Archive of Our Own ^omega

Chapter Text

John must be going mad. This is a mad thing to do. Absolutely mad. 

His lips move silently as he reads his words back, his finger hovering over the delete button. 

He sucks in a breath. Anyone reading this might see. Anyone. It might've been fine if he'd come forward—an investigation and more therapy and a major favour from Sherlock's poncy brother—but he let Sherlock talk him into a cover up. What was he thinking? He's a normal person! He's not above the law, he doesn't belong to this mad world of archenemies and police chases and poison riddles. 

His phone is ringing; Ella again. She will not be pleased.

Except... his leg is working. It's stopped hurting, stopped seizing, started supporting his weight. He feels alive again, flush with adrenaline, with purpose, with the fact of his own necessity. He's seeing in colour again, he can taste his food and feel the sun on his skin, 
he wants to laugh and shout and run until his lungs give out. 

There's a hissing noise from the kitchen, followed by a thin, dry thwack. Sherlock is cursing in that plummy voice and the room is filling with thick, blueish smoke.

Laughing, John abandons his blog and throws the windows open. Leave normal for Ella. At least he won't be bored.