The Johnlock Book of One Shots

The Oncoming Storm

It had been a few days since Sherlock had met John Watson during playtime at their school. Sherlock was the most social of the class (surprisingly) and John the quietest. Opposites attract, they say, and quickly they became friends. Now, the two were best of friends very quickly but Sherlock did keep one secret in particular.

Sherlock, as smart and brave that he was at the age of seven, was deathly afraid of thunderstorms. It was normal for a child his age, but he had his mind set that he had astraphobia; the diagnosed phobia of having a fear of thunderstorms. Not even his parents knew of this secret. Only one person, or should I say dog, in the world knew of this fear. Yes, his dog Redbeared shared the fear with him. Together, at each thunderstorm, they'd escape to the smallest cupboard in the house and hide. Wrapped up together, both shaking, they were at least that much calmer.

But this specific night, Sherlock was nowhere near Redbeard. Actually, he was at John's house for the night.

"Sherlock! Let's play a game!" John exclaimed suddenly. "Let's play hide and seek!"

Sherlock smiled at the idea. He was trying to get his mind off the fact that the forcast said thunderstorms for the area. "Sure!"

"I can count first!" John grinned and turned away, towards the wall, and began the count.
For a moment, Sherlock observed John's bedroom. The walls, matching the sheets, had sillouettes of hedgehogs all over it. Posted to the walls sat army and band and Doctor Who posters, and stuffed animals and metals filled the shelves. Sherlock noted that John's cupboards didn't seem very appealing to hide in, a bit cramped, and he made his way out into the hallway.

Sherlock understood without being told, John's parents' room was out of bounds. The other cupboards and spots around the hallway were too small, as well as the loo. He started to feel hopeless when he heard John hit '60' and call out "Ready or not, here I come!"

So, the black-haired boy jumped into the closest room and closed the door behind him softly. Swiftly he made his way to a small corner of the room when he saw the perfect spot. An attic door, but this one very small and on the wall instead of the ceiling. He grinned and jumped inside, seeing the boxes and bags sprawled out. Perfect for a seven year old to hide.

Now hidden among the storage, he relaxed. John was checking downstairs for him first. But suddenly, a small flash caught Sherlock's eye. His body tensed, seeing the lightning bolt outside of the portal window. It was almost immediately followed by one of the loudest of thunder claps and the downpour slapping the roof. Sherlock let out a small shriek. Probably (he hoped) gave his hiding place away. His arms wrapped around his body tightly while he shook.

"J-Jooohn." he whimpered, rocking back in forth. It took a few seconds for John to open the door and crawl inside. Just in time for another clap of the brontide. John knew immediately what was wrong, since he had had friends with the same issue. As fast as his body would let him, John rummaged through the boxes until he found one filled with old blankets. Thankfully they had been placed there recently and were still clean. He pulled out a few large ones and hurriedly wrapped up Sherlock as tight as possible with one, covered the two of them in another, and pulled out his mp3 player. The small player illuminated their faces, and John calmly put the headphones onto Sherlock and played some music.

'Thank you,' Sherlock mouthed, wrapping himself up a bit tighter. John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's knees in reply. The music rolled through Sherlock's ears. The Beatles, Soft Cell, and even some classical music soothed Sherlock into a nice sleep.

~3 years later~

"Hey, Sherlock!" John grinned widely.

Sherlock smiled back shyly, gripping his stuffed pillow to his chest. His mum stood behind him, a large grin on her face and a hand on his shoulder.