Inexplicable

[prettybirdy979]

Titles: Inexplicable
Theme/Table: Table #12, Theme of Witch
Setting: BBC! Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: John, Sherlock
Genre/Warnings: Angst, Drama, Supernatural
Summary: John's got a secret... For the Secondary challenge at sherlockfest
Thanks to mistyzeo for betaing! =D

 

 

It had been an accident (well an accident in that it had not been planned. There had definitely been a conscious decision made). John had perfectly happy to keep his true nature to himself, to not practice his magic at all (because despite what his sister said, it didn’t help anyone. It only hurt them. If they were lucky). Even living with Sherlock, the closest quarters he had shared in a while, (ever, if he was truthful. Sherlock didn’t know the meaning of personal space.) he had been able to keep his secret. Not without great difficulty (He was the most observant person on the planet and gods was it hard to not heal every little wound he saw. But that why he was a doctor. So he could heal without exposing himself.) but he had managed, mostly by suppressing the urge. Even so, if he hadn’t stopped practicing years ago he wouldn’t have been able to do it. Sherlock just always seem to have some injury or another.

Then Sherlock had gone and got himself fatally shot.

They had been chasing a suspect from a crime scene. The police were miles behind, and as always, it was all John could do to keep up with Sherlock. Then, suddenly a shot rang out though the air and Sherlock had been on the ground and John was diving at the floor (military service had taught him that where there’s one shot, there’s another) and crawling to his friend’s side.

As soon as John looked at the wound he had known it was fatal. Even if they got help immediately, Sherlock was not going to survive the ambulance ride. John’s tear filled eyes drifted over to Sherlock’s. To his surprise they were clear, alert with only a tiny amount of pain in them. (what to do, what to do?! He could save him…but he couldn’t expose magic, oh gods what to do!)

Seeing the look in John’s eyes they had closed briefly, instantly understanding what the look meant. Then reopening, they had stared at John, as if trying to communicate what Sherlock could never say.

It was that look that had made up John’s mind (not that it would have taken much. This was his best friend, and nothing could convince him to let Sherlock die while he still had the ability to save him. Nothing was worth that). Closing his eyes he called forward the magic he normally tried to ignore and focused it on Sherlock (and thank the gods it was All Hallows Eve or this would have impossible. Magic could only do so much). Slowly, carefully he sought out the injury with his mind and focused his entire being on its repair. A warm glow flowed though his veins and he knew if he opened his eyes he would see his palm was glowing with the gold glow that was his magic.

The glow faded and John opened his eyes to meet Sherlock’s astonished eyes again. They stared at another for a moment, unable to look away until the sounds of footsteps brought reality back to the alleyway. John got up, and offered his hand to Sherlock who took it after a moment. Even as they explained what happened to the police (well an edited version by mutual, silent agreement) and Sherlock deduced where the suspect was headed, Sherlock was staring at John as if he was a puzzle to figure out.

 

********

 

The next two days were a whirlwind of dashing from place to place searching for the missing suspect (who turned out to be part of a gang which had frustrated Sherlock, because he should have known). But in his spare seconds, John noticed how much more standoffish Sherlock was, how he was always staring when he knew John wasn’t looking and how the banter seemed slightly forced as if he didn’t know how to do it anymore.

And John panicked (privately.) He began to avoid being left alone with Sherlock, always trying to have another person in the room (and that was harder then he thought it would be. John hadn’t realised how much time he spent alone with Sherlock). In the few moments they were alone, John would either make obvious observations or offer to make tea (anything he could think of to fill the silence).

So the moment they caught the criminal (with Sherlock managing to cut his wrist and how John longed to heal it), John returned to his rooms and began to pack his bags. He knew this was coming, the last person who had found out about his magic had died (his university roommate and why had he agreed to put another person at risk after that?) and he didn’t want that to happen to Sherlock (plus he couldn’t live with a friend who hated him for lying… as much as Sherlock could hate anyone. Emotions weren’t his strong point).

Sherlock walked in on him closing the last bag (and how had an almost-broke ex-army doctor managed to get so much stuff?)  and immediately deduced what was happening and why. He had met John eyes with a hurt look. John had lowered his eyes and gone to leave.

‘John?’

John stopped, ‘Yes Sherlock?’

‘I don’t understand.’ That had shocked John, his head snapping around to look at Sherlock. (Sherlock always understands, that’s why he’s him).

‘What do you need to understand?’

‘Everything! I know that wound was fatal, that I should be dead. I know that you somehow ‘healed’ the wound and now you’re leaving for no discernable reason. And I don’t understand…why?’ Sherlock had a childlike look of confusion on his face along with a trace of anger in his eyes.

‘No discernable reason? I’ve lied to you, and…and,  I’m a… a freak!’

‘I’m a freak.’ Sherlock cut John’s rant.

John was taken aback. ‘That’s…that’s how you see it?’ Sherlock just gave him a ‘you are so stupid’ look (he was rather fond of using that look, even if it was rarely directed towards John) and stole the bag off John. John could feel the tension from the last two days disappear (along with the dread that had being weighting his heart down)

‘Chinese?’

With a fond smile John replied. ‘Starved.’

Sherlock went to grab his coat but John grabbed his wrist and after a second’s hesitation ran a glowing hand over it. Sherlock met his eyes and when the wound was gone reached for the nearest phone (John’s of course) instead of his coat.

At John’s confused look he explained. ‘Facts, John. I need facts about this and I doubt you will be willing to give them to me in a crowded restaurant.’

And John rolled his eyes and sat in his favourite chair awaiting the interrogation.

 

*******

  

And that was the end of it. After John had explained the magical world to Sherlock (or a little bit of it, Sherlock had been able to deduce the rest) and his powers (healing mostly, though a family tenacity for telekinesis had resulted in small items moving when he was angry. And, of course, as a witch he could use spells), life at 221B Baker St seemed to go back to normal. (well, its definition of normal which now expanded to include him healing Sherlock’s every wound .And Sherlock learning to duck when he was mad.  Oh and the experiments Sherlock had made him do… well to be honest he had made him do those before just now he had an excuse.) Well until that one time with the werewolf. Or was it the time with the invisibility spell gone wrong…

 

The End (for now...)


Sequel here