Chapter Text
"Hello again listeners!" John cheered, though the excitement in his voice was hollow and forced. His voice echoed slightly, as did the pair's footsteps. "Hopefully the mic doesn't die this time, anyway— We are once again in the, ah... Sherlock, what's this place called again?"
He was met with silence, the detective too focused on his surroundings to pay mind to John's attempt at narration. He sighed but kept walking on behind, glad Sherlock had at least agreed to hold the flashlight so John could focus on the microphone.
"Well, we're in a cave," John continued, eying the dirt and rock walls around them. "Sherlock's pretty sure he's found the source of the dirt in that footprint—"
"I know I've found the source," Sherlock corrected. "I'm merely gathering proof."
John couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, half amused and half annoyed at Sherlock clearly ignoring his question before. Sherlock was having one of his snappier days which usually didn't bother John too much, but it still stung sometimes.
They really weren't that far into the cave, the light from the entrance they had used was still bright in the near distance, but they did have to rely on Sherlock's flashlight to see things with real clarity. John did his best to look around as well, but he wasn't the one holding the flashlight.
"So that's what we're doing, dear listeners," the doctor said after clearing his throat as he adjusted his footing on the rocky ground. "Hunting clues in a cave on a rare sunny day, welcome to Sherlock and Co.!"
He watched Sherlock and the light close in on a spot on the opposite side of the cave, the detective's popping and other thinking sounds beginning to echo faintly around them. Had he found something? John stepped toward the light to get a better look, but his toe hit a bit of ground jutting upwards and—
Crack!
"Ow! Shit..."
"Watson?!" Sherlock's voice jumped at the sound of his companion crashing to the uneven ground. Light flashed in John's face before he felt hands helping him sit up. He cried out when his foot twisted in the hole it had caught in. "Ah, apologies..."
"S'alright," John groaned before carefully freeing his foot. It was probably just a sprain at the worst, but his ankle still hurt like hell. "Where's the mic? I think I dropped it on the way down."
Sherlock made an irritated sound, but looked around with the flashlight and settled on where the piece of equipment laid, almost snapped in half on another upward jutting stone. Hopefully what had already been recorded was still usable...
"Bollocks," John muttered. He managed to reach for the broken mic and looked it over before gathering the pieces into his pocket. Sherlock already had the flashlight back on his sore ankle and John lifted his pant leg to check on it. It was a bit red and already starting to swell a tad. "Always my leg, why is it always my leg?!"
"Can you stand?"
"Yes, I can—" John winced as he attempted to push himself up, about to swat Sherlock's hands away before succumbing to the fact that he was going to need help if only because of how dark it still was. Even once he was upright, John kept a hand on the detective's shoulder to keep himself steady. "Thanks."
"No problem," Sherlock said back. There was a beat of silence before. "I really just need to collect one more sample—"
"Go ahead."
- - -
It wasn't much longer before they were back at the flat, John sat at the couch with his foot propped up on the coffee table. Sherlock was in the kitchen testing the different samples from the cave as John searched where to get a new mic. He'd already sent a message on X (uhg) and the patreon discord to let everyone know there was a bit of a hiccup in recording.
"How is your ankle feeling?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the living room.
"Still sore to move," John shrugged. "But the swelling's gone down thanks to the ice. I'll be fine."
"Glad to hear." Sherlock paused for a moment before sitting next to his flatmate on the couch. He leaned over, shoulder just barely touching John's, to look at his laptop. "You're worrying too much about price over necessity again, Watson."
"I'm looking at the right kind of microphone this time, according to you. What's wrong with these ones here?"
They sat like that for a while, Sherlock pointing John to which listings to click on and examining the item descriptions and photos. Though John did make a few suggestions, and enforced a basic budget, he could tell Sherlock knew more about what he was talking about than he did. Gray eyes peeled through every review as John scrolled through them, who had to keep reminding himself to actually look at the laptop, too. By the time they'd narrowed it down and ordered the perfect new mic, John's eyes were straining from being so close to the bright screen.
He sighed and shut the laptop, almost startled when he realized how close Sherlock had been leaned in. The detective blinked back at him a moment before pulling back just slightly so he was at least sitting up straight.
“Well,” John tried before clearing his throat. “Getting late, isn’t it? I better be—”
“Are you angry with me?”
John paused at that, barely able to process the question for a few seconds. He frowned once he did, worry starting to creep into him as he looked at his flatmate.
“No,” he said firmly. “Why… why would I be mad at you?”
“I was ignoring you when we got to the cave,” Sherlock answered in a flat tone. “Granted your narration was starting to irritate me but I should have at least made sure you could see where you were walking. If I had been more reasonable you wouldn’t have fallen.”
He felt, what… guilty? Is that what he was saying? Over something this small? John shook his head a bit, wondering just where the hell this was coming from. John reached a hand out to rest on Sherlock’s arm but stopped himself before making actual contact. The detective was particular about physical touch and something told John that if he was feeling anxious like this already it probably was a better idea to let him have his personal bubble.
“I’m not mad at you, Sherlock,” he said with a soft voice. “I didn’t… You’re good, mate. Don’t stress so much on it.”
“If you’re certain,” he answered with a nod and did seem to really accept John’s answer, but there was still a slight stiffness to his shoulders.
“You’re sure that’s all?” John asked. He set his laptop aside and took his foot down off where it rested on the coffee table. His ankle was going to be fine, even if sore for a few days, he was more worried about Sherlock. Maybe it was nothing, maybe the detective was just still in his weird mood and John was looking too deep into things. Though… it didn’t feel that simple.
Sherlock looked down at John’s hands, a habit the doctor was used to seeing. He seemed to consider things for a moment before abruptly standing and reaching for his violin.
“Sherlock,” John sighed in that motherly tone of his. “It’s better if you talk about it.”
“I know,” the other responded. He set the violin into position, pausing for a moment while his gray eyes briefly flickered to John. Then, despite seeming to accept what he should do, he began to play. John stood with a frown still on his face. Maybe Sherlock would be in a better mood to talk tomorrow.
John hobbled to his room, Archie trailing close behind him. He knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep between the violin and his unsatisfied worry, but at least his bed he could rest his ankle.