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John was cold, absolutely freezing. His clothing was soaked. He knew he needed to get out of it, to get something dry, but they were in public. On the bank of the Thames, Sherlock was right there, the suspect had been knock unconscious. Yes, he needed to remove his clothes, but there were people around. It wasn’t going to happen. Nope, not in a million years.
“John, we need to get you out of these clothes,” Sherlock says, his hands already moving to remove Johns coat.
“N-n-no,” John stutters out, his already racing heart picking up speed.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We need to get you out of these clothes before hypothermia can set it. John, stop fighting me.”
John shifted side-to-side, moving every which way he could force his body to prevent Sherlock from grabbing hold of his clothes and forcibly removing them. “N-n-no, Sh’lock,” he stuttered and slurred.
“John,” Sherlock yelled, throwing his hands up in aggravation. “What the bloody hell are you on? Do you want to die?”
“N-n-no,” John muttered. His eyes slid closed, his hearing warbled in and out for a moment before he came back to himself. “Sh’lock, p-p-please.”
“What is wrong…. Oh,” Sherlock sat back, his eyes widening with realization. Some things are harder to deduce than others. This particular trait had blindsided Sherlock. “Oh, I see.”
John stared at Sherlock, his temperature dropping at an alarming rate. Sherlock wracked his brain, thinking… thinking… thinking… Oh, yes. He pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.
You owe me for this
MH
“Of course, yes,” Sherlock responded verbally and once again began fighting John for his jacket. “It’s just the coat, John, please.”
John finally relented and allowed Sherlock to pull the coat from his body. One less layer of soaked clothing and Sherlock was suddenly sprawled out on top of him, his Belstaff opened wide to encompass both bodies as much as possible. He buried his head in John’s neck and breathed heavily along the damp skin.
“Mr. Holmes,” a woman’s voice startled both men and Sherlock looked up to see Anthea… or whatever he name choice of the day was. “If you’d please.”
She held the door open as Sherlock pulled John to his feet. His eyes scanned the area, taking in the two armed men standing on each side of the unconscious suspect and the sirens that were steadily rising. He finally got John into the car. The driver stepped out and turned his back to them.
“Strip, John. There’s blankets to cover your body. I’ll be right out here if you need me, but you have to get out of those clothes.”
John nodded to the best of his abilities and immediately began stripping from his soaked clothing as soon as the door was closed. Covered in blankets and still shivering, he gave a feeble knock at the window. Sherlock was immediately in the car with him, Anthea and the driver in the front. It would be a good twenty minute drive to Mycroft’s estate, but they’d make it work. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, rubbing with all his might in an attempt to keep the circulation of his blood going.
“What a way to find out you suffer from dishabiliophobia. No more jumping into rivers, idiot.”
John nodded, his teeth clattering together.