Work Text:
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Prompt: “Let’s go save the day.”
“Boring!” The gunshot rang through the flat as it struck the wall. “Boring, boring, boring. No more interesting cases. Why does nothing ever happen?”
“Mm, apparently the last five years didn’t happen for you as they did for me.” John continued typing on his laptop. “I, for one, found them very interesting.”
“Well, that’s because you’re ordinary. Must be so boring in your funny little heads.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that before.” Another shot destroyed one of the eyes on the smiley face. “Oi, knock it off. You’ll wake her up.”
Sherlock scoffed. “She’s slept through explosions and earthquakes before; I doubt a few gunshots will wake her up.”
A slight movement drew both their gazes to the corridor. Rosie emerged from Sherlock’s room, wearing a small dress and a black sweater. John stood up. “Look at that, Sherlock Holmes was wrong. Morning.” Rosie ran a hand groggily through her hair before glancing at her phone. She frowned.
“It’s late afternoon.”
“Well, so you’ve slept in. No big deal.”
“She’s wasted two-thirds of her day. I’d call that a big deal.” Sherlock dropped the gun and instead picked up the letter opener, turning it over in his fingers. John rolled his eyes before making his way to the kitchen.
“Cup of tea?”
“Sure.”
“No thanks, I’m not thirsty.”
“Wasn’t talking to you.”
“Thought I’d answer anyway.”
Rosie giggled slightly as they bickered. John set the kettle boiling as she wandered through to the living room. “Bad day?” She indicated the marks on the wall.
“The worst.” Dropping the letter opener, Sherlock flopped into his chair. “Nothing’s happening. I need something to do.”
Rosie smiled and drifted towards the couch. “Is it safe?”
Sherlock frowned. John stuck his head around the corner. “It’s clean!” Rosie sighed and sank down onto the couch, clutching her phone. She glanced up to see Sherlock staring at her.
“What?”
Sherlock stood slowly. She craned her neck to look up at him.
“Funny thing, self-harm. People always make the same mistake.” He bent down and turned her wrist upwards, squeezing. “They always assume it’s the wrists.”
Her face went white. He motioned to her lap. She was leaning over her legs; her sweater covering the tops of her thighs. Sherlock pushed on her shoulder. A small stain was seeping through the cloth on her lap.
“John, go check the cabinet in the bathroom. I am fairly certain you will find a razor blade behind the container on the top shelf.”
John’s eyes widened and he came around the corner into the living room. Striding across to the couch, he stopped when he saw the stain. “Oh…Jesus Christ…” He ran to the bathroom, leaving Sherlock holding the girl against the back of the couch.
She stared up at him. Well, not at him. She just looked up, lips moving in an attempt to form words. No sound came out. She sagged under his hand, head dropping, shoulders slumping. John came back, carrying the first aid kit. He dragged the coffee table closer to the couch and sat, carefully rolling up the dress. He swore quietly.
“These aren’t too deep. They shouldn’t scar too badly, but there are a lot of them.” He glanced up at her before ripping open an antiseptic wipe and beginning to sponge the cuts. “I don’t think you’re at risk of infection, but better safe than sorry.” He finished bandaging her legs before standing up. Sherlock hadn’t moved his hand from her shoulder. John left to put the first aid kit back, after giving her hand a squeeze. Sherlock watched him go.
“Rosie.”
She didn’t move.
“Rosie, look at me.”
She raised her head, eyes and nose reddened and her cheeks were damp. Sherlock squeezed her shoulder.
"I'm going to speak slowly and quietly, alright?"
"Why?"
"Because if I spoke quickly, I'd frighten you away." Sherlock reached down and took her left wrist, carefully rolling her sleeve up one-handed. Turning it upright, he ran his thumb over the inside of the wrist. She flinched.
“My apologies,” he murmured, “I’d like to take your pulse. May I touch your wrist, or would you rather I touch your neck?”
She clenched her fist tightly for a moment, then released her hand and held it open. Textbook sign of surrender.
“Thank you.” Sherlock rested two fingers on the throbbing vein. "Elevated pulse,” he murmured, reaching up to wipe her cheek, “tears from the left eye first, I've already upset you," he continued, glancing up at her, "no need to make it any worse, especially because I know you hate it when I deduce you."
She looked away. He let her. Tightening his grip on her shoulder, Sherlock slid his hand from her wrist to wrap around her fingers.
"You didn't wake up late. You woke up early in the morning and went to the bathroom when you thought I was asleep on the couch. You stayed in there because you heard John get up, and you didn't want him to catch you. When he came downstairs you went back to my room. You lay down on your back so you wouldn't get blood on my sheets. Thank you, but believe me, I wouldn't have been cross." One corner of his mouth quirked upwards and he squeezed her hand, which had grown slightly damp. "Then when you heard the gunshots, you decided to get up, making sure you put the sweater on first to cover up the cuts."
