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John fell asleep right after they left Kettering on the way back to London. Sherlock glanced over at him in the passenger seat and nodded to himself. Going by the faint glaze to John's eyes, the shadows beneath them, and the tired curve of his shoulders, he had estimated John had about fifteen minutes of wakefulness left in him once they got on the road. John had been out in twelve.
Sherlock flicked the headlights on and kept driving. It would take another two hours to get back to London, he could certainly stay awake that long. John had a peculiar insistence on getting somewhat regular sleep and would be quite cross if woken now.
The evening darkened fast, the thick gray clouds that had been hanging over them all day building into black nothing as the sun went down. The wind buffeted at the side of the car as he drove, making them weave a little, but Sherlock kept them steady. He turned on the windshield wipers when the first rain spattered down in fat, heavy drops.
The road was deserted, nobody else interested in driving into a building storm on a Sunday night. Sherlock slowed as the rain came down harder, rattling on the roof and sluicing in ripples along the windows. It poured in waves against the car, carried by the wind.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, gripping the steering wheel. He didn't drive often, there were always cabs in London, but really, it couldn't be that hard to just steer in a straight line. Any idiot could do it, certainly he could.
Another hard gust of wind shook them, and the tires rumbled as he went over the strip of reflective bumps along the median. Sherlock pulled them back on course and slowed down. The sky lit with a brilliant flash of lightning, followed four seconds later by a heavy roll of thunder. Beside him, John jerked awake with a gasp.
"What..." John scrubbed a hand over his face, and Sherlock saw his shoulders go tense as another flash of lightning glared above them.
"Storm," Sherlock said shortly. He had the steering wheel in both hands, squinting against the onslaught of rain.
"Yes, I see that," John said. His voice had gone thin and strained. "Pull over."
"I'm fine."
"I said pull over," John ground out. He had one hand curled around the door handle, white-knuckled, the other fisted against his thigh.
"John--"
"Now, Sherlock, before we go off the road, you can't drive in this."
Sherlock frowned. "We're an hour out of London, I don't want to be stuck here all night. The storm isn't that bad, there's no traffic, if I go slowly the risk is minimal."
"Sherlock, please," John said, and closed his eyes, pressing a hand over his mouth. Thunder rolled right over them and John flinched and made a muffled sound.
Sherlock took them onto the soft shoulder, coasting to a stop in the gravel, then put the car in park. He kept the engine running for the light and heat, then turned to appraise John.
Visible trembling, eyes still shut tight, back and shoulders curled protectively inward, pale skin, sweat in beaded in a line on his forehead, breathing coming in short, gasping pants. Sherlock ticked off the symptoms like he had a list in his head. John was terrified. Of a storm? PTSD related, was it the thunder and flashes of light? Or did he have a long standing fear of storms? Not enough data.
"John?"
John shook his head. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's fine, I'm fine."
"Clearly you are not." Sherlock tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. "You're displaying symptoms of shock. Do you need a blanket?"
John let out a bark of startled laughter. "No, that's... no. I'll be okay."
A hard rush of wind rocked them, the car creaking and shaking on its wheels, rain lashing at the windows. John moaned low in his throat and curled a little tighter.
Sherlock considered the front seats; bucket style, with a small console between them. Not workable. He assessed the back seat, a single long padded bench. Better. "Come with me," he said, tugging at John's sleeve.
"What? No, where are we going? No," John said. Sherlock had already climbed into the back seat, folding his long limbs awkwardly to fit through the gap. He took his coat off and held it to one side, then gestured for John to join him.
"Quickly, John," he said. "Primary treatment for shock includes lying down, maintaining normal body temperature, and regulating breathing."
"I know that, what are you..." John ducked his head against the next flash of lightning, and his teeth began to chatter with the force of his trembling.
Sherlock curled a hand around his upper arm and tugged him forcibly into the back seat, John scrambling over the console and making a complaining sound. He sat sideways across the back seat and pulled John to his chest, settling him between his outstreched legs. Then he threw his coat over both of them, wrapping it snugly around John. "Don't have a blanket," he explained. "But this should be an acceptable substitute."
John blinked at him. He was quivering with tension, braced against the seat, unwilling to put any of his weight on Sherlock. "Seriously, what the hell are you doing?"
"Obvious," Sherlock said. He pressed at the inside of John's elbows, collapsing his arms, and John landed on him with a startled huff of breath. He pressed one hand to the back of John's neck and then rubbed it down the center of his spine in a long, firm stroke. Then back up, far enough to feel the soft tickle of John's hair on his hand, and down again.
John resisted for thirty four seconds, and then there was another deafening rumble of thunder and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and held on tight. He nosed into the hollow of Sherlock's neck, his breathing a rapid flutter of warmth on the skin. Sherlock could feel his heartbeat, pounding fast but already slowing a little.
John huddled closer as the wind rocked the car and whistled around it, and his fingers tangled in Sherlock's shirt, clutching the material. Sherlock kept stroking his back, his other arm holding John in place. He started to speak softly. "Most storms have a very localized front edge," he said. "The speed of the wind indicates this storm is fast moving, as does the way it built in intensity very rapidly. It should finish passing over us in about twenty minutes, and then we will be in the outer fringes of the storm and able to drive again. The further we drive in the opposite direction, the weaker the storm will become."
"Only you," John murmured, "would try to comfort someone with science."
Sherlock hesitated, then added, "It's all right. We'll be fine. We're safe here."
John nodded and let out a long sigh. His breathing was still too fast, and Sherlock could feel him shiver every time the storm beat at the car, but his skin had regained its normal colour and the shaking had eased. Sherlock rested his cheek against John's hair and closed his eyes.
They waited quietly, the pocket of air beneath the coat growing warm, John becoming heavy and relaxed against his chest. As the storm moved beyond them, John's grip on him loosened, but he didn't let go. Eventually, he lifted his head far enough to look at Sherlock. "Didn't really think you would do this sort of thing," he said.
Sherlock glanced away uncertainly. "Not good?"
John smiled. "Definitely good. Thanks." He ducked his head, looking faintly embarrassed.
"I think it's mostly passed now," Sherlock said.
John nodded. "Yeah." He did not make any effort to get up.
"But maybe it's not a good idea to drive just yet?"
"Not just yet," John agreed. He yawned and rested his head back on Sherlock's shoulder, wriggling a little to get comfortable. "Let's give it a little longer."
Sherlock took a deep breath, inhaling John's familiar scent, and gave it a little longer.
*