His Last Vow // The Caretaker
the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures …
I need a forehead thing. Just once.
John trudged up the stairs to 221B, his steps heavy and slow. His short shift at the clinic had evolved into some sort of major emergency involving a pencil, a yo-yo, a hand basket and a jam jar. It had taken almost six extra hours to get everything sorted out and now John just wanted his bed. He was tired, he was irritated, he was cranky-
And apparently he was needed for some reason or another. John sighed heavily as he turned from the stairs up to his room and instead walked into the flat proper where Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa.
"Yeah Sherlock?" John asked wearily as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Maybe they could get through this quickly so John could finally get to sleep.
"Ah good, you’re back. Lestrade called, there’s been an incident. Four dead, no witnesses. Apparently they each shot each other simultaneously," Sherlock rattled off as he leaped off the sofa and started pacing. "At first I assumed a sort of suicide pact but Lestrade insists these four are complete strangers. I need to see for myself if I can’t find some sort of connection between them and- John!" Sherlock said loudly causing the man in question to startle from where he had been half dozing against the doorjamb.
"Sorry, yeah, you said something about us investigating a murder pact?" John asked as he rubbed at his face again.
"Hmmm no, I think not," Sherlock replied, causing John to look at him curiously. "I think you’re going to go to sleep. You’re useless to me in this state."
"No, Sherlock, look I’ll be fine. Just give me a second, I’ll drink some coffee and I’ll be good to go and-"
"No," Sherlock said decisively, cutting him off. John made to argue but suddenly Sherlock was in his personal space, leaning down so that their foreheads were practically resting against each other. "You’re not coming."
"Then you’re not going," John replied, trying to make his tone as assertive as possible in his state of fatigue.
"It should be a simple case, I’ll be back before you wake up," Sherlock tried to argue but John was having none of it.
"Please," he asked, though in his tired voice it probably sounded more like begging, "Don’t go without me. Not again."
Sherlock simply sighed and wrapped his arms around the shorted man, one around his neck and one at his waist. “Very well,” he relented, letting their foreheads finally touch. He’d become more physical since his ‘return from the dead’. Not that John minded in the slightest. In fact, he used the opportunity to thread a hand through the curls at the base of Sherlock’s neck.
"Promise?" John asked, hating the way he definitely now sounded like he was begging.
"Yes yes, now go," Sherlock grumbled as he took a step back. "Get into bed, I’ll bring you some tea."
"Wait, really?" John laughed incredulously. "You? Make tea? You’re not going to drug me again are you?" he asked, his eyes swimming in mirth.
"Oh shut up," Sherlock complained, the amusement in his eyes belying his serious tone. "It was just the one time."
"Yeah yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it." John chuckled as he made his way to the stairs.
"John?" Sherlock called out as he was half way up.
"We’ll go to the Yard in the morning. I doubt Lestrade will be able to solve it any time soon," Sherlock said in a tone that implied this had been his plan all along.
"Alright," John replied, a soft smile on his face.
By the time Sherlock came up with John’s tea, John was already out cold. With a put-out sigh, Sherlock left the teacup on the bedside table and turned to leave only to turn back and study the sleeping man. After a few seconds of contemplation, he leaned down and lightly rested his hand on the sleeping man’s cheek, only to snatch it back a second later and flee the room.
John never woke up throughout the whole event but somehow, he slept perfectly peacefully that night.