She glanced up at him as he squeezed her hand, looking away after he finished. He waited a moment for her shoulders to slump again.
“What did you expect me to do?” she finally spoke. “I’m not like you.”
Sherlock frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not like you, Sherlock. I’m not strong. I can’t think like you. I’m not as smart as you are. I couldn’t figure anything else out! What was I supposed to do?” She began to shout but still didn’t struggle against his hand. “I couldn’t do anything. I…didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want you guys to hate me anymore…” She lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Sherlock lightly squeezed her hand. “I’m not cross. Why would I be cross with you for that?”
“Because caring is not an advantage.” With that sentence, Sherlock’s emotional shield disintegrated.
“Whoever told you that is an idiot and you shouldn’t listen to them.”
“Your brother told me that.”
“Then my advice counts twice as much.” That surprised a giggle out of her. “You should never be reprimanded for caring. It’s the best thing about you. As you have pointed out, it is what makes us human.”
“But you - “
“Rosie, let’s look at the both of us for a minute, alright?” Sherlock used the hand on her shoulder and her hand in his to pull her upright. “Look at me, the drug addict turned detective who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. The high functioning sociopath who regards all emotion as a disadvantage and a weapon. The man who doesn’t think twice about hurting someone else.”
He hushed her quietly and held a finger over her lips when she opened her mouth to protest.
“Now, let’s look at you. Look at the girl who is devoted to protecting the lives of everyone. The girl who manages to befriend even the most unlikable people, and is unfailingly loyal to them.” Sherlock smiled and squeezed her hand again. “Caring may not be an advantage in the eyes of an idiot like my brother, but to everyone who cares about you, including me, it’s the best thing about you. Your heart is what makes you special. Don’t let anyone harden it.”
“Even if it makes me want to…” she trailed off.
“When that happens, you have us as much as we know we have you. We’ll take care of you. I promise.” His smile faded when her face crumpled. “You’re going to cry, aren’t you?” She nodded, ducking away. The hand under her chin quickly moved to cup the back of her neck, and he tugged her hand up to clutch it against his chest. “It’s alright, you’re allowed to cry.”
John came back into the room, glancing between the pair of them. “Sherlock? Is everything alright?” He caught sight of her face. “What’ve you done to her, Sherlock?”
“He didn’t do anything, I’m just being stupid,” she was quick to blurt out, “it’s not his fault.”
John glanced at Sherlock. “John, Rosie doesn’t feel like she can cry. I think she needs a hug.”
“Oh, Rosie,” John said as he turned her around and gave her a hug, “you’ll be okay. Trust me, if you can survive Sherlock when he’s high, you can live through anything.”
Sherlock’s affronted huff and John’s smirking reply made Rosie’s mouth turn upwards. She buried her face in John’s jacket and tried to stifle her sobs. She didn’t feel John’s head moved as he glanced up at Sherlock, but she did feel another pair of arms wrap around her waist and press her against another warm chest. They held her for a few minutes before they heard Lestrade climbing upstairs. John turned around, but Sherlock kept his arms around her waist, hidden behind John.
“Please don’t say you’re busy,” the inspector panted, “I’ve got one I think you’ll like.”
“Well, let’s hope so; I don’t think Mrs. Hudson’s walls can take much more of Sherlock’s boredom.” John sighed.
“Woman found dead in the freezer of a department store downtown. Three gum wrappers next to her.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I thought you said it was interesting.” He tightened his grip on Rosie. Lestrade shook his head.
“She died from cardiac arrest, apparently of fear.”
Sherlock straightened up. “Oh, now that is interesting.” He began bustling around, fetching his coat. “We’ll be along in a few minutes. Bart’s, I’m assuming?”
“Yeah, Ta.” Lestrade began making his way out.
John threw on his jacket, saying, “I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be just a minute!”
Rosie sighed, taking a seat back down on the couch. A hand slid under her chin and tilted her head back.
“Do you want to come with us?”
“Do you mind?”
Sherlock smiled. “Not at all.” He ran his thumb over her cheek. “After all, there’s no other way to improve your deductive skills than to see a professional.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if your ego could get any bigger.”
“Mm, the smile takes most of the bite out of your words.” He scrabbled the rest of his fingers lightly under her chin, smirking when it surprised a squeal out of her. “So does that adorable little squeak.”
“Fuck off.”
“There’s my girl.” Sherlock tossed her coat across the room before putting on the hat from the mantle. She giggled when she saw it. “I’m Sherlock Holmes, I wear the damn hat.” She kept laughing, before cursing and wiping her cheek. He noticed and wrapped her in a quick embrace before opening the door. “Come on. Let’s go save the day.”