Allergic sherlock, caretaker john, feat. an appearence by the ship Moran/Moriarty

[•.*°•☆. Q .☆•°*.•]

I got into a trade a long long time ago, and even though the other person still isn't ready to give me what they are working on yet, I am ready to post their gift and I just can't keep it anymore it needs to be posted. Here you go, trade partner.

- - - - - -

“John, fetch my handkerchief.” Sherlock ordered. He was busy bent over a microscope, analyzing something for a tricky case that had just come his way. John looked at him incredulously, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Thank you.” Sherlock replied simply.

“Where is it then?”

“Jacket.”

John strode over to Sherlock and, holding him steady by the shoulders, began rummaging through his pockets. He’d just found it when Sherlock let out a little gasping, “Quickly, John!”

John hurriedly brought the handkerchief up to Sherlock’s nose and mouth to catch a forceful, “Hhrr-echuh!”

“Bless you.” he said, just on the amazed side of indignant. He swiped vaguely at the detective’s face and set the handkerchief down on a clean patch of lab-table. “You know you’ve been sniffling for the past hour or so.” he said, looking at Sherlock with the sort of frustrated concern that only looking after someone as stubborn as he could illicit.

“Yes, I’m aware.” He said.

“Sherlock, if you’re coming down with something, as your doctor, I insist-“

“I’m fine. Really, John.” Sherlock interjected. The hint of annoyance in his voice indicated John was missing something.

“Right. Well if you’re not coming down with something, then what, pray tell, is the matter with you?” John said. Sherlock had lied about his health to work a case before, and John wouldn’t have been surprised is this was just more of the same. Remembering that the last time he’d caught pneumonia, John tended to keep on Sherlock about his well-being these days. Sherlock gave a little sniff and cleared his throat before replying.

“You’ve been with me all day. Deduce.” he said. John sighed in exasperation and looked at the ceiling as if it would grant him patience. “Right. Well you were fine when we set out in the morning, and there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary at the police station. Maybe something you’re working with for the case? What is that, anyway?”

“Aluminum oxide. And no, keep going.”

John wondered whether Sherlock actually got any amusement out of playing with him like this. He stared at him for a moment, all turning nobs and adjusting slides and scribbling data. John tried to think of anything that had been out of the ordinary in the day. There had been no foliage or animals about, and it can’t have been any new detergent or soap around the flat because John picked up the shopping and he knew he hadn’t gotten anything different recently. He thought through the day’s events as the great Sherlock Holmes sniffled away on the other side of the room. The morning setting out, and then the police department, then here to St Barts and…

“Molly. That must have been it, then, she’s wearing a different hand-lotion or something.” he guessed. Sherlock actually glanced up from his work to fix John with an unamused look, made somewhat less impactful by the glassy quality his eyes had taken on and a miserable sniff.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John, Molly doesn’t wear hand-lotion. It’s perfume. Obviously.”

“Of course. Well, are you just going to stand there and suffer like a tit?”

Sherlock looked at him bewildered, “What?”

“Come on,” John sighed, grabbing Sherlock by an arm and more or less dragging him from his work station, toward the door. Sherlock looked alarmed.

“Where are we going?” he yelped.

“To get you washed up.” John said, “There’s a washroom just around the corner from here.”

The unisex washroom was long and rectangular, with two sinks along one mirrored wall and little grey tiles everywhere else, save for a janitorial closet which was a wooden door near the sinks, and painted metal stalls opposite that which were the same dark charcoal-brown as the door that led to the hall. John pulled Sherlock through this door and into the room.

“Great, it looks like they’re out of paper toweling.” he said, before flicking on the tap with a squeak. For a moment they looked at each other expectantly before John piped up.

“You’re supposed to splash it on your face.” he instructed.

“Why?”

“Because it helps to wash away any allergens that are on your face.” John replied.

“No.” Sherlock said, uncooperative as ever, “I haven’t got allergens on my face, I’ve got them in my sinuses. I hardly think splashing a little water on will help. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” –sniff- “I’ve got a case to work on.”

Sherlock started towards the door, but halted on one heel and grabbed john by the shoulders, whisking the both of them into the janitor’s closet and shutting the door promptly.

“Sherlock, what the hell?” John hissed, before Sherlock’s hand pressed over his mouth. Sherlock motioned for John to be quiet as the washroom door opened and a pair of voices came in. It was difficult to make out words through the thick wooden door, but it almost sounded like-

“Moriarty?” John mouthed, pulling Sherlock’s hand away from his face, “What is he doing here?”

