BBC's Sherlock, Standverse (John has a Stand)
Summary: John has nightmares. This is one of them. Except it's happening. And Sherlock wants to know what's wrong.
Word Count: 905
Note: Parts of dialogue taken directly from The Great Game. That might be Jojo "Xander" Joestar in the flashback, but you can read it however you wish.
It’s not long before the questioning begins. “John.” It’s the most emotion Watson has ever heard from his flatmate—tightly wrapped, but it’s there. Frustration. Fear, worry. Anger. “What does Mycroft have over you?”
John made himself tea automatically. It was as good a solution as any other for a crisis, and he was beginning to feel more normal again. He could just tell Sarah—it made me remember, I needed to know, I’ve seen enough death—and she’d listen. It won’t work on the genius.
“Excuse me?” He’s almost beginning to feel normal, again, but he’s not ready for this conversation.
“That. That was a threat, a blackmail threat, only of course Mycroft couldn’t lower himself to actually speaking those terms.” He’s never seen Sherlock this angry at his brother. Maybe it should be flattering that it’s over him, but he’s. Everything’s coming to an end too early, and he’s not ready. “What does Mycroft know about you? I assume it’s something you don’t want me to know. Something that I didn’t manage,” yet more violin torture, “…to deduce. Tell me. Then you don’t have to do his bidding like some kind of…dog.”
“What has Mycroft mentioned?” It’s a stalling tactic. Sherlock realizes that full well.
He’s almost hesitant to answer. It’s touching. Here John had begun to wonder what was wrong with Sherlock, if he cared about human lives at all, but here he was, living proof that there was at least one person Sherlock cared about. “He’s warned me against you. Odd, it’s usually the other way around. He’s offered roommates money for spying on me before, but not this time. He said that you were dangerous, but as usual he refuses to explain, and I only work with facts.”
There’s the tremor, the tremor that had been gone so long. The tea nearly spills, so John replaces it on the saucer automatically. “Dangerous. That’s a word for it, I suppose.”
Something, anguish perhaps, shows in those piercing grey eyes before disappearing. “John. If you tell me, clearly he’ll have nothing on you. I can see you’re anxious about doing so, but I can assure you, there’s nothing that you can tell me that would scare me away. I don’t care about the danger, and, as unexpected as it is, I trust you.”
Something in him nearly gives. He closes his eyes and gulps. When next he speaks, he’s hoarse with emotion. “I—I wish I could. But you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I? I wouldn’t believe you?” Sherlock’s up and suddenly crossing the room in long strides, until he’s close. Almost too close. One hand reaches up to almost touch him before thinking better of it. He looks closely over John, at the way he’s trembling, and then speaks again. “John, you’re not a monster. I don’t know what’s led you to think you are, but you’re not.”
It’s…it’s too much.
‘John, you’re not a monster. You never were. You’re doing what you can to survive, to protect others, and there is no greater gift in this world. Trust me.’
‘Even with my Stand?’
‘Especially with your Stand. Mine gives me a unique…understanding, I suppose? I can read you. Why do you think, even with such destruction, you have the ability to protect others? Others, but not yourself. We love. We have so much love to give, that some might yell at us for being too self-sacrificing.’ A smile. ‘It hurts, sometimes too much to bear, but it’s worth it. Every life we can save is worth it.’
He’d thought then, that he’d found a man he’d follow to the ends of the earth. The smile had been sad. Jojo shakes his head. ‘You’re waiting for something, and when it comes along, it’ll be brilliant.’
The will to fight, there. It pales in comparison to Sherlock Holmes. He’ll fight until the last breath, until the air burns in his lungs and he’s swept away.
He starts to laugh. Starts to cry. Sherlock is looking as uncertain as John’s ever seen him, and wordlessly John sweeps him into a hug. As much as he hadn’t wanted the touch, then, he needs it now. It’s very hesitant, bony, but it says something about the strength of their connection, that Sherlock even lets him.
“John?” The voice is reluctant to disturb him, but he gives the man space, now.
“Thank you.” The warmth makes Holmes uncomfortable, he knows, but it’s all he can say to the man who’s saved him, and he can’t help but mean every word. At least twice. “I’ll tell you, someday, when I can find the words. You know how long it takes me to write up our cases.”
Sherlock’s lips twist into something resembling a pleased expression, but he’s still unsure, still worried, still worrying at the puzzle he can’t solve. “While I understand that—” and then his mobile rings.
Saved by the bell, Citizen/Soldier giggles, and Holmes answers with irritation that quickly changes. “Of course, how could I refuse?”
He strides off before realizing John isn’t following. “Coming?”
“O-only if you want me to,” John replies. They haven’t finished, but it seems that the detective wasn’t lying when he said that he trusts John. Still trusts John, even without knowing the secret of John Watson, and it’s brilliant.
“I’d be lost without my blogger,” Sherlock smiles, and it’s hesitant but it’s much more natural, and John smiles back.