(no subject)

[substituteskull]

Three years since the outbreak and John Watson still doesn't know what to make of it. Like all doctors, he'd heeded the call of city and country as England did what all smart island nations did the moment the moment WHO released a statement that the virus had spread outside of America through international travel. It shut down completely. He'd not paid attention to the politics of it, hadn't bothered so much with the news. John had his work to do, people to treat, safety and quarantine to enforce. His world because St. Barts'.

At first, isolation seemed to work. Patriots were forced to stay outside of the relative safety of Great Britain as the airports and the Eurostar stations shut down. Ferries between the islands were discontinued.

The problem was that no one could isolate whatever it was causing humanity to change. The virus didn't seem to kill the host's brain, just every other part of their systems. A day post infection, the victim would become feverish. Two days later, they'd succumb. And after that...nothing short of dismemberment could stop them. It wasn't airbourne. And not in the blood either. Just the saliva. John had never seen anything like it. The internet called it a zombie plague, but that wasn't quite right either.

It took six months for everyone worldwide to realize that quarantine wouldn't help. Infections sprouted up for no discernible reason. People turned in the Underground, in shopping centres, on the playground. London, and the country, didn't stand a chance. The government fell overnight. Society followed.

And John just stayed on at St Barts'. He stopped trying to do the most good. And just attempted to survive.

It's not easy, even for an ex-soldier. There's no heading down to Tesco's any more. Ammo is impossible to come by. But if John, and the others holed up in St. Barts' still want to eat, someone has to go out. And that someone is almost always John.

Comments

[consulting_freak]

One look at Sherlock's wardrobe when he'd come in should tell John that he's had no trouble with his billowy clothing. In fact, he uses it at a weapon at times, letting the infected use their own weight against them as he whips them closer for the final blow. Adaptability and using his surroundings had been imperative to survival.

Sherlock feels the hesitance leading to John stopping just before it happens. He looks up at his friend as he walks round to the front to get a look at him. Frustrated? Amused? An odd combination of both, actually.

"I'm not vain," Sherlock counters. But, he's also giving John tips on how to do his hair so he won't look stupid. And he pulls his coat collar up intentionally. He's always pristine in his hygiene and throws out 'perfectly good' clothes as soon as there's one loose thread or knot. Fashion he could care less about, but he does care about how he perceives himself in his clothes regardless of what's fashionable.

Well, that's not true. That's him of three years ago. The same him that John's pulling right back out into the open, for better or for worse. (Probably for worse, actually.) This new him wears whatever is available. Eats whatever he can get his hands on. Lets his hair grow too long before lopping it off all at once and showering only when convenient. At least that's how it had been before coming to Bart's. He's gotten his hygiene routine back down to an art and now John's grooming his hair. Now, if only he could get his hands on his old wardrobe, all would be right in the world.

"Just cut the hair, John," Sherlock tells him, looking to the side and frowning a bit. Okay, so maybe he's a bit vain, but John knowing it bothers him. He'd always been so careful to make sure his posh look came across as completely effortless.

[substituteskull]

It's so rare that John 'wins' against Sherlock that the soldier continues to cluck to himself about it while he finishes up to cutting. He gets fairly good at it, only spritzing hair enough to wet it without letting it roll in streams down Sherlock's back. He makes several passes over an area, trimming here and there until it looks as even as he can possibly make it. He knows better than to make the whole of it too short, as it will appear shorter once the curls are back.

He fluffs it up as he goes along too, fingertips with short-shorn nails massaging Sherlock's scalp as he goes. Perhaps, perhaps this whole ordeal is lasting a bit too long. Perhaps he's being a little too familiar here. Overt touching had never been part of their friendship, no matter the way Sherlock would tug him around by cheek or hand.

Those things had served purposes.

John's touches since Sherlock's arrival at Bart's has had very little purpose other than his own personal comfort.

"I think that might just about do it," John says, brushing short fingers through the re-curling fringe over Sherlock's pale brows.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock allows John to pamper him without complaint. He's a bit more tender with this than any hairdresser he'd had before, which is odd since it's coming from an army doctor. Maybe he doesn't know what's necessary or maybe he just wants to share something with him. Neither of those things bother him, so he accepts it.

