Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Point of Origin, part 1

This is my first attempt to write a fic in the new BBC Sherlock universe, and it is about John discovering that Sherlock is really a Vulcan. Yes, I'm working my way up to pon farr.

I am more of a Sherlockian than a Trekker, so I am indebted to David M. Scott's theory that Holmes was a Vulcan. I also looked up Vulcan stuff on Memory Alpha. Hope you enjoy.

Fandom: BBC Sherlock/Star Trek
Story: Point of Origin
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: slash, interspecies flirting, R for language and blood, (but eventually NC-17 for interspecies sex)

John should have known something was wrong when he noticed that Sherlock kept wearing his long coat even when the weather turned warm. But he dismissed this as Sherlock's love of the dramatic sweep of the coat. At least he left the scarf at home now, but that just allowed him to show off his magnificent neck. What a vain, gorgeous man he was.

John should have known something was wrong when Sherlock got stabbed on a case and tried to hide his bleeding with his damn coat. Well, he did know something was wrong, just not how seriously wrong at the time.

In any case, Sherlock was able to shove the assailant away from him, and John ruthlessly pinned the man to the ground. He knocked him out, then got his phone out and called the police, asking for an ambulance as well. He could see Sherlock doubled over in the alley, so he hurriedly slapped a pair of handcuffs (pickpocketed by Sherlock from Lestrade) onto the criminal and rushed to his friend.

Sherlock said with difficulty, "I'm fine," and seemed to be busy texting something on his own phone.

"You're not. Let me look at you."

"No." He let go of the phone but remained quite pale and hunched over. He was also holding onto the knife still in his side, trying to cover it up.

"Sherlock, come on."

Still the detective refused, pushing him away with surprising strength.

John blamed this on pride as well as Sherlock always dismissing his bodily injuries as unimportant. He was preparing to tackle Sherlock to see the wound, though he had to plan how to take care not to injure him further.

But suddenly, one of Mycroft's black cars pulled up, its lights shining on them.

While John was momentarily blinded, Sherlock got up and quickly ducked into the back-seat, but Anthea stopped John from following. "Sorry, John," she said, finally knowing his name at last. "Here, that one's yours." She pointed him to another car arriving then.

"But why can't I--?"

"He needs to see a special doctor."

"But I'm--"

"Sorry." She got in and closed the door, even locking it.

"No, wait!" He stared in disbelief as they drove away. Then he hurried to the other car and said, "Follow that car."

"I'm afraid not, sir," said the driver.


"I have orders not to follow that car. Just to take you to hospital if necessary, or wait here with you until the police come to the scene. Excuse me, but is someone else injured?" He glanced toward the criminal, still lying handcuffed on the ground.

So John argued with the driver until the police arrived and he had to give a report on what happened. At least the ambulance was used for the injured criminal, though John was frustrated as hell that he had no idea where Sherlock was taken.

"Special doctor, huh?" Donovan speculated, "Maybe when he gets stabbed, it triggers some bloodlust in him, and the freak has to be sedated and controlled?"

John was furious, but Lestrade said, "Cool it, both of you. And John, tell Sherlock to stop picking my pockets, or else next time he's going to find a mousetrap in there."

John grumbled and got in the black car reluctantly. "Take me home, or can you do that?"

"Certainly, sir."

John looked at Sherlock's phone, which he had retrieved from the alley. Strangely, it had green fingerprints on it. Green? Where had Sherlock picked up some green stain? Some chemical from his lab experiments? Some grime in the alley?

John called Mycroft to let him have an earful of curses and abuses. Mycroft said, "John, this is medically necessary. You see," he hesitated a moment, then spoke with distaste, "his past drug use has made it dangerous to give Sherlock conventional pain killers, so we have to be wary of his addiction."

"Then put some medical alert bracelet on him, listing what he can have and can't!"

"He prefers not to, so that criminals not see that he has a vulnerability. And John, it is at Sherlock's own request that you not come along. He doesn't want you to see him like that."

"Damn him!"

"He shall receive the best care, I assure you. Besides, doctor, is it not questionable ethics for you to treat someone with whom you are emotionally involved? It would cloud your professional judgement."

"Emotionally involved! Fuck you!"

"Precisely. He shall be stabilised, and I shall call you back in the morning with his location, so you may visit him. Goodnight."

John threw the phone in frustration, and didn't get much sleep from worrying. He also wondered why Sherlock would deign to get help from his brother.

Continue to Part 2

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