Fic - Far Distant Shores - John/Sherlock - PG-13
Title: Far Distant Shores
Author: lotherington
’Verse: WWII AU: Long Ago and Far Away. Follows That Lovely Weekend, see masterlist for fics in reading order.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: John, with Mycroft’s help, manages to call Sherlock from North Africa.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~750
Notes: A short addition to the ‘verse for Armistice Day. Title is from Yours by Vera Lynn.
May, 1941
North Africa
John re-adjusted his grip on the telephone, his palms sweating. He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the bar, crowded with soldiers, a haze of cigarette smoke falling over the large room. The telephone that John was using was at the back of the building, behind a beaded curtain. Tapping his fingers impatiently against the wall, John shifted his weight to his other leg and exhaled, looking back into the bar again.
The other end of the telephone line finally picked up.
'Hello?' John said, disconcerted but not surprised by the silence. 'Hello, uh... would it... would it be at all possible to speak with Sherlock Holmes?'
A pause. 'May I ask who's calling?'
John swallowed. 'John,' he said, without thinking about it. 'Uh, Doctor John Watson, sorry.’
‘Hold the line, please. I’ll see whether he’s available.’
Breathing out heavily again, John pulled the curtain of beads back a fraction to observe the goings-on of the rest of the bar. It had been a trying couple of months, and things hadn’t been going exactly well, as far as progress was concerned. John was tired. He had four days’ worth of stubble growing on his face and dark shadows under his eyes. His body longed for sleep uninterrupted by gunfire or shouting or the order to get marching.
He felt useful, though. He was useful, and dressing wounds and strapping limbs in amongst the fury of battle made him feel very alive indeed.
‘John? John?’
Hearing Sherlock’s voice for the first time in four months gave John a start. He breathed in deeply and grinned. ‘Sherlock.’
‘How on earth have you managed this?’
‘Mycroft,’ John replied, leaning against the wall next to the telephone, glad, not for the first time, of Mycroft’s omnipotence. ‘He gave me some sort of code, and... God, it’s good to hear your voice. How are you?’
‘Well,’ Sherlock said. ‘Well. And you?’
‘Fine. Fine, it’s... it’s good, out here. Well, I mean, I... the situation’s not, it’s just... I... I’m doing a lot of good.’
Sherlock’s voice was quieter when it came next. ‘You always do a lot of good.’
John huffed a laugh. His grip on the telephone tightened. ‘How’s your work?’
‘Marvellous. And there’s an endless supply of it, which is something that can’t be said for cases.’
‘Good,’ John said. ‘Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.’
‘Likewise.’
They were quiet for a moment, both of them breathing shakily down the phone line.
‘I miss you,’ Sherlock whispered.
John felt a sharp sting at the corner of his eyes. He fisted his free hand in his hair, his bent elbow resting on the large box the telephone’s components were encased in. He swallowed. ‘I miss you too.’
‘There’s no-one quite like you here.’
Smiling, John shook his head. ‘There’s no-one quite like you anywhere, Sherlock Holmes,’ he murmured. He glanced over his shoulder again, glad when it was obvious no-one had noticed him. ‘I love you.’
There was a long exhale of breath down the line from Sherlock. ‘Come back,’ he said, and John screwed his eyes shut at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, cracked and broken. ‘Come back safe, won’t you? You’ll come back?’
John nodded, looking up at the ceiling and sighing. ‘Of course I will,’ he said.
‘Promise me.’
‘Sherlock, you know I can’t--’
‘Promise me.’
‘I...’
‘John.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ John said firmly. ‘I... Sherlock, I ought to go.’ He looked over his shoulder again and licked his lips, sighing heavily.
‘I’ll write,’ Sherlock said quickly. ‘And I’ll send you some of those biscuits you like, I’ll save my ration.’
‘You won’t, you know you won’t,’ John replied, managing a laugh. ‘You’ll get caught up in your work and forget to buy some.’ He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. ‘Write to me, though. More than you do.’
‘I will, I promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
They were both silent for a while, listening to the sound of each other breathing.
‘Come back to me,’ Sherlock whispered.
‘I will,’ John said. ‘I will.’
A soft click, and the line went dead. With a heavy sigh, John replaced the receiver in its cradle, adjusted his beret and turned, straight-backed, to walk into the bar.