By the time John's finishing up, Sherlock's managed to find himself quietly relaxing under his friend's care. "Done already?" he asks as John comes round front again. He lifts his hand up to touch the back of his hair. It doesn't feel terribly off and it's much lighter on his head. That's to be expected with the 8 cm semi-thick locks scattered across his shoulders, lap, and the ground under the chair. Both him and John are covered in snippets from the trimming and touching up. It will be itchy if they don't wash it all off.

"Shower," Sherlock says as he stands up and wipes some of the remaining chunks of hair off of himself.

[substituteskull]

John's lips purse in thought. Ought it have taken longer? Would a professional take longer? Well, likely. There would be product put in it, hair dried and styled-- They don't really have those sorts of luxuries... Though John already has it in his mind that, on the next mission out, he'll try to find Sherlock some mousse or gel and nicer things to wear.

That's what friends do, give each other small gifts. Especially after traumatising them with having a ward full of infected one hopes may eventually be cured.

"There might even be some hot water left if you're lucky."

John doesn't move to follow Sherlock as the other man decides that he must take a shower at that very moment. He figures he'll clean up a bit. Picking a curl off of his chest, John scoots the chair over the sheet and then bends to gather up the ends. He's quite proud of this little accomplishment and perhaps Sherlock will once again appear as himself soon!

John, you're so smitten, it's cute.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock hadn't been timing John. He'd simply been enjoying the experience, so it felt too short. On his way to the small pile of clothes he'd claimed for himself out of the other unused rooms, he runs his hand over his hair. It feels much better to have his hair this length. More natural for him, as it's a similar length to how he's always had it now.

He finds himself a new pair of pants, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. Pyjamas for him, since it's late enough to warrant that much.

"There won't be any left for you if you take too long with that," Sherlock points out as he makes for the door. An invitation and a warning all at once. With that, he leaves John to the cleaning and makes his way down to the locker room in much higher spirits than he'd been earlier in the day. Hell, he's in a better mood than he's been since coming back.

He'd done some horrible things today, but he's also got his best friend back. Truly this time.

Obviously. Everyone knows it but John.

[substituteskull]

"Huh? Oh, yeah, give me a moment." Hair first. Shower second. Technically, John'd had one after returning from the haul but he is absolutely covered in bits of drying hair and it's bound to get uncomfortable or have him banished away from Sherlock. Such a fickle thing. He ought to have been born a grumpy house cat all along.

The sheet will be dragged outside tomorrow and shaken off...just before the nasty business over in the other building. No one will likely care to hear about it, so it would serve them better to get it done before even breakfast is served.

The logistics of it seem better off largely unthought of. John enjoys a plan of action, but he's with Sherlock again. And Sherlock comes up with the plans.

Before John heads off to the locker room, he decides to return the comb and scissors back to Gabrielle and fetch a pair of sleeping trousers to get changed into. As such, he misses Bill entirely, en route from John's room towards the bathroom. Where else would the man be?

He's surprised, then, to see Sherlock, broken arm and shortened hair. Unless the man attached himself with scissors... Who would he have asked to trim him? Gabrielle? Bill doesn't really think on it.

Instead, he just smirks. "Seen John yet?

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock is already nude and gathering his toiletries from his locker. He'd procured a plastic basket similar to the one he'd confiscated the chemical goods for his personal items so he wouldn't have to make multiple trips. He's mostly finished with it when he hears the door open. He's smiling when he turns his head over his shoulder, but the look falls flat as soon as he notices who's standing there.

"Bill," Sherlock greets coldly, eyeing the other man up and down. "Been masturbating? John's room or yours?" He asks, turning his attention back on his own task. He keeps his attention behind him on Bill, since he's very much at a disadvantage for a fight being naked and injured.

He thinks it's obvious that he's seen John, so he doesn't answer the question directly as he starts his route toward the showers. He'd be happier if Bill just turns and walks away, and if he doesn't... well, there might be words exchanged that Bill won't be too pleased with.

[substituteskull]

Bill isn't sure what to make of that and for a moment, there's confusion that crosses his face before it turns to anger. Bill isn't a hard man to read. Obsessive people rarely are. He's looking for a fight and if Sherlock means to be crude, then he'll be crude back.

"Why would I need to?" Bill asks, nasty. He watches Sherlock-- No. He's openly looking him over. "John and I take care of each other."

His implications are false. It's been some time since John's had sex, no matter what Bill may or may not wish. Sherlock, of all people, would know that.

