for caffienekitty

[tigriswolf]

Title: And indeed there will be time
Fandom: Sherlock BBC/Highlander
Notes: future!fic, John/Sherlock, momentary character death; Highlander knowledge is not necessary beyond the basic premise of immortals
Dedication: caffienekitty for her birthday, to her prompt someone dealing with a panic attack? Sherlock, Chuck or Supernatural, any of them

 

 

It happens on a routine chase, the kind that’s barely worth mentioning anymore, and a piece of information that Sherlock overlooked. (He didn’t miss it; he merely didn’t register how important it truly was until a horrifically inopportune moment.)

 

John realizes a full minute before Sherlock that they’ve lost control of the situation, and he reacts with admirable swiftness; he lunges for Sherlock, covering his body as best he can, and tells him, “Don’t panic.”

 

Sherlock does not panic. He feels John’s body jerk, hears John’s gasp of pain, and watches John die, feels him go slack, and demands in a whisper that becomes a shout, “John? John!”

 

The warehouse is silent. Their quarry is gone. And John is dead, still covering Sherlock.

 

Sherlock does panic, now.

 

o0o

 

Minutes become hours. Sherlock’s mobile is in his hand, but he’s yet to text anyone. John’s head is in his lap and his free hand tangles in John’s hair.

 

He should call Mycroft. Or Lestrade.  Both, probably.

 

He’s solved the case, of course. That final piece of information has slotted into place.

 

He should call Mycroft. Let his big brother fix everything, make it so this never happened. 

 

But it did happen, and Mycroft can’t bring John back to life.

 

Sherlock realizes, distantly listening to himself sob, that he’s been crying for hours now. Muttering, too, begging John to come back.

 

He’d be horrified if he was at a crime-scene and witnessed someone acting like this. He’d turn to John, see the sorrow and empathy on John’s face, and he’d hesitate to ask, not wanting John to look at him with disappointed eyes.

 

He really should call Mycroft. And Lestrade.

 

Sherlock would ask, though, as they left the scene. He’d assure John that he himself would never act like that, but he’d inquire as to why someone would.   And he wouldn’t admit to himself or to John, that if anything ever happened to two—maybe four—people, he would grieve before doing something terribly violent and utterly fatal.

 

John would give him a slightly pitying look before explaining exactly what the still-wailing man, woman, or child was feeling, and Sherlock would listen. Later, he would decide whether to delete the information or not.

 

After all, John would explain the next time he asked, and the next, and the next…

 

“John,” he murmurs, fingers tightening in John’s hair. “John.”

 

He finally begins composing a text, telling Mycroft and Lestrade to come at once. 

 

Before he hits send, John gasps and coughs, eyes opening. 

 

Sherlock drops his phone.

 

o0o

 

Much later, John will tell a very old friend that he only worried for a moment, blinking up at Sherlock’s shocked face, how Sherlock would react.

 

Sherlock will cut in, then, and tell the old friend that of course he listened to John and didn’t panic. Sherlock Holmes does not panic.

 

The old friend will chuckle and wish them many happy centuries together.

 

John will smile and meet Sherlock’s small, sincere grin with a thorough kiss.