You Just Can't Without a Heart"I don't even know where to begin..." John started, pacing the room in front of Sherlock, who was sitting in his arm chair, legs pulled to his chest and his eyes trained on John. "...I mean... You left for a week! I didn't know where in bloody hell you were and I was worried sick! I though someone had you, or worse, I thought you were dead!"You Just Can't Without a Heart by Black-Rose-117
"John..." Sherlock started, his voice low and almost quiet. It was so uncharacteristically like Sherlock to be quiet.
"Stop," John cut him off, holding his hand out to stop Sherlock. "Can you just tell me where you've -been-?!"
Sherlock shook his head, looking down at the floor.
"And why -not-, Sherlock?" John asked, stopping in front of him and crossing his arms, looking at Sherlock down his nose.
"Because, John, I just.... Just can't..." Sherlock said slowly, standing and walking over to John, placing a hand on his arm and getting closer. "Can you understand."
"N-no! I c-can't!" John forced out, shoving the rapid heart rate and struggled breathin
Put the violin down.....608 words. An overdone plot, but I liked it.Put the violin down..... by RainbowTart
Soft, tinkling melodic string notes tip toed their way into the living room, where John was dozing. He had fallen asleep in front of the TV again, papers stacked high around him; write ups for the case they had finished. He had been dreaming fitfully of racing through London's darkened streets, slipping on the cobblestones, past shop fronts, past restaurants from which a soft, tinkling music could be heard. As he whirled round a gloomy corner following a black trench coat as it whipped into the shadows, he came to the realisation that the music was still there.
A fluctuating melody pulled across strings that persisted in fluttering at the back of his head. Coming to, he lifted his head drowsily. The TV flickered soundlessly; perhaps he had leant on the remote- perhaps he never had the sound up. The music was drifting from the direction of Sherlock's bed room, and it appeared to have been plucked delicately from the heart if a v
SubstituteTeetering on the fine line between sleep and wake, John relinquished his worries of Sherlock's well-being, as the living proof of the man, remarkably, being capable of finding sustenance rummaged through the kitchen.Substitute by danglingdingle
Only for a few minutes, John promised himself, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he reclined in Sherlock's bed. Just for the moment. No reason to haul himself upstairs to the room which had been alarmingly vacant ever since John had moved in.
A vivid dream of half-microwaved, freshly bought pig-eyes simmered behind his lucid eyes, when a voice shook him out of the abstract.
Sleepily John rolled over, the bed wide enough to accommodate them both skin on skin.
"Hold me. Tight."
Awake now, discombobulated, John fought the urge to comply without questions and uttered them instead;
"Sherlock, I Why?" There was always a reason for the eccentrities. This would hardly be an exception.
"I'm fresh out of nicotine patches," said the man with four plasters sticking to