Monday, September 19, 2011

Point of Origin, part 2

Here's part 2 of Sherlock as a Vulcan.

Fandom: BBC Sherlock/Star Trek
Story: Point of Origin
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Warnings: slash, interspecies flirting. Rated R for mention of drug use.



In the morning, Mycroft did call back, and a car came to pick John up. He didn't recognise the hospital he was taken to at all. It was more of a private, remote clinic far behind an iron gate. John suspected that perhaps it was an addiction rehabilitation centre for celebrities and wealthy clientèle who did not want to be discovered. That would make sense given Sherlock's history and Mycroft's VIP status. He just hoped they had decent doctors with experience in A&E.

John felt weird to be in such an exclusive place, but he followed the nurse eagerly to Sherlock's private room. Sherlock was awake in bed, but he still looked pale, almost greenish.

"Sherlock!" He rushed to his side, while the nurse stepped outside the room.

"John." His voice was soft and almost relieved.

"Why the hell didn't you let me come with you?"

Sherlock frowned uncertainly. "I thought Mycroft--"

"Oh he told me you needed special care because of your drugs history, and that I was too 'emotionally involved' to be your doctor. But surely I could still be your friend? I could come and sit in the waiting room until I was sure you were safe."

Sherlock said, "I am sorry." After a pause he added, "But I thought you had said we were colleagues, not friends."

"I-I didn't mean it that way! Just, you know, I was angry at you then and feeling intimidated at that posh bank. I thought we had to look more professional, like when you introduced me to Donovan as your colleague that first day."

"Ah. I see." Sherlock seemed to smile slightly at that, and he said, "Logical."

John shrugged and asked, "How do you feel now? Not in pain?"

"No. What about you, John? You weren't injured, were you?"

"No I'm fine."

"Good."

John asked, "So do they have proper trauma doctors here? Can I check your stitches?" He moved closer to look at Sherlock's right side, but Sherlock stopped him and pulled the blankets over himself.

"No, John."

"Why not? You've let me treat you before."

"For minor things. Mere first aid. But you... are not familiar with my medical history."

"Then tell me your history. I'm the only doctor you see on a regular basis."

"Yes, but not as my doctor. As my friend."

John pouted. "That doesn't make me a lousy doctor!"

"No, but it makes me a lousy patient."

John considered that and nodded ruefully, given all the times Sherlock didn't listen to him about food, sleep, and excessive nicotine patches. He sighed. "So this is the only thing you'll trust Mycroft about?"

Sherlock nodded. "That, and repairing my poor coat. Most of my clothes from last night were ruined with the blood, but I couldn't bear to sacrifice that coat as well. Nothing else keeps me so warm."

John said, "I've often wondered how you could afford such--"

Sherlock waved dismissively. "A gift from Mummy." Then he changed the subject to how the case ended, and what Lestrade had said about the hand-cuffs.

John told him, and Sherlock rolled his eyes about Lestrade's mousetrap threat.

"Then he'd probably get himself each time he reached into his pocket absent-mindedly. I'd be forewarned by the state of his fingers."

John laughed a little, then said, "Oh by the way, you dropped this in the alley." He gave Sherlock back his phone but remarked on the green fingerprints. "I wasn't sure what it was, so I just cleaned it with an alcohol wipe. Please let me know if I should sterilize it."

"No, no. There's no need." He took the phone and just stared in John's eyes rather intensely.

After an awkward moment, John coughed and said he had to get to work.

"All right."


So John left and hurried to get to his shift. He kept thinking about Sherlock, though, and was glad when Sherlock started texting him, complaining about how bored he was in the clinic. John smiled and told Sherlock to get some rest. After work, he called Mycroft to ask if he could get another ride to the clinic.

"Already arranged."

John walked outside and saw the car. "Thanks."

When he got in, Anthea was there this time, and she deigned once more to talk to him. "I am sorry for last night, John. I hope you forgive me."

"Yes, all right. I suppose you had to follow orders."

"Yes." After a pause she said, "You can call me Violet now."

"Violet?"

"Don't I look like a Violet?"

"So that's your real name, not Anthea?"

She smiled again. "No." Then she went back to typing on her phone.

John was too puzzled to try flirting with her again. Even if Sarah did break up with him recently.

Sherlock looked better in the afternoon, though his doctor said he would have to remain at the clinic for a few more nights while he healed.

John asked what Sherlock knew about Mycroft's enigmatic assistant.

"She's changed her name again, has she?"

"Yes. I mean, she does that with everyone, not just me?"

"Oh yes. I can tell you one thing that doesn't change. She's my brother's wife."

"Wife? Oh." Now John felt bad for flirting with her, or at least attempting to. "A bit unusual, though. Her calling him 'sir'?"

"Oh they have to keep things hush-hush." Sherlock paused, then added, "Hence her indecisiveness on picking a new name."

"A new name? Because she can't go by Holmes? But why not use her maiden name then? Why change her first name too?"

Sherlock smiled and only said, "At home, he simply calls her, 'wife.'"

John was a little disturbed by this, but decided that Anthea/Violet/whoever must have picked up a love for the dramatic from the Holmes brothers. He decided to just discuss how Mrs. Hudson was worried for Sherlock's recovery.