"I guess I didn't have much to worry about after all," he smirks, mocking Sherlock's looks.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock just shakes his head, turning in such a way that Bill will get a look at the smirk on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were talking about the real John. Whatever the one in your fantasies does to take care of you must certainly be quite enjoyable to substitute for actual human touch."

Maybe it's a bit below the belt and childish, but he wants Bill to know that the lie won't get past him. As for his looks, Sherlock can't be bothered to care what Bill thinks. He's too thin and too pale and that's something he's not ignorant over. He also knows he looks great in a custom-tailored suit. (Not that he has access to those kinds of luxuries at the moment.)

"Oh, and I suppose I should really thank you," he's got his back to Bill again as he chooses his usual shower stall, throwing his towel over the top edge so it won't get too wet. This gesture proves that he isn't scared of Bill or whatever threats he poses. Alpha male through and through, and now that he's got his friend supporting him, he doesn't have to be as careful letting it show. "You might have gotten your way by having me kill what was left of my family, but you've also brought me and John closer through it." Bill can deduce whatever he'd like out of that small piece of information.

[substituteskull]

The posturing has changed. No longer does Bill seem to want to one-up Sherlock, to amuse himself by trying to pry out the jealous man he is sure lies beneath the scars and the pale skin and the somewhat feminine features. He's about ready to wrap his hands around that long neck of his, at least in desire. It likely won't take long for desire to move into action, however.

Especially since Bill is a short fuse. Especially since Sherlock is exerting his own power and agency over him. Bill doesn't like being usurped.

"You killed--" Well that hadn't been what was suppose to happen. "Did you tell John that, you fucker? You should just leave. Just fucking leave!"

Outside, John pauses at the door but doesn't push it open. He knows he shouldn't just eavesdrop but-- He also knows Sherlock can care for himself.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock can sense Bill going rigid behind him. He can only see a distorted reflection on the aluminium bar separating the chrome coated stall walls coming together at a 90 degree angle around the shower head. He can also hear the shift in his stance. He sets his basked on the shelf for soaps, widening his own stance just in case, but also taking care to look like he's relaxed.

"Yes, I've told him," Sherlock tells Bill plainly as his hand hovers over one of the knobs for the water. If he turns the water on, things will be slippery which will further his disadvantage. He needs all the grounding he can if he wants to throw his weight.

He turns his head over his shoulder, finally looking at the larger man directly. "You didn't think my friendship with John was rubbish enough to be tossed in the bin from a miscommunication, did you?" Just a tiny bit more pressure and Bill will snap under it. He'd be lying to himself if he claimed to not be looking forward to this. A release of his tension and aggression. To put some of his grief into his actions and have Bill take the brunt of it.

[substituteskull]

"I don't know what you do to him to make him think that you shit gold bricks," Bill says dangerously, "but I've had enough of you. You are bad for him. You are bad for all of us. I saved him from bleeding out in Afghanistan. I saved him from taking a gun to his head when you told him you were a fake. I was here when the world went to hell. Me. Not you. You were a year of mistakes and I'm not going to let you fuck him up again."

At this point, John would normally have pulled himself into the fight -- it's his fight, he's not some prize if Bill is thinking just that.

"I might have understood if you loved him, but you pretty much told me you don't." No one ever listens, do they, Sherlock? "That means you're using him. We need him more than you. You're no longer welcome here. I want you gone by breakfast."

[consulting_freak]

It hasn't gotten physical yet. Sherlock feels his agitation starting to rise even before Bill starts to rub salt into the wounds that the idiot probably doesn't even realise are there. The Afghanistan thing he disregards entirely. That had happened before he'd known John. But the thought of John Watson contemplating suicide makes his stomach turn and lights a very dangerous fire behind his eyes.

"And, what? You love him? Is that what you think this is?" Sherlock asks, deciding to go for the emotional throat. "And your love for him. Is that what made you take the diary his colleague had used to chronicle the work she'd done here? That hurt him, you know. And is it your love for him that told me to go to the office building across the street? No. You're trying to hurt him by using me and I won't allow that to happen, Bill. Your venom won't work on me and John might not be as clever as I am, but he won't fall for your games. You're losing him and it hurts. And, I'd suggest if you want to repair the shreds you're leaving of your relationship to him, back off."

