donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2012-08-24 07:08 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2012-08-24 07:08 pm
The Pirate in the Garden
Title: The Pirate in the Garden
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, warning for unspecified significant injuries (with resulting mental/physical issues), rated PG
Word Count: 576
Summary: Sherlock returns to find John very different from when he left.
Author's Note: See after fic.
John likes when they take him outside to the garden. There's nothing to break so he can wander about on his own without Greg or Mycroft having to keep an eye on him. It doesn't matter that his hands don't work that well when he's piling up leaves and the paths are always clear so his bad leg doesn't catch on anything as he drags it along. He can almost run here. He likes to run.
Sometimes he remembers Before. He likes to think he remembers a time when he could run like the wind and laugh and nothing hurt. But that was Before. When he asks about it, Greg says he's different now but that's okay. Mycroft tells him running about like an unfettered hooligan is unbecoming, John and then orders him to eat his toast. John, as usual, doesn't understand half of what Mycroft says. Most of the time he'll ask for an explanation, but this time he sees the sad smile on Mycroft's face and John hates that smile so he doesn't mention it again.
The nice lady visits in the garden sometimes. A little while back he'd helped her weed around the roses. He likes how soft the roses are. Soft like the scarf he has under his pillow. They worked for a while before he stuttered through an apology because he forgot her name again. She just patted his hand and said she was glad he was doing better and that next time she'd bring biscuits so he supposes she doesn't mind. Besides, John likes biscuits.
Today he's banging about the garden with a stick. It's great fun.
"What are you doing?" a voice calls out of nowhere, startling him. He spins around, loses his balance and falls down, but doesn't cry. He knows he's allowed to cry now, whenever he wants, but he tries not to all the same.
"P- P- Pirates," he replies, as if that explains everything. Which it does, or at least it should, because Greg read him a story about pirates and buried treasure last night and any idiot can see he's looking for an 'X' to see if it 'marks the spot' like it's supposed to but all that takes too many words to explain and he's not going to try, not with someone he doesn't know. Not with someone who might laugh at how his words come out.
The stranger with the sad but almost familiar face runs a hand through his curly hair and crinkles his forehead for a minute before figuring it out. "Looking for buried treasure then, are you?"
John nods, steadying himself by leaning on the old oak tree that looks a bit like an octopus when you lean against the trunk and look up at its branches in winter.
"Can I be of assistance? I have been accused of being piratical upon occasion."
John's not sure what that means, but Greg's usually too busy to play with him and Mycroft, well, Mycroft is too Mycroft so he smiles up at the stranger and holds out his hand. "Pirates?"
"Yes, pirates," the man replies, taking John's hand and pulling him to his feet. "This remind me of a story I know. Would you like to hear about it?" John is about to nod, but there isn't a pause for him to answer. "The giant rat of Sumatra is the tale of two heroes," he began, "who were brave and true..."
Author's Note: Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme for Sherlock to return post-Reichenbach to a physically/mentally damaged John who is being cared for by Mycroft and Greg. Comment and critique welcomed and encouraged.
Author's Note #2: Sequel/continuation is Pirate In The Kitchen
Fandom/Warning/Rating: Sherlock BBC, warning for unspecified significant injuries (with resulting mental/physical issues), rated PG
Word Count: 576
Summary: Sherlock returns to find John very different from when he left.
Author's Note: See after fic.
John likes when they take him outside to the garden. There's nothing to break so he can wander about on his own without Greg or Mycroft having to keep an eye on him. It doesn't matter that his hands don't work that well when he's piling up leaves and the paths are always clear so his bad leg doesn't catch on anything as he drags it along. He can almost run here. He likes to run.
Sometimes he remembers Before. He likes to think he remembers a time when he could run like the wind and laugh and nothing hurt. But that was Before. When he asks about it, Greg says he's different now but that's okay. Mycroft tells him running about like an unfettered hooligan is unbecoming, John and then orders him to eat his toast. John, as usual, doesn't understand half of what Mycroft says. Most of the time he'll ask for an explanation, but this time he sees the sad smile on Mycroft's face and John hates that smile so he doesn't mention it again.
The nice lady visits in the garden sometimes. A little while back he'd helped her weed around the roses. He likes how soft the roses are. Soft like the scarf he has under his pillow. They worked for a while before he stuttered through an apology because he forgot her name again. She just patted his hand and said she was glad he was doing better and that next time she'd bring biscuits so he supposes she doesn't mind. Besides, John likes biscuits.
Today he's banging about the garden with a stick. It's great fun.
"What are you doing?" a voice calls out of nowhere, startling him. He spins around, loses his balance and falls down, but doesn't cry. He knows he's allowed to cry now, whenever he wants, but he tries not to all the same.
"P- P- Pirates," he replies, as if that explains everything. Which it does, or at least it should, because Greg read him a story about pirates and buried treasure last night and any idiot can see he's looking for an 'X' to see if it 'marks the spot' like it's supposed to but all that takes too many words to explain and he's not going to try, not with someone he doesn't know. Not with someone who might laugh at how his words come out.
The stranger with the sad but almost familiar face runs a hand through his curly hair and crinkles his forehead for a minute before figuring it out. "Looking for buried treasure then, are you?"
John nods, steadying himself by leaning on the old oak tree that looks a bit like an octopus when you lean against the trunk and look up at its branches in winter.
"Can I be of assistance? I have been accused of being piratical upon occasion."
John's not sure what that means, but Greg's usually too busy to play with him and Mycroft, well, Mycroft is too Mycroft so he smiles up at the stranger and holds out his hand. "Pirates?"
"Yes, pirates," the man replies, taking John's hand and pulling him to his feet. "This remind me of a story I know. Would you like to hear about it?" John is about to nod, but there isn't a pause for him to answer. "The giant rat of Sumatra is the tale of two heroes," he began, "who were brave and true..."
Author's Note: Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme for Sherlock to return post-Reichenbach to a physically/mentally damaged John who is being cared for by Mycroft and Greg. Comment and critique welcomed and encouraged.
Author's Note #2: Sequel/continuation is Pirate In The Kitchen