Archive of Our Own

John started the microphone’s recording and kept it held between the two of them. “Alright, we’re outside Naya’s flat now.” he narrated as Sherlock raised his hand to knock on the door before freezing and inhaling deeply. “Do you smell that?” Sherlock asked, he and John both sniffed the air. “Yeah, natural gas” John agreed, it took him a moment to realize “Wait- is it coming from Naya’s flat?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he banged on the door “Naya? Naya!” he called with no response before backing away from the door “she has probably passed out from the gas, stand back Watson.” Sherlock directed - John thought he sounded rather like his commanding officers - before shoulder barging the door, breaking it open. John followed after him in a hurry and they both scanned the apartment for the missing woman, the mic and the listeners long forgotten. John was beginning to feel lightheaded himself when he heard Sherlock yell from the living room “She’s here Watson!”.

John jumped into action, running from the bathroom towards the yell, ignoring his body's protests as he got eyes on the detective crouched over Naya’s unconscious body, “She’s breathing but we need to get her out of here before she, or we, succumb to the gas. Help me carry her.” Sherlock requested as he made to grab Naya under her armpits. John followed suit, grabbing her by the knees as they set to work maneuvering her outside. As they got to the door of the flat, John felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Subconsciously, John felt the damning realization dawn on him: this was a natural gas leak in an enclosed living space. A living space that still had electricity. This flat was now a bomb. “Fuck, Sherlock! It’s going to explode!” he yelled in alarm and both men broke into as much of a dead sprint as they could whilst carrying a body between them, with energy and strength they didn’t know they had.

They were halfway down the first flight of stairs when the entire building shook with a boom. Sherlock nearly dropped the unconscious woman in surprise as he struggled to keep his balance, whereas John had been subconsciously bracing himself and managed to stay upright. “We need to get out of here, now!” John instinctually ordered as he looked over his shoulder at Sherlock.

“Right you are.” Sherlock agreed as he adjusted his grip on Naya. The continued journey down the stairs was a difficult one as the other residents pushed past to evacuate, the sounds of confusion and distress echoed loudly, mixing with John’s own panic and the gasses he had inhaled, leaving him disorientated as they went. 

Eventually, they managed to arrive outside and laid Naya down in a safe place until the ambulances arrived, she had started to wake up and John could vaguely hear Sherlock explaining the situation to her from his place against a wall. He was breathing heavily, trying desperately to process everything that had just happened. He was breathing too quickly, swapping the cause for his lightheadedness from the gas to hyperventilation.

People were yelling. Sirens were wailing in the street. It was Ukraine after a bombing all over again. Locals screaming in terror. The men he was with yelling orders. Sirens wailing. He was too hot. Ukraine was too hot. The fires made everything too hot. He struggled out of his jacket and threw it somewhere. The autumn chill piercing through him as he shivered, or was he shaking? He didn’t know. He couldn’t be shaking because shaking meant he was scared. He couldn’t be scared. He was a soldier. He slid down the wall and pulled his knees to his chest as he tried to breathe. Trying desperately to remember where he was. Where was he? London or Kiev? Did a flat just explode, or a bomb? Both options seemed plausible. He just wanted everything to be quiet so he could think. He brought his hands over his ears in an attempt to block everything out. He could feel them shaking as he pushed against his ears. No, he wasn’t shaking. You are not scared, Captain Watson.

Then he felt it, a cool and steady hand on his knee. He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and squinted in the too-bright light of the sun to see “S-Sherlock?” he mumbled in confusion. Sherlock couldn’t be here in Ukraine, it was far too dangerous, he had to get him to safety! He had to, he had to-

Wait, why was Sherlock in Ukraine? Were they in Ukraine? John realized Sherlock had been talking.

“-ohn? You're in London with me. You’re safe. Take deep breaths.” Sherlock was repeating the statements like a mantra as he dug through the pockets of his coat, looking for something.

London? He was in London? But there was a bo- No, there was a gas leak, wasn’t there? He was in London. These thoughts, given to him so easily by Sherlock, pierced through the still loud noises of the street as he tried to regain his breath.

Sherlock gave a small, triumphant smile as he found what he was looking for, his ear defenders and sunglasses. He slowly placed them on John’s head, instantly, the world seemed to shrink, becoming much more manageable as he took some deep breaths. He looked around, he was in London. John lowered his trembling hands to his knees, looking at the detective and breathed out a singular “Thanks”.

“Would you like to hold my hand?” Sherlock offered in the same manner as he had done before, with no judgment or pity in his tone nor his actions. John nodded and Sherlock sat next to him, holding his hand out. John grasped it and Sherlock gave a firm but not painful squeeze, it felt grounding.

They sat like that for some time, John didn’t know how long, until he was calm enough to conjure a thought for their victim, “How’s Naya?”.

“She’s over there with a paramedic.” Sherlock pointed to her, John looked to see her conscious and wearing an oxygen mask, but otherwise looking okay. 

“Oh! Watson, I found your microphone.” Sherlock revealed, holding out the seemingly unharmed microphone. “It ended up landing in a convertible.”

“Oh, thanks mate. I didn't realize it was missing, I must've dropped it in the panic.” John took it back and absentmindedly scratched at his injured leg. It always seemed to itch after a bad nightmare or panic attack. Sherlock, of course, noticed but busied himself with grabbing John's coat, which had ended up quite a distance away.

“Do you feel any better?” Sherlock asked, draping the coat over John's shoulders, he was still shaking.

“I, erm, I think so. Good thinking with the glasses and the uh- the ear defenders.” John gave a weak smile, the pressure of the ear defenders pushing against his head was definitely helping.

Sherlock hummed and nodded “You can keep them for as long as you need, but I'd suggest we go with Naya to the hospital, just in case. If you like, we can always buy you your own pair” The detective held his hand out, John used it to pull himself up and shrugged his coat back on as they walked toward the ambulance that Naya was being wheeled into.

Sherlock held his hand the entire way there and explained what had happened to the paramedics, allowing John the space to recalibrate.