Fic: Respiration (BBC!SH) [1/1]
Title: RespirationPairing/Characters: Sherlock/John (BBC!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 763
Spoilers: None for the episodes.
Summary: Written for this prompt: 'John has to give Sherlock mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and they end up kissing'.
Notes/Warnings: Rated for some swearing. Sorry its such a late fill, I hope its what the OP was looking for. Also on the first aid front, I have done a course, but it was a little while ago and I know CPR has a tendancy to change so apologies if it's incorrect, I'm also aware that this is very different from reality, but just roll with it. :) Thank you very much to failytig for being such a brilliant beta and friend. Your birthday is coming up right, want some fic? :)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
~*~
As John turned the corner Sherlock dropped to the floor.
One quick shot to the head and the man standing over him was dead, no time for self congratulations as John is at Sherlock’s side in an instant. Turning him onto his back, fingers to throat and eyes to neck. Clear red marks stand out against the pale, too goddamn pale, alabaster skin. One quick physician’s glance and John can already see; no rise of the chest, and no inhale or exhale from the lips - Sherlock’s not breathing.
Moving with calm he did not feel, John tilted Sherlock’s head back and exhaled two long breaths, lips sealed over lips. Now, fingers tangled, he twisted across to face Sherlock’s chest. Levering himself high up onto his knees he then leant all his strength onto Sherlock’s sternum, applying quick, heavy pressure to ribs and counting out loud: terrified of missing a beat. He returned, pinched Sherlock’s nose closed, and exhaled again, twice.
He switched back to chest compressions; concentration solely on counting and praying. After a few rounds of each, John pulled back from Sherlock’s lips and stared at the inanimate face, irrational anger building in his body. Anger at Sherlock, beautiful, amazing bloody wonderful Sherlock who was just lying there, and dying on John - just when he needs him most. Just when he - and John can feel his heart break, the first crack that released the dam, the tirade of emotion this is flaying in him. Dammit if Sherlock is dying now, before John even got the chance… fucknogoddammitplease! John’s leaning forward again, inhale/exhale/chest compressions, but with so much more worth behind them before, full of emotion, longing, love. Eyes blinded by unshed tears, profanity uttered under his breath, hoping, praying: Sherlock! And he missed the flicker of eyelids; the breathy inhales from Sherlock as he sucked back in air and began to return to hazy consciousness, but then John had switched and leant down to press his open lips solidly against the younger man’s. Startled, Sherlock widened his eyes but could only see the unfocused outline of the Doctor, his doctor. With a reaction he would later put down to shock, Sherlock leant forward and moved his lips to change their position from one of friendship to something more.
John almost jolted backwards in alarm if it weren’t for the long arms that wrapped around his upper body, holding him in place and keeping their mouths pressed together. As Sherlock’s arms tightened, John numbly processed the warm lips against his and instead of freezing, gave into instinct; by slipping his eyes closed, leaning into the kiss, pouring out his heart and fear and pain. The angle was awkward and Sherlock gently pushed John back onto his heels, pulling himself into a better sitting position, bringing their mouths together at a slant. With a renewed vigour his brushed his tongue along John’s bottom lip dipping into his already open mouth and moaned. One arm stayed wrapped around John’s chest whilst the other had moved to the back of his neck, fingers twisting in the short hair at the base, the movement almost caressing in nature.
John shivered at the intimate touch and Sherlock chuckled, using the slight motion to ground them to a slow stop. He pulled back, but continued to peck at John’s lips lightly, teasingly, until he slowed and ceased completely. Now they sat, foreheads rested against one another, noses rubbing, and breaths mingled, unable to break eye contact.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for ages.” Sherlock’s breathless voice murmured. His eyes dipped to John’s lips, fascinated by the pink tinge, almost embarrassed by the admission. He watched as they curved into a smile. John replied, voice just as low:
“Well,” Sherlock’s eyes slid closed as he tilted his chin upwards whilst John mouthed along Sherlock’s jaw, “Next time,” now sucking at earlobe and whispering into Sherlock’s ear, a lover’s promise: “Don’t nearly get yourself killed.” Sherlock shivered as John kept moving his face, pressing a chaste kiss just below Sherlock’s ear letting their cheeks press together for a beat.
Moving again, John dipped to nuzzle at the juncture between neck and shoulder, the skin just as silky as hoped and Sherlock leaned in to the touch,
“Because,” He inched his way back until they were again forehead to forehead forcing their noses to slip and side together, eyes closed just revelling in the intimacy they now both held,
“This may just happen again.”
And with that, he finally replaced his lips against Sherlock’s and kissed him senseless.
fin