Archive of Our Own ^beta

As John enters the pub, he immediately feels something different in the atmosphere. His eyes fall on the detective seated in front of the fireplace; his elbows on the armrests, his eyes focused on something that John cannot see. For a regular person, he might be looking just like always, however, John sees right through the act. As he approaches slowly, further observation confirms his opinion that something is wrong. 

Sherlock’s staring into the fire; forehead sweaty, eyes watery. He’s fidgeting with his shaky hands. The older man notices the tremors running through the detective’s body, wrecking his thin form in the armchair. For the first time since they met, John thinks he looks vulnerable. And that’s what makes him truly worried.

He finally sits down next to his friend, his eyes never leaving the younger man. Sherlock barely looks at him, still too occupied with the flames. John sighs. 

Normally he would immediately try getting to the bottom of the detective’s weird behavior but over the time they spent together, he managed to learn a bit how Sherlock’s mind works. How Sherlock works in general. And that’s exactly why he doesn’t try approaching the topic directly but from the safe side of it.

He informs the younger man how’s Henry handling the encounter, hoping that this will get him closer to helping Sherlock open up. When that doesn’t work, he goes back to the case itself, trying to summarize everything.

“What do we got?” John’s voice is quiet, just for his friend to hear.  “We know there are footprints, ‘cause Henry found them, so did the tour guide. We all heard something.”

He hesitates for a second waiting for any kind of reaction or answer. He doesn’t get one so he continues, “Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog-”

“Henry’s right.”

Sherlock’s voice unexpectedly cuts him off. John is surprised, but it’s a positive feeling. He’s finally gotten something

“What?” he pushes, trying to sound gentle. 

“I saw it, too.”

“What-?” He’s still confused- Alright, it’s not an unusual feeling while working with Sherlock, but still, he’d prefer his friend talking in full sentences. 

“I saw it, too, John.”

“Just… Just a minute, you saw what?”

“A hound. Out there in the Hollow,” Sherlock pauses and takes a deep, shaky breath. “A gigantic hound!” he adds after a while. 

John observes the detective’s eyes becoming even moister now. Sherlock starts blinking rapidly as if trying to make the wetness go away, but it doesn’t work much, maybe except for the fact that, although barely, he manages to keep the tears from falling onto his cheeks. 

The ex-soldier takes a moment to analyze the situation. He’s never seen Sherlock this afraid of anything. And now he’s witnessing his friend having a literal nervous breakdown right in front of him. He swallows hard before speaking up again. 

“Um… Look, Sherlock,” he says quietly, hoping his voice sounds at least kind of soothing. No matter how much this situation seems ridiculous to him, he needs to take the detective’s case seriously. Something is clearly wrong and he can’t leave his friend to deal with whatever that is by himself. “We have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can’t just- Let’s just- stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.”

At first, Sherlock doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs a glass filled with some kind of whiskey, John assumes, and holds it up, staring at it. Or more likely, at his own hand. That’s the moment the older man also notices how badly Sherlock’s body is reacting to the state of the man; his hand is trembling as if it was exposed to freezing temperatures, almost in a kind of sick manner. 

“Huh. Look at me, I’m afraid, John. Afraid,” he says, taking a big sip of the drink directly after the words leave his lips. 

The ex-soldier knows exactly what his friend is doing, which makes him even more scared now. Sherlock’s trying to calm himself with the alcohol, hoping the physical, or maybe also mental, symptoms will cease thanks to the dullness of mind the high-percentage drinks usually provide. That’s the ultimate proof that Sherlock isn’t capable of dealing with whatever situation that is by himself. 

“Sherlock…” John’s voice is soft, still trying to get the other man’s attention. 

“I’ve always been able to- to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. But, look, you see? My body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.” The younger man takes yet another sip.

John’s observing him carefully. “Alright, just… take it easy,” he whispers, to which he finally gets a glare from the other man. The one sign that the Sherlock he knows is still somewhere inside the shaky figure seated next to him.

“You’ve been pretty wired lately,” he continues. “You know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”

“Worked up?” The detective’s voice is now more clear and sounds somehow mockingly, as if saying ‘repeat that, I dare you.’ John can tell he’s getting annoyed, after all admitting to his weaknesses have never seen easy to the younger man.

