Fic: 221B - As I lay me down to sleep

[anarion]

So there we were in London. And I told atlinmerrick that my muse had left me. And what did she say? " Just write anything. Write something about Sherlock's shoes. A 221B." I thought she was crazy. That would never work.
Two minutes later we were fishing for b-words to go with it and suddenly it hit me, the perfect b-word for a shoe story.
That night, while I was trying to go to sleep, my muse came back. And she had this neat little thing in her pocket.

So this is for Atlin, who is wonderful and brilliant and deserves all the hugs I can give!

Title: As I lay me down to sleep
Words: 221
Rating: PG
Warnings:
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!).

Summary: John has never given Sherlock’s shoes much thought. Until that night.



221B - As I lay me down to sleep

John has never given Sherlock’s shoes much thought.

Sure, they were elegant, shiny and probably pretty expensive, like the rest of his outfit. But apart from that? There were only two times when John really noticed the shoes.

Once when he fell over them in the dark of their living room (nearly smashing his head on the table) and the other time when Sherlock slipped on a chase because of the smooth soles (only his amazing sense of balance saved him from falling).

But since that night he spent handcuffed to a radiator in a basement, a bloody blue scarf in his lap, watching the man walk around in Sherlock’s shoes, since then he hates them. Hates them with a passion he never thought himself capable of.

Because now the sound of these shoes on the floor, the smell of their leather (yes, the man made him kiss the shoes), just their sight makes him think of that terrible night, his helplessness and despair and his fear that Sherlock was gone.

This sound though is one he loves: The soft padding of Sherlock walking through the dark towards their bed, where John is lying, almost asleep, but never really sleeping until Sherlock has wrapped himself around him. The soft rustling of Sherlock’s trousers. Stepping softly as to not wake John. Barefoot.

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AN: So, yes, my muse is back! *yay* Thanks to everyone who offered cookies to get her back. :)
I have one urgent thing on my mind, something porny my muse dragged in with her when she came back (and which was probably inevitable, since I had met Atlin that day *tee-hee*) but then I will get back to finish all the prompts I started. I promise!

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