[substituteskull]

"Hurt him? I'm trying to show him how destructive you are and what do you know! You take a gun to those poor people over there!" Bill steps closer. It's not a good day at all for anyone, especially because Bill really did think that this Sherlock problem was going to be completely done with by the end of the bloody week!

Obviously, he'd thought wrong.

"I would never hurt John. I just needed to show him that you are exactly the way everyone said you had been. You might as well have chained him up in the cellar the way you were always on him. Never let him sleep. Kept him away from his mates."

John's hand is on the door now. He shouldn't let this get much further.

"I won't let you poison him again. You leave, or we'll have a problem."

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock turns completely toward Bill. He watches his movement and predicts several possible ways a physical assault will go based on how the other man is standing currently. He can overpower him through skill where he lacks the physical strength to do it. It won't be a problem for him.

"You've hurt him. I've hurt him, too. At least I can admit it," Sherlock says, lip curving upward to the side in a snarl. "You're a coward that's convinced you can do no wrong when all you do is stomp about like an infant throwing a tantrum."

He can no longer claim the moral high-ground as he's intentionally baiting Bill. John won't be pleased by this.

"If you ask me to leave, you're asking me to hurt him again. That's something I won't do. I'm staying and if you've got any sense about you, which is very doubtful at this point, you will turn and walk away. You and the rest of this lot don't have a chance of long-term survival without someone here bright enough to work out a cure for this parasite."

Those are bills choices. Hurt John and damn everyone or turn around with his tail tucked between his legs like a whipped dog.

[substituteskull]

A few nights of weakness here or there hadn't meant to turn Bill to anything more than a friend. They've all done things against their character in this new world. You have to if you want to survive. Society and morality are not things that can come away unscathed.

But they agreed -- They agreed that physical comfort had not been something that would change their relationship. John ought to have known better. He ought to have seen it. In small bands like this, sexual relationships do not just define place, but status.

And Bill feels as if his own is being jeopardized by Sherlock's return. John rolls his eyes. Will no one ever believe that two men can simply be just friends?

Then again... Sherlock is never 'just' anything.

"It looks like you're about to have an unfortunate fall in the shower," Bill says. A whisper. John doesn't hear it. But the scuffle to follow? That's hard to miss.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock sees the darkening look in Bill's eyes and he tries not to let his mirth show as he rotates his shoulders and gets ready for the blows before they fall. That comment about an unfortunate fall? Well, that's completely unnecessary, since body language gives so much more away so quicker.

Bill is more than a little bit taller and thicker than Sherlock. And he's got some armour in terms of clothing, but all that bulk just makes him slower. Sherlock steps back when the first blow is thrown, allowing Bill to get a firm grasp on his freshly cut hair so he can bring his palm up and into Bill's nose.

He's always been on the thin side and he'd been the target of many bullies much larger than he is, so this is familiar ground. He has no qualms with taking cheap shots - throat, feet, shins, genitals - which Bill will discover if this fight continues very long.

[substituteskull]

It's not until he heard the sound of agitated water and skin to skin contact that John finally bursts into the locker room. He says nothing at first, watching Sherlock with his still painful ankle and his broken arm manage to get the better of a man literally trained for unarmed, hand to hand combat.

He's always found Sherlock something beautiful to watch, though at the moment, John's got a pained, incredulous sort of expression on his face and stands, door half open, with his head cocked to the side.

"Are you two mad?!"

Bad question. One is likely clinically mad and the other...had certainly grown that way.

"Stop!" He's not going to get in the middle of them, but he would very much like to not clean up blood today, thanks!

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock hears the door open and knows at once that it's John coming in. He'd probably been standing there for God only knows how long. Did he hear their verbal altercation? Probably? He'll certainly find out later.

He continues to struggle with Bill, using the man's weight against him and sneaking in several blows of his own - both legitimate and illegitimate in terms of 'fair play', but what's really fair about attacking a nude, injured man in the shower?

'Stop'.

Well, that's a fantastic idea and it opens up something lovely. The perfect opportunity to do the absolute most damage to Bill and his respectability. He does exactly as John says and stops. The only thing he will do now is defend against any blows that might go fatal or cause lasting injury. Other than that, Bill can show his true colours to their mutual friend. Isn't that what he'd been trying to do all along? Prove which one of them could be trusted?

