Theme Prompt - Never

The day John made the vow started out normally at 221B. It wouldn’t end that way, of course, but we aren’t quite there yet. And that vow was the foundation upon which everything that followed rested. But, this morning, John was the one who rose first. He’d never quite got out of the habit from the army and usually got the tea ready. Sherlock was still sleeping, John finally having bullied him into bed at the end of the case.

As John readied the tea and put toast in the toaster, he hummed to himself quietly. Mornings tended to be one of his favorite times. They were calm and quiet, allowing John time to recharge from the hectic life he lived with Sherlock. Stumbling footsteps announced Sherlock’s entrance, the detective walking into the kitchen yawning widely. He was wearing his dressing gown over a t-shirt and pajama pants and John allowed himself a moment to admire the body clad in blue and gray. Though no more than that. Wouldn’t do to cross any boundaries.

“Good morning,” John greeted, pouring tea for both of them. He handed one cup to Sherlock and put the first pieces of toast on a plate for the detective. “Have some toast. You need to eat.”

“Good morning,” Sherlock replied, grimacing at the toast as he sipped at the tea. It was prepared perfectly and Sherlock let his grimace soften. “Any cases yet? I can already feel boredom setting in.”

“I just woke up, Sherlock, and so did you,” John chided the man, shaking his head. “I haven’t even checked my blog. You can take a day off, I promise you.”

Sherlock grumbled to himself but let the argument go. If nothing else, he could pester Molly for some more organs. He had a few experiments in mind to run on blood clotting. John didn’t like the messier experiments but Sherlock could always offer to shoot the wall again. He’d rather enjoyed doing it, though know John would take the experiment option rather than the wall option. A pity, but there it was.

Breakfast was finished in a companionable silence, Sherlock lost in his plans and ideas and John reading the paper. It was a ritual that each had grown comfortable with and even Sherlock tended to miss when they were busy. After breakfast, John dressed quickly for work, thankful that no cases were going to interrupt him today. Sherlock played his violin, waiting for John to leave. After all, the proverb “It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission” tended to work really well with John.

Once he was sure John was gone, after watching the doctor walk determinedly off, Sherlock changed and took a cab to St. Bart’s. He knew Molly was working today after catching a glimpse of the schedule she kept on her desk. None of the other techs would give him organs or anything to experiment on but Molly always did.

“Good morning, Molly,” Sherlock said, breezing into the lab and giving her a smile calculated to convince her to do what he wanted. “How are you today? Any interesting corpses?”

“F-Fine,” Molly replied quietly, blushing and smiling back at Sherlock. She couldn’t help the crush she had on him even though she was fairly certain he used it against her. “And no, not really. There was a car accident yesterday and one person died. Thrown through the windshield, can you believe it?”

“Hmm, yes, no seatbelt, I suppose,” Sherlock said dismissively, looking around the lab interestedly. “I wonder if you might have a few organs I could use. It would be so very helpful and kind of you if I could have some.”

“I... I guess so,” Molly said hesitantly, rubbing her thumb over the back of her other hand nervously. She wondered if she might try asking Sherlock out again, since he seemed to have mistaken the first time she asked. “What do you need?”

“A heart and some lungs, if I could,” Sherlock told her, meeting Molly’s eyes and smiling again. “I have a few experiments to do.”

“I’ll just get them,” Molly nodded and hurried away. She knew she wasn’t going to do it, wasn’t going to ask him for coffee again. Every time she saw Sherlock, Molly turned into a blushing, babbling schoolgirl with her first crush. Molly continued to chide herself and sigh as she pulled out the organs Sherlock needed. It was a really good thing she was head pathologist, otherwise people might question what she was doing with the organs.

“Ah, thank you, Molly,” Sherlock said, letting his smile drop as Molly handed him the bag with the wrapped organs. “I’ll let you get back to work. Have a good day.”

Molly started to say goodbye, one hand lifting to stop him as Sherlock turned and hurried away. Letting the hand drop dispiritedly, Molly shook her head. It was about time she let go of her crush on Sherlock. After all, he seemed so happy with John around. And there was someone new upstairs who had shown an interest in her. Perhaps it was time to start dating.

Sherlock hurried home with his precious cargo, the steps of his experiment already running through his mind. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and, if he timed it correctly, everything would be finished before John came home from the clinic. After all, what the good doctor didn’t know about, he couldn’t complain about. Though, in deference to sanitary requirements and future peace if John ever found out, Sherlock would put a drop cloth over the table before starting.

The experiments went quickly, far more quickly than Sherlock expected. He knew a lot about clotting and coagulation, so he was really just testing the times. Once the experiments were done, he cleaned away the remains of the heart and lungs, wiping down the drop cloth and folding it neatly. The cloth went back under the sink while the organs went into the trash. Luckily, they needed to take the bins out tomorrow, so they wouldn’t be there too long.

Sherlock’s phone beeped just as he was finished and he washed his hands before grabbing it. Whatever it was could wait, especially if it was Mycroft. Drying his hands, Sherlock thumbed open the messages and read it quickly. It was from Greg Lestrade, wanting him on a case. A kidnapping, to go by the message he’d sent. A slow grin growing on his face, Sherlock threw on his coat and headed out to Scotland Yard. A quick case would be the perfect way to cap off his day and he still had some time before John was finished at the clinic.

