Rhapsody93

When the call had come in, stating that Tobias was in Hannibal’s house, Will would have sworn his heart had stopped momentarily, only starting to beat again when Jack had told him that Hannibal was fine aside from minor injuries. For a few seconds (that had felt like a whole eternity pressed together) he had been certain that he had lost the only person he’d managed to open up to in a long time. The thought of what would have happened if the knife had sunk into a different part of Hannibal’s flesh haunted him in his dreams. Now he was waking up, drenched in sweat, trembling from the lingering fear to the image of thrusting t

The television had proved itself unworthy a distraction to Sherlock. There were enough things to point out, but nothing challenging enough to keep his mind focused on for a longer period of time. It wasn’t beneficial for keeping his thoughts away from John when the good doctor was sitting between Sherlock and his distraction of choice. Soon Sherlock’s gaze clung to John’s figure on the armchair and he fell silent. Keeping his mind focused on the vacant babbling on the soap while the cause of his disturbed feelings was there, almost right in front of him was impossible. John seemed content watching that stuff and the pain ki

The pain had mostly subsided due to the painkillers, only a constant throbbing reminded John of his wounds. Some soap was on the telly, but the good doctor wasn’t paying attention to it. Though John looked at the screen, he only saw the flickering movement of the figures, too caught up in his own thoughts to listen to it. Sherlock had flung himself onto the couch. At the beginning he had scoffed at the people on screen, making brickbat remarks and taking apart the plot and pointing out it flaws, even then Sherlock’s appalled incredulousness over all that dullness had been missing. Halfway through the show Sherlock had fallen sile

Blinking against the bright sunlight, Sherlock thought back to last night’s events. That had been rather unpleasant. In the future he had to make sure that his body wouldn’t disturb him with such malfunctions. More so at times when he could do nothing take care of them. Sometime he must have fallen asleep, obviously, which he was grateful for. If John had noticed he would surely feel awkward and uncomfortable around Sherlock. The consulting detective turned his head sideways and bolded upright when he saw that the bed beside him was empty. Although it should be nothing to worry about, panic flared up inside him. The most logical

The alarm clock on the bedside table ticked obscenely loud in the silence that lay upon the room. The moon shed its light through the small space between the shut curtains. Sherlock had stopped counting the seconds after a while. Even a boring occupation such as that didn’t help him fall asleep. How could people honestly believe that something like that could help?  He had even gone so far as to replace the seconds with sheep. The consulting detective had still been wide awake after the five hundred and fifty ninth sheep. The sleep which he needed so badly just wouldn’t come. Although he’d barely slept the last few days. No

The sight of John staggering while he clung to Sherlock as they made their way outside made the consulting detective wish there was still one of the kidnappers left he could vent the fury he felt on. By now Mycroft had surely already secured Birch and taken care of his wounds. Hopefully they would take a very long time to heal. Sherlock pursed his lips at the thought of that man in disgust. One hand wrapped tightly around John’s back they slowly ascended the stairs. His gray eyes were on John the whole time, though he was trying not to look at the wounds all over John’s body. He couldn’t stand to look at them. It was his f

The skin felt hot against Sherlock's cold hands. Possibly a fever. With this kind of injury and the not so wholesome environment they had kept him. His eyes moved to John's blood stained shirt and the wounds that were all too visible. An angry red, blood smeared stripe against his unusual pale skin. John eyelids fluttered open and for a split second Sherlock wondered if he should withdraw his hand that was still grazing John's cheek, but he didn't want to. Sherlock didn't want to let go of what he had finally gotten a hold of. The idea of letting go of his doctor didn't seem right to Sherlock, it filled him with discomfort and uneasiness. J

Drops of blood led from the doorway into the wide corridor. Sherlock bent over Birch's quivering body. He had a broken nose, drenching his shirt in blood and dripping on the white marble floor. That would make it easy to wipe them away. The consulting detective rummaged through the bastard's pockets until he found the mobile phone and stowed it in his coat. Destroying it was out of the question. It was still needed to call Birch's men and tell them to get away from John. Sherlock then proceeded to drag Birch further into the house, closed the front door behind them and stepped accidentally or not so accidentally on the man's hand which earn