[substituteskull]

The last punch from Bill, unprovoked as Sherlock had absolutely stopped throwing blows, gets John's dander up. The fist cuts into Sherlock's eye and the blood-- Damn it, just what he'd been trying to stop. If that punch causes Sherlock to fall, and likely even if it does not, Bill is entirely too frenzied to stop his assault.

John is forced, therefore, into the altercation. He puts the much taller man into a hold, half forced to jump onto him, arm around his neck.

"I said stop it!" John yells. He's not planning on getting hit for what he obviously sees as an attempt to break up the fight, but one of Bill's fists goes wild and his fingernails catch John below his left eye, tearing open three gashes across his cheek.

Well that gets Bill to stop and John glares up at him, hand over his injured face. "John--"

"ENOUGH!"

[consulting_freak]

The punch is a heavy one and it causes Sherlock to wobble on his feet. He reaches up and grabs onto the shower stall once Bill's pulled off of him, doubling over and catching his breath for a moment. He looks up just in time to see the fly away fist impact his friend's face. He hadn't meant for John to get injured during all this, but it seems a fitting end to add a physical aspect for Bill to see.

He's not exactly an innocent party in all this. And maybe he's intentionally manipulating things into his favour, but he'd had no plan in any of this until Bill approached him with his acidic words and spite.

He wipes his eye with the back of his hand and checks it for the blood he knows will be there.

Probably best not to say anything until John's calmed down. He'll just start picking up his spilled bathroom items and put them back in his box while John takes care of Bill. The shower is all the more desirable after such a pleasant release of adrenaline and testosterone.

[substituteskull]

"John, I'm so--"

John holds up his hand before anyone can start sputtering. What a nightmare this is turning into being. John likes to fight as much as the next bloke -- and let's face it, maybe even more than the next bloke because it's been a way of linking a naturally short statured man to his masculinity. He simply is done with it. There's been enough today to leave him exhausted.

Eight hour trips to and from a new food store, fighting with Sherlock on a terribly emotional level-- He doesn't need this, not when the night was suppose to be a healing exercise between him and his best friend.

"Go to bed, Bill. We'll talk tomorrow." And won't that be uncomfortable? Absolutely. John dabs at his face and turns away from them both to head to the sinks and wash up.

Bill doesn't even look at Sherlock and only tries once more to get John's attention before he leaves, shoulders slumped.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock glances over at John when he's got his items picked up, then he watches the last part of Bill's retreat. He feels a bit proud of himself for getting the upper hand and now that there's one less man in the locker room, he might accidentally let some of that show.

With a heavy sigh and a rotation of his neck and shoulders, Sherlock turns the valve so that water starts to come down. It's cold at first, but that hot water John mentioned is not far behind.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asks over his shoulder, meaning John's face. He's not considering his friend's emotional level through all this. There's still a lingering buzz of adrenaline coursing through his system and it's the next best thing to turning to morphine or cocaine when he's gotten himself into a slump as bad as he'd been in before his talk with John.

[substituteskull]

Is he all right? No. No, he doesn't think he is. John clings to the sink to keep himself upright and ignores the sting in his cheek. He doesn't have the right medications or large enough plasters. This is going to scar. He probably ought to give at least one stitch to the middle scratch too and then hope that Bill's nails were clean and he won't have to tap into antibiotics.

Waste is...just waste.

"You wanted him to attack you," John says, glancing over his shoulder as well to catch Sherlock's gaze. He's only partially able to do so before he swings his own head back down and starts to laugh. "You might literally be the death of me, Sherlock Holmes," he says.

Of course, Bill had just outed him about the suicide bit but-- Let's not bring that up. It's been too enlightening of an evening.

"Could you not, you know, start fires next time?"

[consulting_freak]

"Good," Sherlock tells John when his friend deduces correctly about his motives. "I'm not sure how much you heard, but I had my reasons. He approached me first and I thought the boost of adrenaline would be more socially acceptable and less wasteful than taking a withdrawal from the Vicodin supply," he points out. He knows that Mycroft's told John about his 'danger nights', so there's no reason to beat around the bush with it.

"Now, will you help with the shampoo? I pulled my right shoulder during that scuffle," Sherlock says to him, picking up the bottle and holding it at a low angle, since he really had done some minor damage to the muscle there. It would be fine in the morning once it's had a chance to recover with minimal impairment.

He mostly just wants John not to leave him to shower alone.