come_sailaway | 7th Contraption [CLOSED] Family Reunion

Watson sucks that first breath of air into his lungs, almost violently. He clutches instinctively at his stomach, where Omori had stabbed him, finds nothing (which, upon reflection, is what he should expect, but come on, this is only the second time he's died), and lets out that air again in a shuddering sigh.

"God. My God." He doesn't even want to open his eyes yet, but the bed under him feels familiar.

“John. Hey.” Johnny has been awake since 5am, waiting for Watson to return to him. “You’re safe, we’re home. We’re all okay.”

Johnny wraps himself around Watson like an extra blanket. He would tenderly touch his cheek, but Johnny’s hands are currently hidden under socks. You know, as you do.

He lets out another shaky breath, turning instinctively towards Johnny and burrowing close. There's safety to be found there, and even in this state where he could barely tell you his own name, he knows that much.

"Thank God." Watson lifts his head then, looking around the room, seeing César and Rich? Omori? Please let it be Rich. "Dying is not easier the second time," he murmurs, and reaches to pull Johnny close. He has yet to notice socks.

“I wouldn’t expect it to be. But you’re here, you’re here and you’re safe, my heart.” Johnny allows himself to be tugged closer, molding himself around Watson protectively. “Everyone should be coming back to normal this morning.”

"Normal," he repeats. Watson shuts his eyes again, relaxing. "No more... possessions, then? No more ghosts?"

He certainly hopes so. He reaches for Johnny's hand without looking, wanting to reassure himself with the touch of their fingers, but this is when he encounters socks. For a moment he frowns, trying to work this out with as little brain as possible.

And he stops, his eyes flicking open again, suddenly alarmed. "Johnny, love, your hands. Are you hurt?"

"Not hurt. Not exactly. I was using the scissors to fight, and it turns out they're a little cursed." He lets out a sheepish laugh. "It's not painful, but I'd rather you didn't look at it right now."

"A little--"

He almost wants to laugh, because it sounds so impossible, or it should sound impossible, or it did sound impossible once. He wants to be angry and indignant, to insist on seeing it right away to reassure himself. Instead, he forces himself let out a breath full of tension, and gently holds Johnny's hand through the sock.

"I would rather see than be left to imagine what that means," Watson says, his voice low. "But when you are ready, of course."

"I'll tell you, and you can decide what you want to see. The blood won't wash off my hands, after the events of last night."

~~yetwhowouldhavethoughttheoldmantohavehadsomuchbloodinhim?~~

"But it kept me alive. The sharpness of the scissors and my willingness to wield them."

He has... a lot of questions, actually, but if it was only last night... well, Johnny probably doesn't have answers, not yet. So Watson leans forward to kiss him on the forehead.

"I'm glad you lived," he says in a soft rumble. "I suppose I'll remember that, first of all." The implication is clear to him, that Johnny likely killed someone, but having killed himself, he knows there are sometimes things you simply don't talk about. "Blood long since has lost much of its horror for me, you know. I wonder if it's difficult to make gloves. I shall make you a fine pair of silk gloves."

There might be a slight trace of hysteria in his words.

"Or perhaps I'll steal rubber gloves from the infirmary. I know there's at least one doctor who will let me get away with that little theft." It's the gentlest joke. "Ah, my love, this we'll survive."

He laughs, weakly. "Well, the less stylish option, but certainly easier. We will. I love you."

For a moment Watson is quiet, relaxing in this moment, in Johnny's presence and César and Rich's voices. It is, right now, good and wanted and safe, and there hasn't been a lot of that, the past few weeks. "Did you see Erin's dress that I made, though? Apparently I have quite the career as a tailor ahead of me."

"I did see it, and her. I caught her attention when things went downhill--seeing her at full height in that thing, in the middle of a fight was a glorious sight."

He lets out a weak laugh, he can't quite hold it in. "Did she tell you I pointed her in your direction? She asked me, first."

"She did, actually. I still feel like I'm unqualified to be making, well, essentially doll's clothes, but it did turn out well."

He can only imagine such a sight. He almost would have liked to see it; honestly he's a little ashamed for being killed when he was, but he does have a history of early and ignominious defeat in battle. "I don't know why we're talking about this," Watson says softly. "I was a fool and got myself killed early. I had a vague notion to find you. I never got that far."

"Its alright, my love. You've found me now. I survived. It wasn't easy, but I've managed to survive."

There's a glance over toward César, as if to check if they're going to tell John about the possessive Holmes.

"Not that I doubt your ability, but I hate to think of anyone in that alone."

He almost misses that glance, but he follows Johnny's eyes, then raises an eyebrow. "What is it?" His tone is unconcerned. He can't imagine it's anything serious.

Johnny shakes his head. "For later. When you're more awake and we're not mostly interested in hugging you until you can't breathe."

"So many things you don't want to tell me," he says. "That worries me, I won't lie. Apparently I missed a good deal while I was dead."

But it's hard to be really upset; he listens, hearing Rich for the first time in weeks, Rich instead of Omori using Rich's voice. Watson tries not to frown, and stretches. As complicated as his relationship with his body is, sometimes, he's grateful to be in it. "But I trust you. I hope you won't wait too long. But I trust you."

Johnny lets out a slooooow sigh. "There was a lot. Please have patience with us and with yourself. But maybe especially with us. I might have survived the night, but that doesn't mean I had an easy time with it, alright?"

He rests a hand on Watson's shoulder, his left shoulder, that old war wound.

"Of course. Forgive me. I just... I worry. Forgive me."

He reaches up to run his fingers over the back of Johnny's hand, through the sock. "I can be patient. Whatever happened... well. When you're ready to tell me, I'll listen."

He kisses him, gently.

Johnny closes his eyes and melts into Watson, fitting in how they're supposed to, how he and Sherlock-in-Watson did now. They know how their bodies work together and this is right, right now.

"My love, my precious love."

Sneaking suspicions and unsettling questions will just have to wait. Right now, there is only room for this comfort. And it does feel right, even if he has no reason for it to feel any other way.

He will not, right now, think about the brief span of nothing he thinks he remembers.

"I could use a drink of water," he murmurs, "but also I do not want to let you go right now. I will not let you go, right now."

"Then you'll need to wait on the water, I can't quite reach it from here."

Let that be the biggest of all their problems right now, he prays. Religion is a polite null signal to him, most of the time, but right now he would put faith in anyone or anything who could promise that won't happen again.

"Ah, such a tragedy."

Watson presses a kiss against the curve of Johnny's throat. Dying is less terrible when this is what comes of the morning after: lazy lingering with his lovers, if the alliteration can be excused. "Such cruelty to inflict upon me, secrets and no water. I love you."

He adds that last because he feels he must, to offset his teasing.

"And I am glad I don't have to wake up alone."

"The cruelty is how I'm going to be smothering you with affection in the near future, my love."

He lifts his head, offering more of his throat to Watson, offering himself to Watson. Shhh, Rich, don't look over here for a moment. Old men are being lovey.

He lets out a small laugh, and burrows close to press a series of quick, eager kisses along Johnny's throat. There's something almost stolen about them, definitely don't look over here, Rich.

"Somehow," he murmurs, "I shall try to manage that terrible indignity."

7th Contraption [CLOSED] Family Reunion

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