Fic - Drabbles Inspired by A Softer World - John/Sherlock
It's no secret that I adore A Softer World. The drabbles under the cut are the results of going through the archive this evening. Hoping to add some more writing to this entry yet, but there's just three for now. :)
Warnings for apocalyptic themes, including death.
102
i
atomic war means
no traffic in the mornings
no bills in the mail
i can stay in bed with you all day
They haven’t smelt fresh air for months.
‘John,’ Sherlock says, resting his fingertips over John’s sternum. ‘John.’
‘I’m here,’ John whispers, turning onto his side, the bedsheets filthy and twisted around his naked waist and thighs.
They kiss.
‘I’m still here.’
Sherlock glances out of the window, sealed at the edges. ‘John,’ he says again. ‘John.’
‘I’m here.’ A wail from the outside. ‘I’m here.’ Another kiss. ‘I’m here.’
671
ii
Good morning.
Radiation levels today are unchanged.
Please stay inside.
And be kind to the people you care about.
Sherlock flicks the marble across the dusty carpet of their living room. It clicks against a larger marble, one that looks as though it hides a constellation inside, tucked away out of sight.
John joins him on the floor, cradling a mug of hot water in his hands.
Sherlock estimates it’s about a fortnight until the water is no longer safe. They’ve been lucky, so far.
John sighs and stares at the retreating daylight outside.
Sherlock crawls across the floor, scattering the marbles. He climbs into John’s lap. ‘I’m glad it’s you I’m with,’ he says.
John smiles and reaches an arm out to pull him close.
670
iii
It turns out that sometimes
the future actually
belongs to someone else.
‘Are you glad?’ Sherlock asks, his voice a hollow rasp as his yellowed eyes flicker over John’s face. His lips are ruined; dried blood lingers in the grooves and cracks of the thin flesh.
John manages to tighten his hand around Sherlock’s fingers for a brief moment. He nods, very slowly.
‘So am I,’ Sherlock whispers, shifting closer across the mattress. ‘Me and you.’
The outside world moans and shrieks. John’s eyes close.
‘Sherlock Holmes,’ Sherlock says, watching as John pulls in one breath, then a second, then a third, ‘...and Doctor Watson.’
A fourth, a fifth, then nothing.
Sherlock lasts for another hour and six minutes and he holds John’s hand whilst he waits.
Warnings for apocalyptic themes, including death.
102
i
atomic war means
no traffic in the mornings
no bills in the mail
i can stay in bed with you all day
They haven’t smelt fresh air for months.
‘John,’ Sherlock says, resting his fingertips over John’s sternum. ‘John.’
‘I’m here,’ John whispers, turning onto his side, the bedsheets filthy and twisted around his naked waist and thighs.
They kiss.
‘I’m still here.’
Sherlock glances out of the window, sealed at the edges. ‘John,’ he says again. ‘John.’
‘I’m here.’ A wail from the outside. ‘I’m here.’ Another kiss. ‘I’m here.’
671
ii
Good morning.
Radiation levels today are unchanged.
Please stay inside.
And be kind to the people you care about.
Sherlock flicks the marble across the dusty carpet of their living room. It clicks against a larger marble, one that looks as though it hides a constellation inside, tucked away out of sight.
John joins him on the floor, cradling a mug of hot water in his hands.
Sherlock estimates it’s about a fortnight until the water is no longer safe. They’ve been lucky, so far.
John sighs and stares at the retreating daylight outside.
Sherlock crawls across the floor, scattering the marbles. He climbs into John’s lap. ‘I’m glad it’s you I’m with,’ he says.
John smiles and reaches an arm out to pull him close.
670
iii
It turns out that sometimes
the future actually
belongs to someone else.
‘Are you glad?’ Sherlock asks, his voice a hollow rasp as his yellowed eyes flicker over John’s face. His lips are ruined; dried blood lingers in the grooves and cracks of the thin flesh.
John manages to tighten his hand around Sherlock’s fingers for a brief moment. He nods, very slowly.
‘So am I,’ Sherlock whispers, shifting closer across the mattress. ‘Me and you.’
The outside world moans and shrieks. John’s eyes close.
‘Sherlock Holmes,’ Sherlock says, watching as John pulls in one breath, then a second, then a third, ‘...and Doctor Watson.’
A fourth, a fifth, then nothing.
Sherlock lasts for another hour and six minutes and he holds John’s hand whilst he waits.