Author: lotherington
’Verse: WWII AU: Long Ago and Far Away. Follows That Lovely Weekend, see masterlist for fics in reading order.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: John, with Mycroft’s help, manages to call Sherlock from North Africa.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~750
Notes: A short addition to the ‘verse for Armistice Day. Title is from Yours by Vera Lynn.
May, 1941
North Africa
John re-adjusted his grip on the telephone, his palms sweating. He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the bar, crowded with soldiers, a haze of cigarette smoke falling over the large room. The telephone that John was using was at the back of the building, behind a beaded curtain. Tapping his fingers impatiently against the wall, John shifted his weight to his other leg and exhaled, looking back into the bar again.
The other end of the telephone line finally picked up.
'Hello?' John said, disconcerted but not surprised by the silence. 'Hello, uh... would it... would it be at all possible to speak with Sherlock Holmes?'
A pause. 'May I ask who's calling?'
John swallowed. 'John,' he said, without thinking about it. 'Uh, Doctor John Watson, sorry.’
‘Hold the line, please. I’ll see whether he’s available.’
Breathing out heavily again, John pulled the curtain of beads back a fraction to observe the goings-on of the rest of the bar. It had been a trying couple of months, and things hadn’t been going exactly well, as far as progress was concerned. John was tired. He had four days’ worth of stubble growing on his face and dark shadows under his eyes. His body longed for sleep uninterrupted by gunfire or shouting or the order to get marching.
He felt useful, though. He was useful, and dressing wounds and strapping limbs in amongst the fury of battle made him feel very alive indeed.
‘John? John?’
Hearing Sherlock’s voice for the first time in four months gave John a start. He breathed in deeply and grinned. ‘Sherlock.’
‘How on earth have you managed this?’
‘Mycroft,’ John replied, leaning against the wall next to the telephone, glad, not for the first time, of Mycroft’s omnipotence. ‘He gave me some sort of code, and... God, it’s good to hear your voice. How are you?’
‘Well,’ Sherlock said. ‘Well. And you?’
‘Fine. Fine, it’s... it’s good, out here. Well, I mean, I... the situation’s not, it’s just... I... I’m doing a lot of good.’
Sherlock’s voice was quieter when it came next. ‘You always do a lot of good.’
John huffed a laugh. His grip on the telephone tightened. ‘How’s your work?’
‘Marvellous. And there’s an endless supply of it, which is something that can’t be said for cases.’
‘Good,’ John said. ‘Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.’
‘Likewise.’
They were quiet for a moment, both of them breathing shakily down the phone line.
‘I miss you,’ Sherlock whispered.
John felt a sharp sting at the corner of his eyes. He fisted his free hand in his hair, his bent elbow resting on the large box the telephone’s components were encased in. He swallowed. ‘I miss you too.’
‘There’s no-one quite like you here.’
Smiling, John shook his head. ‘There’s no-one quite like you anywhere, Sherlock Holmes,’ he murmured. He glanced over his shoulder again, glad when it was obvious no-one had noticed him. ‘I love you.’
There was a long exhale of breath down the line from Sherlock. ‘Come back,’ he said, and John screwed his eyes shut at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, cracked and broken. ‘Come back safe, won’t you? You’ll come back?’
John nodded, looking up at the ceiling and sighing. ‘Of course I will,’ he said.
‘Promise me.’
‘Sherlock, you know I can’t--’
‘Promise me.’
‘I...’
‘John.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ John said firmly. ‘I... Sherlock, I ought to go.’ He looked over his shoulder again and licked his lips, sighing heavily.
‘I’ll write,’ Sherlock said quickly. ‘And I’ll send you some of those biscuits you like, I’ll save my ration.’
‘You won’t, you know you won’t,’ John replied, managing a laugh. ‘You’ll get caught up in your work and forget to buy some.’ He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. ‘Write to me, though. More than you do.’
‘I will, I promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
They were both silent for a while, listening to the sound of each other breathing.
‘Come back to me,’ Sherlock whispered.
‘I will,’ John said. ‘I will.’
A soft click, and the line went dead. With a heavy sigh, John replaced the receiver in its cradle, adjusted his beret and turned, straight-backed, to walk into the bar.