this much, but John supposed it was owing to the fact that Mrs Hudson had particularly berated him about it. Even John felt a twang of guilt when she'd said that she was ashamed of Sherlock. "It's not your fault that they followed you. You told them not to. I know you did. I heard you, and so did Anderson. He's backing you up with this one, believe it or not. Although I'm not sure whether that helps you or not."

Sherlock smiles wryly. "They'll never believe me if Anderson's on my side," he mumbles, tapping his feet on the ground as John sighs, feeling a splintering crack in the wall begin to widen.

"Probably not. But it's still a step in the right direction. Mrs Hudson will come round. I think she's just a little bit stressed at the moment. Her nephew-"

"Her nephew is trying to get her into an elderly home," Sherlock supplies in a monotone. "He wants her out of the apartment, and all of her money." He shrugs, hugging himself a bit tighter. "Hardly my fault."

"That's not the point," John sighs. "You mean a lot to her, Sherlock. And your constantly putting yourself in danger worries her. If anything happened to her, most of her money would go to you. In fact, I think everything of hers would go to you. That's why she worries," John wraps his arm around Sherlock's back, squeezing his opposite arm gently, all while horribly aware of how many boundaries he was breaching. "She cares about you."

Sherlock leaned into him, resting his head on John's shoulder. John practically felt the ground shake beneath him as another crack formed. "So, she shouted at me because she wouldn't have anyone to write about in her will if I died?" He asked quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on the same place. "And not because two people, two, trainee police officers, died because of me?"

John thought about it for a moment, before nodding. "Yes. The only person you ever put in danger is yourself. With a couple of exceptions. Besides, they'd have slowed you down. There's no way you'd want them with you." John offered him a small smile. "It's not your fault. Your brother will calm down, and Lestrade just had to look like he was doing something about it."

"What about you?" Sherlock interjected quickly. "You shouted at me, too."

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That's because you ran off. I wasn't shouting at you because of the two bodies, Sherlock. I was shouting at you because one of them could have been yours."

At that, Sherlock frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"Yes it does," John nods. "You need to go to bed," he added, checking his watch. "So how about hot chocolate and a hug?"

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Really John? A hug?" He asked mockingly, and John was pleased to hear the tone.

"You don't have to have a hug of you don't want it," John says quickly, shuffling away before being pulled into a hug by Sherlock, Sherlock burying his face into John's neck.

John stroked his hair gently, hugging him back.

Slowly, the wall began to tumble.