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John had a very full day of dealing with children with the flu and some nasty cuts on a few construction workers. A few of the children were rather annoying, as they screamed as John examined them, and John patched up the workers thankfully. If he had to hear screaming for another second, John was afraid he might snap and just walk out. Well, that should teach him better than to expect a quiet day here.

At the end of the day, John shrugged into his coat and waved to his co-workers. Sarah tried to catch his eye, but he just nodded companionably and walked out. Before Sherlock, John would have had no hesitations in asking her out, especially as she seemed interested. Hell, even a few months into living with the man, John would have had no hesitations. But now, he just couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. Not including the fact that any relationship he had would be constantly interrupted by cases and calls to hand Sherlock things within his reach.

When he finally made his way up the stairs and into the flat, John was surprised to see that Sherlock wasn’t there. Usually on days without a case, the detective sulked on the couch or played moody music on his violin. Shrugging, John slipped out of his coat and hung it up. This would give him time to order something from the Chinese restaurant down the street and make tea.

After making the call, John settled at the table with the newspaper while waiting for the water to boil. He heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up, prepared to ask Sherlock what he’d been up to today. The words died on his tongue when the detective walked in. Sherlock was obviously exhausted, shoulders slumped and one arm hanging down awkwardly. As Sherlock shrugged slowly out of his coat, John was surprised and a little worried to see blood staining his shoulder. It had obviously been bleeding for a while; the stain trailed down Sherlock’s arm just past his elbow.

“Rough day?” John asked, fighting to control his worry as he got up. “Why don’t you tell me what happened while I patch you up?”

Sherlock started at John’s voice, honestly not expecting him to be home yet. Though, a glance at his watch told him that John would have gotten home about ten minutes earlier. Before he could answer, John headed into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit he kept there. When John came back out, Sherlock bowed to the inevitable, knowing it was easier to let John tend to the wound than to do it himself. He unbuttoned his shirt, grimacing at the bloodstain. The shirt was ruined now, though thankfully it wasn’t the deep purple one he favored most.

“Come sit at the table,” John ordered, dropping the kit on the table and pulling out what he needed. He gestured at the chair in front of him, eyeing the wound revealed now that Sherlock had taken off his shirt. It looked like a stab wound, though not too deep.

“Lestrade had a case for me,” Sherlock started to explain, hissing quietly at the pain of the antiseptic as John dabbed at the wound. “Kidnapping. I deduced everything about the kidnapper and went to confront him and find the little girl. When I got to the man’s flat, he had the little girl and Lestrade was able to get her. But he stabbed me in the process.”

John just sighed, still fighting the urge to scream and rant or hug the man in front of him to make sure he was still alive. He started gently wiping away the blood that had dripped down Sherlock’s arm, making sure every drop was gone. He didn’t see Sherlock’s eyes watching him, cataloguing every move. John just wanted to take care of the wound and convince himself Sherlock was all right.

“Well, I’m glad the girl was rescued,” John finally said, dropping the bloody cotton balls he’d been using in the trash. The wound didn’t require stitches, luckily, and John continued to avoid Sherlock’s eyes as he pulled out gauze and tape. “Why didn’t you let a paramedic look at you before you got home? You could have stopped the bleeding and saved your shirt.”

Sherlock didn’t answer right away, catching the little swallowing movements John made as he looked back at the wound. There were things, epiphanies, dancing just at the edge of Sherlock’s awareness and they all centered around John. He could tell John was worried and angry. And there was a sense of resignation, of giving up, about the doctor. Sherlock fought back the tears that threatened when he realized John was probably making up his mind to leave. After all, he was a frustrating flatmate and John shouldn’t have to patch him up every time he got injured. Sherlock stayed silent, absorbing the epiphany he’d just had. The idea that he never wanted John to leave was new but the reason why. Ah, that was a little different.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Sherlock finally answered, holding still as John bandaged the wound. He tried to catch John’s eyes, wanting to understand everything that was going through the other man’s mind. Once he was done, John looked up and met Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock felt his gaze soften and words left him before he could control them. “I’m fairly certain you’re making up your mind to leave. I just want you to know that I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me and our time together. You are my friend, John, and that matters.”

“What?” John asked, completely flabbergasted. The only thing going through his mind was worry and the struggle to hold himself to the standard of platonic friends. “What do you mean, leaving? Why do you say that?”

Sherlock studied John, yet again surprised by what he’d so often wrongly assumed was a simple man. He was wrong and Sherlock didn’t quite understand how. He continued to stare into John’s eyes, trying to read everything. And then, it clicked.

“Oh,” Sherlock whispered, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Never,” John promised, shaking his head. “Why would I leave my best friend?”

They smiled at each other for a few seconds until the doorbell rang. John got up to get it, leaving Sherlock to go find another shirt to put on. Once he came back to the kitchen, John had already cleaned up the trash and put away the medkit. Cartons of food were sitting on the table and John was setting out forks and chopsticks. Tonight, Sherlock decided not to argue about eating. Too many things had happened, too many surprises, so what was one more?

And that one word paved the way for everything that happened between them, everything they became to each other. Never became their promise to work through their arguments, to find compromises in each other, and to simply care. And that’s all John and Sherlock really needed, just the word “never”.