Fic: Let's Have a Laugh
Feb. 19th, 2012 06:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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sherlockbbc_fic meme. It's... big.
Title: Let's Have a Laugh
Characters: John and Sherlock
Prompt: When Sherlock comes back from the dead three years after Reichenbach, and just shows up in John's flat... John just bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
The telly's on and John is half-listening, though he's paying more attention to the beer he's nursing. He stretches out on his chair and shifts restlessly. His leg is hurting. Damn. And he thought the day had been alright.
He changes the channel. News. News. Talk show. Cartoon. Children's show. Drama. Court drama. He smiles at the last one, remembering Sherlock's fondness for loudly correcting the judge and defendants. He turns the telly off and finishes the last of his beer. He stands up and is heading in the direction of bed when the door to the flat flies open with a crash.
And Sherlock Holmes is standing in the door way. The beer bottle slips out of John's hands and has the courtesy not to shatter. Sherlock's wearing a triumphant look proclaiming his cleverness, and John just stares. For several long moments, he just looks.
And then he bursts into laughter.
Because really, he's spent three years mourning, trying to clear Sherlock's name post-humously, and the bloody sod isn't even dead. He just laughs, taking great wheezing gasps in between chuckles. Tears are running down his cheeks.
Sherlock looks confused. “John?” he says tentatively, stepping forward. He reaches out for John, who is doubled up and holding his stomach.
“You're not dead!” John gasps through his giggles. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself. And it works for about a half a second and then he just looks back at Sherlock and starts laughing all over again. “You're not bloody dead!”
Sherlock still looks confused, except now he also looks concerned. Honestly, how is he not seeing the hilarity here? Sherlock Holmes, alive and completely fine all this time, no one the wiser. But Sherlock just asks, “John, what's so funny?”
John takes some more deep breaths. He's a doctor, he knows he needs to calm down, breathe, get sufficient oxygen. At the very least so he can let Sherlock in on the joke. He can do this. He can compose himself. One more deep breath. There we go.
John says, “You, you idiot. You're not dead!” And that's enough to set John off again, giggling like a schoolgirl, completely beside himself. His whole body is sort of shaking and he feels the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.
“I think this is what is known as hysteria,” says Sherlock. “I think you may be in shock. We need a blanket.” He twists his hands, not sure what to do.
And Sherlock's right, of course. “Yes,” John gets out between giggles. “But don't you see? It's just so... strange!” John reaches out with a hand to find the chair, then collapses into it, still laughing. “I spent three years mourning you! I went to your funeral!” After a few more moments of laughter, he adds, “I bloody talked to your grave.” More giggles. “It's just so... funny.”
Sherlock moves closer, puts an unsure hand on John's arm. “I think perhaps you should breathe. Shall I fetch you a paper bag?” John shakes his head, concentrates on breathing, trying with real effort this time to calm himself.
It takes a couple of minutes, but he manages. Then he looks up at Sherlock, just looking, and Sherlock just looks back. It's unnerving to be the focus of someone so incredibly... focused on something, but John doesn't turn away. He doesn't break eye contact. He just looks. Then he says, “We're out of milk.”
Sherlock hesitates, then says, “That is the usual state of affairs.”
“I got the milk for the last three years. It's your turn.” Sherlock smiles then, a real, warm smile. He grabs John's hand and pulls him into a hug and John can feel the soft rumble of his laughter. John smiles too, and leans his head against Sherlock's shoulder. Home. Finally, finally home.
sherlockbbc_fic meme. It's... big.Title: Let's Have a Laugh
Characters: John and Sherlock
Prompt: When Sherlock comes back from the dead three years after Reichenbach, and just shows up in John's flat... John just bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
The telly's on and John is half-listening, though he's paying more attention to the beer he's nursing. He stretches out on his chair and shifts restlessly. His leg is hurting. Damn. And he thought the day had been alright.
He changes the channel. News. News. Talk show. Cartoon. Children's show. Drama. Court drama. He smiles at the last one, remembering Sherlock's fondness for loudly correcting the judge and defendants. He turns the telly off and finishes the last of his beer. He stands up and is heading in the direction of bed when the door to the flat flies open with a crash.
And Sherlock Holmes is standing in the door way. The beer bottle slips out of John's hands and has the courtesy not to shatter. Sherlock's wearing a triumphant look proclaiming his cleverness, and John just stares. For several long moments, he just looks.
And then he bursts into laughter.
Because really, he's spent three years mourning, trying to clear Sherlock's name post-humously, and the bloody sod isn't even dead. He just laughs, taking great wheezing gasps in between chuckles. Tears are running down his cheeks.
Sherlock looks confused. “John?” he says tentatively, stepping forward. He reaches out for John, who is doubled up and holding his stomach.
“You're not dead!” John gasps through his giggles. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself. And it works for about a half a second and then he just looks back at Sherlock and starts laughing all over again. “You're not bloody dead!”
Sherlock still looks confused, except now he also looks concerned. Honestly, how is he not seeing the hilarity here? Sherlock Holmes, alive and completely fine all this time, no one the wiser. But Sherlock just asks, “John, what's so funny?”
John takes some more deep breaths. He's a doctor, he knows he needs to calm down, breathe, get sufficient oxygen. At the very least so he can let Sherlock in on the joke. He can do this. He can compose himself. One more deep breath. There we go.
John says, “You, you idiot. You're not dead!” And that's enough to set John off again, giggling like a schoolgirl, completely beside himself. His whole body is sort of shaking and he feels the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.
“I think this is what is known as hysteria,” says Sherlock. “I think you may be in shock. We need a blanket.” He twists his hands, not sure what to do.
And Sherlock's right, of course. “Yes,” John gets out between giggles. “But don't you see? It's just so... strange!” John reaches out with a hand to find the chair, then collapses into it, still laughing. “I spent three years mourning you! I went to your funeral!” After a few more moments of laughter, he adds, “I bloody talked to your grave.” More giggles. “It's just so... funny.”
Sherlock moves closer, puts an unsure hand on John's arm. “I think perhaps you should breathe. Shall I fetch you a paper bag?” John shakes his head, concentrates on breathing, trying with real effort this time to calm himself.
It takes a couple of minutes, but he manages. Then he looks up at Sherlock, just looking, and Sherlock just looks back. It's unnerving to be the focus of someone so incredibly... focused on something, but John doesn't turn away. He doesn't break eye contact. He just looks. Then he says, “We're out of milk.”
Sherlock hesitates, then says, “That is the usual state of affairs.”
“I got the milk for the last three years. It's your turn.” Sherlock smiles then, a real, warm smile. He grabs John's hand and pulls him into a hug and John can feel the soft rumble of his laughter. John smiles too, and leans his head against Sherlock's shoulder. Home. Finally, finally home.
