(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]

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.

[substituteskull]

"Have you-- Have you honestly injured both of your arms now? And you're the bloody genius!" Well, they've always been strange ducks, haven't they? Always enjoyed, for lack of better words, the strangest of things. A fist fight in the bathroom with Sherlock nude over John's supposed friendship? It's not reality. This is not his life now.

John sighs, poor, hard pressed John Watson, and removes his shirt and his trousers before stepping into the water. Still quite warm, he's rather pleased to find.

Having to do Sherlock's hair, however, will be a difficult endeavor. "You'll have to bend a bit," he mentions. "It's not my fault that my genes did not favour stature, do not even start with me." He's not as generous as Sherlock might like with the shampoo but... Well, no one in the world is left making shampoo either.

While Sherlock is bending, he might notice a whole array of interesting, lovely scars that John's managed to get. Of course, his crowning glory is still his shoulder. And his face is still weeping blood too.

There's not many places he's not scarred up, incidentally.

[consulting_freak]

"The right arm is only a minor injury," Sherlock points out, but he doesn't seem very embarrassed by it. If anything, he's amused. Unlike John, he hasn't grown out of finding pleasure in the simple things life throws at him. Crime scenes are few and far between these days, so he's got to stay entertained some way.

He bends forward as John instructs him. He definitely takes the opportunity to glance over his friend's body like this. He can put stories and specifics to many of the scars he sees on his friend, simply because that's what he does. He's more familiar with fresher wounds, but it's all similar.

"Do you need help patching up your face?" Sherlock asks him, closing his eyes when some of the shampoo dribbles down his temple. "I won't be much help, I imagine, but I might be able to hold things for you while you suture yourself up. As I said before, you don't need to worry too much about the penicillin. I can make more easily and I shouldn't have to explain to you that prophylactic treatment is more conservative than treating a full infection."

[substituteskull]

"I can handle my face," John mentions with a laugh. Sherlock's ability to turn doctoring into a 'I know more than you' sort of scenario always amuses him. Always had amused him. Always will amuse him. He likes that sort of thinking so much more.

A good scratching to Sherlock's scalp and he assumes the other man can do the rinsing under the spray himself while he soaps up the back of his neck and his shoulders.

And isn't this a very odd thing to be doing? Probably, but Sherlock's arms are roughly useless at the moment and it's no different from a sponge bath.

Or so he tells himself.

It's all very cursory at least and then it's to his own body. John doesn't bother with shampoo, it's all hand soap, lathered up quickly. Rinsed off just as quickly.

He'll leave Sherlock to the rest. He really should see to his face. It will not be the first nor last time he must stitch himself up.

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock turns everything into an 'I know more than you' scenario. If he doesn't have the knowledge to back it up, he gets defensive and claims that he doesn't know it because it's not worth knowing. It's true, but it still makes him ruffled when John treats political gossip as important information. Not that they'll have much of that to worry about these days.

When Sherlock's finished rinsing his hair, he'll pick up a bottle of conditioner and hand it to John. It takes as long for him to do a quick rinse as it takes John to wash half his body.

"You know... I'm trying to figure out how you've always managed to smell fine despite throwing soap on yourself without so much as using it to wash," Sherlock says, giving John a bit of an amused look again. He's not completely satisfied with John's job of washing his shoulders and back, but this is his third shower today, so he can't be too worried about being thorough.

I keep promising myself no phone tags... ><

[substituteskull]

Conditioner? "Sherlock, you--" You hardly have any hair. Oh well. John sighs, lets the criticism about his washing go without comment, pours an ample amount of conditioner in the centre of his palm, and beckons Sherlock closer again. Yes, his cheek is bleeding and yes he has better things to do with his evening. But this is soothing. Being with Sherlock is a balm.

John is a little more thorough this time, running his fingers through the silky black strands carefully to coat them from root to end. Lovingly. Yes. He smiles to himself and then tilts Sherlock's head back, pushing himself on his toes to be just a bit taller. It's a little more difficult to rinse out conditioner, he figures, so rather than have Sherlock do it himself, he helps. And all right. Yes. He very much enjoys Sherlock's hair. Perhaps he can find a way to stroke it when it's curly again? And wouldn't that just make the other man grumble! Such a grumpy house cat in a muffler.

But for now--

He really needs to get himself situated.

"Finish up wasting the water," John jokes as he steps out of the spray and towels off. "I'm going to sew up my face in my room."

You can follow him when you're ready.

It's hard not to phone tag. You caught me right as I was sitting down XD

[consulting_freak]

Sherlock just gives a half shrug at John's half uttered question. Of course he uses conditioner in his hair. As John thought to himself earlier, without taking the precaution of conditioner, his hair would end up a frizzy mess by noon. Tangles, loose bits shooting everywhere; and with the frequency of his showers, his hair would be completely stripped of any oils.

He finds it very pleasant to have his friend take care of his haircare. He'd never thought about this sort of thing before and how much nicer it would be to have a friendly presence take care of things like this than a hairdresser. It's just comfortable. Fitting in with John's cat analogy, he shuffles his feet a little so he could crane his head to either side to make sure he's properly pampered from all directions.

When his friend drops his hands, he sighs. One hand pushes his fringe up and over his forehead with the muted coordination of a sore shoulder. "And you'll take the antibiotic?" Sherlock asks him, for now watching the smaller man instead of moving to finish washing himself off.

He'll follow John, but it will be a while. He's going to have a hard time putting his pyjamas on and moving his stuff back into the locker.