Helping John

[smallhobbit]

Fandom: Sherlock bbc
Rating: G
Characters:  Inspector Lestrade, John Watson
Word Count: 600
Warning: Spoilers for S2 Ep3
Mrs Hudson asks Lestrade to check on John.

“Thank you for coming dear.  I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s okay, Mrs Hudson.  You did the right thing,” Lestrade tried to sound more confident than he actually felt.

They were standing outside John’s new flat.  It wasn’t far from Baker Street; Mrs Hudson had a friend who was only too happy to rent the small basement flat to the doctor.

“You go home.  I’ll call later and let you know how he is.”

He went down the steps and rang the bell.  It took a few minutes for John to come to the door and Lestrade had begun to wonder whether he would answer it at all.  Eventually he heard the door being unlocked and John stood in the opening.

“May I come in?”

A shrug of the shoulders and the other man took a step backwards.  They walked into the kitchen and Lestrade glanced around.  The room was painfully tidy; a complete contrast to Baker Street, where even if Sherlock’s possessions were disregarded there were usually some of John’s belongings lying around, a jumper, mugs, books and newspapers.  Here absolutely everything had been put away and if it wasn’t for the man himself standing by the sink Lestrade would have said the flat was untenanted.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Err, yes please.”

John filled the kettle and switched it on.  Lestrade watched as he mechanically reached for two mugs and put them on the work surface.

“Tea okay?  I can’t find the coffee.”

“Tea’s fine.”

John poured the boiling water into the mugs and went across to get the milk from the fridge.  Lestrade sat down at the kitchen table and waited whilst John concentrated on removing the tea bags and adding the milk.  He picked up the two mugs and turned round to carry them to the table.  Lestrade saw that John’s left hand was shaking and then the mug fell from his hand and smashed on the floor. 

Lestrade leapt up.  John stood looking at the floor as if he was paralysed.  Lestrade put an arm round him and pulled him towards a chair, making him sit down.

“Have you burnt yourself?”

John didn’t reply, but looked at Lestrade with a puzzled expression.

“Here, let me look.”

Lestrade knelt down.  The leg of John’s jeans was liberally splattered with tea, but fortunately there wasn’t much on his bare feet.  Nevertheless Lestrade grabbed a dishcloth and, having soaked it in cold water, proceeded to wash the tea off.  He didn’t want to risk a burn, especially since John seemed totally oblivious to any sign of injury.

Lestrade looked around for a brush and dustpan and, finding one under the sink, he began to sweep up the broken mug.

“The last time I made two cups, one was for Sherlock.” 

Lestrade looked up at him.  “F***, I’m sorry.”

“And now I’ve let it fall.  I couldn’t stop it.”

“It’s okay.  I’ll clear it up.”

“I told him not to do it.  But I couldn’t stop him...  It’s all my fault.”

“No.  It isn’t.  You did all you could.”

Lestrade glanced round the room.  There was a small sofa in the far corner.  He put his arms around the younger man and by half lifting took him over to it.  They sat down together and Lestrade pulled John into his chest, trying to provide some comfort as the tears that had been kept at bay for so long finally broke forth.  He felt his own tears start to fall and then became aware of John’s arms around  his own back as they held each other in their shared grief. 

ETA: Now beautifully illustrated by basaltgrrl