“It was dark and scary-”

“Me? There’s nothing wrong with me,” Sherlock hisses, his breathing picking up the speed again. He’s trying to take deep breaths, seemingly to calm himself, however, it’s not exactly working. Instead, he’s getting more and more worked up.

If they carry on like this they will get nowhere. At that moment John knows they need to get out of the pub, that he needs to get the detective somewhere more private if he’s going to make him talk. He leans forwards on his elbows, his face is now barely a few inches away from Sherlock’s. 

“Exactly,” he agrees, which makes the younger man look at him again, this time with a bit of confusion hidden in his eyes. “There is nothing, and I mean nothing, wrong with you. You have every right to react like this, alright? You have every right to be scared of whatever is happening right now.”

John watches as Sherlock’s eyes widen. The detective opens his mouth to say something, or more probably to hiss some insult towards the older man, but before he gets the chance, John’s already standing directly next to him, holding one of his wrists. 

The action startles Sherlock a little, making his mouth fall closed again.

“I know you think you don’t need help, and I know you believe you don’t experience these emotions the same way other people do, but that is certainly not true. I can see what’s happening in your mind right now, I see the physical symptoms and I know you’re not handling it well. That’s okay. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

To John’s surprise, the tears that the detective was trying to hold so badly, now are falling freely onto his cheeks, as his breathing speeds up even more. His walls are breaking; falling uncontrollably, and he seems to be panicking - not about what he saw in the forest, but in fact, about what’s happening to him.

John reacts immediately, tugging on his wrist and pulling him into the standing position. What’s happening to Sherlock is starting to look more and more like a panic attack, and in that case, the older man really has to get into action.

Now that Sherlock is finally facing the rest of the room, he hangs his head, trying to hide the signs of the state he’s currently in. The older man’s hand moves from the detective’s wrist to his forearm. He starts dragging his friend toward the hotel part of the building, realizing that Sherlock must be feeling extremely uncomfortable, having an outburst in the middle of the public place. 

They finally get to Sherlock’s room. John is quick in his movements; he shoves Sherlock onto the bed so that the younger man is seated comfortably, while he closes the door quietly. He hesitates for a short while, before turning the key in the keyhole. If they’re going to talk, they need to have as much peace as possible. 

He then turns around and slowly approaches the bed, eventually sitting right next to the detective. Their shoulders are not quite touching, but they are much closer than a regular social etiquette would require. Then again, whoever said that there was anything regular about these two? 

John’s looking at Sherlock expectedly, while the younger man purposefully avoids the other’s gaze. He’s still staring ahead, trying to gain back his composure, however failing at it successfully. Now that the dam has broken, there is no way of stopping the water from spilling. 

Of course, the older man is the one to take action. He slowly scoots closer to his friend and puts an arm around him. He feels Sherlock tensing his muscles at the contact, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him. He waits patiently for Sherlock to relax. When the younger man does just that, John starts slowly running his hand up and down the other’s arm, creating a rhythmical, calming motion. 

“What happened there?” he asks softly, after several minutes of silence between them.

Sherlock sniffs, not really caring anymore about putting on his regular “I am not an ordinary human being” mask again. 

“Specify which place is ‘there’ in your opinion-”

“Sherlock, please.”

Maybe it’s the tone of his voice, maybe the support that radiates from the older man like some kind of aura… or maybe the detective is just too tired to act anymore. Because suddenly, he gazes directly into John’s eyes and lets out a harsh sob. John looks surprised, but immediately pushes him onto his chest, hushing the distressed man, telling him that everything will be fine, there’s nothing to worry about.

“I’m not sure what’s happening,” the detective finally admits. “I do not have enough data gathered to be able to directly state what’s wrong with me and-”

“And that’s what scares you,” John finishes for him. He feels a nod on his shoulder, upon which he smiles slightly. “It’s only natural, you know?” he continues, keeping his voice on a low level, as if not to startle the younger man. “That you’re scared of the unknown, I mean. Everyone dreads the undetermined.” 

“I’m not everyone.”

“No, you’re not. That doesn’t mean that you can’t get scared from time to time as well, though.”

They fall into a comfortable silence again, Sherlock breathing in John’s scent which is visibly calming him down, John still massaging soothing circles into his friend’s arms and back. 

After several more moments of stillness, the detective speaks up once again, his voice sounding slightly unconscious, “John?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, mate.”