Title: Human Pillow - Three
Author: fanficwriter101
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Fandoms: Sherlock
Series: 1) Human pillow, 2) Human Pillow - Two
Disclaimer: The characters from the show aren't mine, they belong to others. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you don't recognize are mine. Feedback would be nice, positive feedback would be nicer. Enjoy!
Category: Sherlock (BBC 2010/12 version) fluffy PWP genfic
Rating: G/PG if you're really sensitive
Characters: Sherlock/John
Series: No
Spoilers: None intended but anything (including the unaired pilot) and Season Two might get a mention.
Summary: What are you scared of John?
Archive: Just tell me where it's going
Additional 'stuff': There must be something Sherlock is scared of. I just couldn't think of anything earthshattering.


It had been a long week. For John, at least, it had been confusing, tiring and not a little dangerous. But the end had, as Mycroft assured him, justified the means and the world was just that little bit safer following their discovery and interruption of the drug smugglers, who were bringing dangerous and possibly lethal fake drugs into the country, main route into London.

Back at Baker Street, John made tea, toast and jam and put the television on before flopping, exhausted onto the sofa.

Sherlock managed to change out of his stained and torn jacket into pyjamas and dressing gown before he, too, gave into exhaustion and dropped onto the sofa, his head resting in John's lap.

John tutted as he saw the graze on Sherlock's temple, pushing the limp strands of hair from the bloody skin. "I need to clean this Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed and batted John's hand away.

Without the energy to push Sherlock up and off, John left his hand on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock shifted a little and looked up at John's concerned face. "What are you scared of?"

"That the cut might get infected and it's close to your brain so..."

Sherlock frowned. "No, I mean, in general."

John didn't even hesitate. "Balloons."

Sherlock's frown morphed into a quizzical look. "Hot air balloons?"

"No, balloons...you know ones you blow up...party balloons."

Sherlock wriggled a little, getting comfortable. "Tell me."

John yawned and settled himself into a more horizontal position on the sofa. "It's quite simple..."

"Phobias almost always are." Sherlock interrupted.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" John enquired, his tiredness giving his voice an edge.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded.

"It was my eighth birthday. A family had moved in opposite and the girl was okay..." John ignored Sherlock's grin. "...but the boy, Jamie, was a real bully. He thought it would be funny to put a balloon down my back so when I sat down after blowing my candles out it burst. I put my arm right through my birthday cake. My mum was really cross and she didn't believe me about the balloon."

Sherlock frowned. "What happened?"

"Bully boy dropped the burst balloon in my cup of orange squash and I swallowed it. I was choking and I just managed to spit it out but I also coughed up sandwiches and crisps and my Mum got cross again."

Sherlock arched his back and looked upside-down at John. "If you like, I could ask Mycroft to do something nasty to him."

John laughed for a moment before realizing he was still concerned at the bloody scrape on Sherlock's forehead. "Must have been nice, having an older brother."

Sherlock sat up a little as John slid out from underneath him. "I thought you just had a sister?"

"You, I mean, Sherlock!" John shouted over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs to his room.

Sherlock didn't reply.

As he cleaned Sherlock's wound, John asked: "What about you? What are you scared of?"

Sherlock thought for a few seconds. "Nothing."

John laughed. "Everyone's scared of something Sherlock. Thunderstorms, dogs, dying."

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not."

John shook his head and dabbed Sherlock's skin dry. "All done. Don't get it wet tonight, okay?"

Sherlock smiled. "Thank you."

John couldn't resist. "You're really not scared of *anything* Sherlock?"

Sherlock exhaled deeply. "You."

John frowned. "You're scared of *me*?" His voice had an edge of disbelief with added tiredness.

"Yes. Why is that unbelievable?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"I'm your flatmate Sherlock. Why would you live with me if you're scared of me?"

Sherlock considered the question while John tried to work out if Sherlock was serious or not.


John waited, one eyebrow raised.

"Because you call me Sherlock."

"As opposed to..?" John enquired.

"Freak." Sherlock said softly, cheeks coloring a little.

John smiled down at Sherlock. "You're not a freak. You're a hyperactive, arrogant, messy genius with a borderline autistic disorder who doesn't care what happens to him as long as he solves the puzzle but you're not a freak, Sherlock, look at me." John said, his voice firming.

Sherlock moved his head slightly and looked uneasily at John.

"You don't have to be scared of me."

Sherlock didn't seem convinced.

"If you wash up after you cook, tidy up when you make a mess and do your laundry on a regular basis you don't have to be scared of me at all."

Sherlock groaned. "You're teasing me."

John smiled. "Just be grateful I don't put a balloon down your back."