Fandom Oneshots [Mainly Marvel, Sherlock, and Good Omens, and House MD]

BBC Sherlock: (Johnlock) "Water"

So, as someone who fairly enjoys the Pentatonix, I found this song sung by one of the members, Kristie. Now, as I listened to it, I found myself connecting this to Johnlock every sing line.

The song also gives a lot of 'OoOh, Reichbach Fall' vibes.

Also, I will try other ships like Mystrade or... Andavan? (I know ships well.) But I'm afraid they're too OOC, especially Anderson, and Donovan.

So, let's go down the slide of my horrid writing skills.

(Also, thanks RangerStark for the cover, awesome looking piece of art. The chapter is dedicated to them, though I don't know if they... ship Johnlock or watch Sherlock...)

[「-」]

It's ten past two, still up thinking of you.

Sherlock felt his eyes open, and like a camera lens, the edges blurred as if fingerprints smeared the surface. His eyes focused on the room and his lips opened, asking for 'John.' He turned his head and felt the presence of the room topple on his back and shoulders.

Right.

He was supposed to be dead.

The detective lifted himself up from the creaking bed and plopped himself down on the mini-room in the wall. The ledge, commonly used for reading, that cracked up to form a perfect rectangular corner, which the glass opened to the outside, where he could see the people slipping into shops and alleyways. The street-dwellers then flooded the right and left as they, like Sherlock, heard the sound.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

The rain that drizzled down, calming to those it sounded like a faint buzz and to other, it was the death of the sun god. Sherlock couldn't really tell you which one it was, to him, like to a few, it was a mundane question and an even more monotonous answer.

Except for that one person.

Timid heart, hide my scars.

John bustled out the flat with his watch being readjusted by his fingers. It was unquestionably raining, and raining hard, the few special raindrops falling onto John's slicked-back hair and ran down his neck could make him tell.

Why was he running out to the rain?

Well, he was most likely going to run into less 'pitying' people on the streets now, and it was the perfect mood to visit his old friend.

Perfect being absolutely miserable.

Every time John left for the outside universe, it seemed to rain, so he ultimately decided he should just go out when it rains.

So he did.

He reached Tesco and grabbed himself a few things to survive the following week/month. His eyebrows raising as he saw the same self-checkout he had a row with before, in which he rolled his eyes. Then, he headed for the cemetery, where he would 'see' Sherlock. He lifted his left wrist and saw the clock's face, but the hands enveloped in droplets, wiping it off, he headed towards the alley-way, crossing to the other side of the buildings.

A loud, booming 'stop!' echoed in his direction and he turned vigorously on his heels. His instincts bolted into action and he glanced around, which two people were running toward him. Now, John's eyes read them as Sherlock would to a dead body a year ago, but he had identified the two as Sherlock called him: 'Idiots.'

And John knew to run.

He hated being a coward, that was right anytime of his life, but he knew the better way out of this. Fight or flight? He answered that in no time.

Flight.

The two was definitely carrying guns.

Sheesh.

John carried his way down the street, his soldier senses kicking him in the balls to hide. He cursed under his breath that he didn't carry his gun, as he always did.

They say 'Old habits die hard.'

But truly?

'Old friends die harder.'

My voice cracks, I wait for it to pass.

Sherlock watched a blur pass in the corner of his eye. There were three men, one shorter than the rest, the other two had guns in their bags and the shorter man gripping a Tesco bag in his right, sprinting away from the danger. Sherlock watched the victim run out of view, then it clicked.

It was John.

He knew that he wasn't far from their flat, no, quite the contrary, he was very close. As the London air that weaved through the windows and into his lungs was finally familiar to him. He draped his Belstaff over his shoulders and his white button-up, he scurried down the small flight of stairs.

It was bound to happen.

It was just safe enough for him to show himself to John, but not to the public. He slammed the door open and pulled in John, who took the chance to hide behind the door. His hands still holding on to the Tesco bag.

Timid heart, hide my scars.

Make me stronger.

I can't take this any longer.

The can only lock eyes before John opened his mouth to murmur a few words. The shock trembled down his spine and he shivered into his jacket, the coldness numbing his arms as they let the Tesco bag slid in the falter in his grip.

He didn't want to ask.

He needed to.

One look into Sherlock's eyes was the only thing that was needed that broke him for eternity and beyond. His mind repeating the statement, 'why?' over and over, where, it wasn't a word anymore, just a sound of desperate need and despair.

I'll take you higher, take you high.

Sherlock couldn't answer John's question even if he dug, as he never had to answer such a question, such specific questions that had him drive himself wild. Sherlock held his palm out in front of him.

He wanted something, but it was so hard to ask when he didn't know what it was. He looked into John's eyes and saw him break, crumble, fall.

Why?

He just forgot.

John's finger curled up into a fist, letting it drop next to his waist. He sighed into the rain scattered air. His Sherlock was alive? Yes. Completely.

I can't take this any longer.

Sherlock sat on the reading ledge, where John followed suit. The droplets rained from the heavens and John finally thanked the rain for something.

There were a few words that came out of Sherlock's mouth that made John confused, other times, worried. But today? Today was the day he noticed his throat was dry, craving something.

"--I need you like water," Sherlock said.

And John could never agree more, even with the pouring rain and rivers full of tears.

How I wish you were mine.