Sherlock gave his head a little shake and shrugged, which was as much a shock to John as anything. Careful to not bump over any mops or brooms, John shifted and turned to press his ear to the door.

“…r by now than to bother me on the job. This had better be extremely important,” Moriarty was saying. The other voice responded. It was a deeper voice, rougher sounding. It was almost a familiar sound, but John couldn’t quite place it.

“Well, Boss, it’s about the January heist. Unless you’d rather I go…”

“What is it?”

“She has a son in Bristol.”

A pause. A laugh.

“Oh, Tiger, I knew I could count on you.” Moriarty said, “When we get home later…”

“Must we wait until then?” the other voice said. Not wishing to listen in on Moriarty’s sick love affair, John lifted his face from the door and carefully turned back to face Sherlock.

Sherlock had a fist pressed against his own mouth, and his breathing had become slow and deliberate. John shot him a look that was half “don’t you dare” and half “I told you so.” as Sherlock’s nostrils trembled and his eyebrows knitted together with effort. He pinched his nose just in time to stifle a sneeze almost silently, a tear of irritation rolling down his cheek. John caught a broom handle that Sherlock had managed to bump into, and kept it from falling, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep it from making a sound.

“Boss, did you hear something?” said the voice identified only as “tiger”, from much nearer the janitorial door than before. John froze, and glanced from the broom to Sherlock, who was still having trouble keeping his nose in check. His fingers remained pressed to his nostrils, and his breathing was beginning to grow desperate.

“Are you toying with me, now?” said Moriarty. A pause again. Moriarty sighed, “Fine. I haven’t got time right now, will you handle it? Good boy.”

And then the door to the washroom clicked opened, and then it clicked shut, and then one by one Moriarty’s man kicked open each of the bathroom stalls in turn. Because of John’s quick thinking, by the time “tiger” reached the janitor’s closet he found it locked. There was a moment of quiet. Sherlock began to rub at his nostrils in little circles as his breaths became less and less stable. The washroom door clicked open once more. John’s hand flew up to Sherlock’s mouth, and pressed his lips shut as Sherlock’s control began to slip. And then the washroom door clicked shut. John removed his hand from Sherlock’s face, as Sherlock’s shoulders heaved with his breath. His head reared back, his hands raised half to his face in anticipation, and then he whipped forward, cupping his hands ‘round his nose and mouth. “Eetch! Hh-tSnkK! HEHtchNX-NGX’ST-ENGXT!” He paused, looked upwards for a moment, and waited. “Hh… Hh-ETSCH!”

“Christ! “ John exclaimed, “You alright?”

Sherlock sniffed and wiped his nose against the back of his wrist, his eyes watering, his consonants dulled by congestion when he spoke. “I think I’m willing to try your stupid face-splashing methods.”

“Jesus… Alright, come on then,” John said, unlocking the closet door and swinging it opened. The two of them shambled out into the washroom-at-large, where a certain consulting criminal stood looking smug. “Bless you.” Moriarty said, grinning.

Edited March 12, 2014 by Amyparda

[cally]

“John, fetch my handkerchief.” Sherlock ordered. He was busy bent over a microscope, analyzing something for a tricky case that had just come his way. John looked at him incredulously, “I’m sorry, what?”

Wow, Sherlock. Lazy much?

The two of them shambled out into the washroom-at-large, where a certain consulting criminal stood looking smug. “Bless you.” Moriarty said, grinning.

I can literally hear this, the Irish lilt in a singsongy tone.

So, so lovely.

[ID2006]

I do have a soft spot for allergic Sherlock. Wonderful work.

[tma]

you have to write more.

I mean- seriously. You can't leave it w/ Moriarty coming out like that and have me on edge of seat. :o

Oh... and LOVED how he lead Watson through the process.

I couldn't pick out a *specific* line of it- it was the way that the whole dialogue in the first part went that I just LOVED. It was paced perfectly- like just the right type of words and movement. Could totally see that!

*grins* Love!

[AngelEyes]

Oh lovely. and wicked Moriarty!

[squealofapproval]

Ugh omg omg omg omg omg I CAN'T.

[•.*°•☆. Q .☆•°*.•]

Thank you guys

[kushamisukii]

Omg I can't believe I never read this before, that's my favorite thing ever. Sherlock and John in the classic closet situation yess. I love him telling John to deduce what's wrong with him. Hehe. That was so good <3