Posted “No Fare” to AO3 and my fic LJ.
John doesn’t stop for Stamford. Instead, he takes Jefferson Hope’s cab home.
Gen, PG, 2000 words. No warnings, includes BAMF!John.
For a moment, in Piccadilly, John thinks he hears his name being called. It rouses him briefly from the brooding slosh of his own thoughts, but ‘John’ is a common name, after all. He puts his head back down and doesn’t stop. These days, it’s too hard to get up the momentum to move forward again.
By the time he’s finished running his errands, his leg’s screaming like twisted shrapnel and his right shoulder is on fire. Bloody cane. And of course, no cab sees fit to stop for him. After about ten minutes of trying, John resorts to guilt trips, waving his cane to flag one down. Maybe pity will move them where the uninspiring financial promise of a second-hand coat fails.
When one pulls over for him only a minute later, he represses an impulse to use that cane to knock a dent into the bonnet. He doesn’t need pity. He’s not fucking weak. He got shot and he’s alive; he’s stronger than he’s ever been. He’s only short on things to live for.
But he still can’t walk another block.
BBC Sherlock fic: No Fare on AO3