John continued to visit Sherlock until he was released from the clinic, but Mycroft was never there at the same time. Sherlock said Mycroft did come to lecture him on his safety, but otherwise had important government work to see to. "That and my coat." Sherlock was quite obsessed with that coat, continually saying that he was cold in his hospital gown, no matter how many blankets he was given. John even brought his robe from home.

On the final day, John brought a change of clothes for Sherlock to wear home. It was a bit selfish of him to bring that purple shirt that fitted Sherlock so well; it was too thin and sheer, and Mycroft hadn't yet returned Sherlock's coat. But Sherlock didn't complain. He changed behind the curtain, then John packed up his other things in a bag. But after Sherlock was seated in a wheelchair with a blanket, he still shivered. He even asked to borrow John's jumper.

John blinked in surprise, then shrugged and put down the bag. He took off his jumper and gave it to Sherlock.

So Sherlock pulled the jumper on, disarranging his dark curls and covering up most of his purple shirt. The jumper was too short for his arms, and yet too loose around his torso. In fact, it was loose enough that Sherlock pressed a handful to his face and smelled it, inhaling deeply.

John stared wide-eyed and dared not look at the nurse who must surely be looking at the two of them. He cleared his throat and busied himself with fixing his own hair that had been disarranged by taking off his jumper.

"You're all right?" John asked, when he regained the power of speech.

Sherlock smiled at him. "Yes, now that we're going home. Come along!" He snuggled under the blanket and gestured to the nurse standing behind him.

So the nurse pushed Sherlock's wheelchair out of the room, and John followed with the bag. Once Sherlock was checked out at the front desk, he was wheeled out of the clinic. Mycroft's driver held the car door open for them, and soon they got into the car, leaving the chair and blanket behind.

As they drove away, out of the gate, Sherlock asked, "Are you cold?" and snuggled up to John in the car, to share the warmth of the jumper with him.

John was too shocked to say that he wasn't cold and that Sherlock's nearness was making him too warm in certain areas. He decided that Sherlock might not be thinking straight due to whatever painkillers he was on in place of narcotics. They simply rode home in silence.

Mrs. Hudson greeted Sherlock with a hug and kiss. She also winked at John about the jumper, saying, "Now, now, you've got to take it easy on him while he's recovering."

John just hurried Sherlock upstairs, then unpacked the bag in his room. Sherlock remained lounging on the couch and checking his laptop for any cases he'd missed.

John was making tea when Mrs. Hudson brought up a vase of fresh flowers to welcome Sherlock home.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

John was glad to finally have Sherlock home, and he started to make dinner. But Sherlock glanced into the kitchen and soon noticed all that was missing. "Where are all my experiments?"

"I had to throw them out."

"Had to, or just wanted to, while I wasn't home?!"

Before they could row further, Mycroft suddenly showed up. Normally this would put Sherlock into a worse temper, but this time he came with Sherlock's newly repaired coat. Or perhaps it was a new coat; it looked so pristine.

Sherlock immediately ran forward and grabbed it in delight. He inspected it carefully before putting it on and practically twirling around in it. He stuffed his phone and magnifier, and various other things, back into the pockets.

Meanwhile Mycroft looked to John and remarked quietly, "Your jumper, I see."

"Yes, um," John blushed. "Yes. But nothing..."

"No, I suppose not." He went over to his brother. "Well, I see you're much better now, Sherlock. I shall tell Mummy how you are."

"Yes, certainly. How you saved my life." Sherlock's voice was not quite as sarcastic as it could be, and then he added, "You're feeling better?"

"Yes." Mycroft smiled slightly, accepting that this was the only way Sherlock would say "Thank you" to him. "My wife has convinced me not to diet again. The lack of food really leaves one vulnerable."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes I know, Mycroft. Run home to dinner, then." He stalked into the kitchen and examined what John was making for dinner.

"Goodnight, Sherlock. John." Then he walked out, still twirling his umbrella in that silly way he had.

John said goodnight to him then returned to making dinner. Sherlock watched him for a moment, then wandered back to the couch and his laptop.

After John finished cooking, they had dinner. Sherlock still hadn't taken off his coat, nor the jumper underneath. It all clashed terribly, and yet John loved looking at Sherlock wearing his jumper.

Sherlock returned to the couch while John cleaned up the dishes. He finished working on his laptop, then stretched out catlike, with his eyes closed.

John sat down to watch telly for a while, but he wondered if Sherlock was asleep or just thinking. He looked very cosy.

Sherlock eventually sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes as if he had been asleep. "Oh John, I forgot." He took off his coat and finally pulled off John's jumper to return to him. "Thank you," he said while shrugging his coat back on.

"Oh, no problem." John quickly looked away from Sherlock's newly tousled hair, and he took the jumper back to his room to throw in his hamper. But actually what he did was smell the jumper to inhale Sherlock's scent. In fact, it smelled like both of them, and John enjoyed that mixture rather too much. After a moment, he even examined it to see if any of Sherlock's dark hair had clung to it.

Of course he knew he shouldn't pine this way. Sherlock was married to his work.



P.S. the thing about Mycroft calling her "wife" is from the original Star Trek episode with Spock's parents (I think "Journey to Babel"). Sarek calls Amanda "wife" and commands her with words like "Attend." Kinda sexist and patriarchal, but she seems happy.

End of part 2. Continue to Part 3

2 comments:

I thought he was with you... said...

Loved it. Please continue the story.

Cress said...

Thanks! I just put up a new part.