beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 15

Sherlock wrapped John in his coat, hands frantically reaching for his pulse. Erratic, but slowly coming back to normal. He would've performed CPR, but John was breathing, and he hadn't passed out from lack of oxygen anyway. His PTSD was manifesting itself again - the water...

"John, come on, wake up. Open your eyes, please. Please." he said hoarsely. He was vaguely aware that Rachel was doing the same with her son, but he had to wake John up first -

John spluttered a little and his eyes flew open.

"Oh, thank god - " Sherlock started, breathing a sigh of relief, but he didn't get very far.

"The boy, Sherlock, the boy!"

John quickly scrambled up and wrapped Noel in Rachel's coat, all panic forgotten. Well, if he's going all Doctor mode again, I suppose he's well enough, Sherlock thought. John frantically tried to revive Noel, and after a few seconds, Noel coughed water. Only when he was able to sit up and breathe properly did John rest easy.

Rachel leaned forward and wrapped her son in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, mom."

"No, I'm sorry. I should've noticed. I should've done something - "

"Please don't say that. It's not your fault."

She smiled weakly and hugged him tight again. "Thank you." she said to Sherlock and John, "Really. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."

"Thanks." Noel said hoarsely. "Doctor Watson, I'm sorry you almost drowned because of me."

"Anytime - actually, no, I'd rather not do it again." John said.

"I'm not going to try anything like this ever again." Noel promised.

"If you ever get the urge to, ever again," Sherlock said softly, "You know where to find me. Well, I suppose I have everything I need. You two can go home if you'd so like - just show me the way to the hill where you camp." He turned to John, who was pulling Sherlock's coat tighter around himself, as if trying to melt into the fabric. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I ruined your coat."

Sherlock shrugged. "I have more of those, but there's only one of you."

***

The hill was just as Noel had described it. From the summit, Sherlock could see the woods and the knoll of grassy land stretching away around it. The setting sun bathed the view in soft light, and the best part of it all was that there wasn't a soul around for miles. Except for, well, John, who was currently struggling to set up the tent.

"Hey, Picasso, if you're done judging the scenery, how about you help me with this tent?"

"You're a soldier. Surely you can do it on your own."

John glared at him, and he sighed and strode over to help. Out in the middle of nowhere with an angry army doctor for company - Sherlock wouldn't have had it any other way.

"No, Sherlock, don't - you're doing it wrong- for god's sake, don't pull that!"

Too late. A section of the tent collapsed and John groaned.

"I can't believe you don't have 'how to set up a tent' in your mind palace. That's basic information."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever."

"Fine. Stop bothering me and go unpack the sandwiches."

"Fine."

"Fine."