December 30th excerpt:
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, doing his best not to cause too large of a breeze for his passengers, John looked to Sherlock. “Lead the way, then,” he muttered.
Sherlock stood and walked from the kitchen to the main room and John, holding his breath, lifted his hands from the table and followed. He stepped slowly and carefully to keep the ride as smooth as possible.
He felt like a bus. A giant, inefficiently shaped bus.
December 28th excerpt:
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at Dean as he listened. “Is that who you were chasing?” he asked, sharing none of Anita’s hesitancy.
John’s head snapped up. “Chasing?” he repeated. When did that happen?
“Who did you think I was chasing?!” Dean griped, his annoyance at Sherlock flooding back.
December 27th excerpt:
Moira stood and took a few steps towards the strangers on the table. Her family didn’t entertain guests very often, but she knew how to offer hospitality. And maybe she could help reassure them, considering the way Sherlock and John could loom. Sherlock especially with that focused look in his eyes.
Moira spared him one last glance before opening up her bag, a smaller version of Sam’s. “Is anyone hungry?” she asked in a small voice. “I don’t have much, but my mother made some cakes,” she offered shyly, pulling one out and unwrapping it from the fabric coiled around it.
December 23rd excerpt:
John reached toward Dean and tapped the counter with his knuckle, just outside of reach of the smaller man’s reach.
Contrary to John’s hopes, the light rap against the countertop did not yield the desired results. After living over a decade in the walls, Dean was used to the feeling of vibrations or booming voices in his sleep, though normally sound was more muffled.
Dean shifted in place, rolling on his side with a brief “Quit it, Sammy,” thrown over his shoulder before settling back down.
December 22nd excerpt:
“Sit still and get better,” Moira snipped at him, quickly making the cup and scooping water into it. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by pushing it.”
“Thanks, mom,” Dean said tartly. “Who’s the oldest here again?”
“That’d be me,” John pointed out, easily drawing attention to himself. He was steadily learning how to control his voice around the smaller folk, especially at close proximity. However, John supposed he couldn’t prevent himself from being an overwhelming presence to them even at his quietest.
With a shrug, John went on. “And as a doctor, I have to agree with Moira. You need rest. And eat up, you’re gonna have to replenish your iron and vitamins to get your strength back.”
Dean gave John a flat glare. “You two,” he griped, pointing first at Moira then at John, “are not supposed to be on the same side!”
@borrowedtimeandspace – (Assuming we’re talking about Watson)
Whether he was cursed as a child or born smol,
John would make the best of the hand he’s dealt. His size wouldn’t stop him
from learning how to help others his size, becoming as close to a doctor as he
can manage to be without training, and generally being a little badass. And he certainly wouldn’t take kindly to any giants who mess with those he loves.
Maybe I’m biased because of The Hobbit,
but I imagine borrower John wielding a sharpened half-scissor broken off of a
swiss army knife x3
December 21st excerpt:
Then John went to the freezer for a cold pack. After what Sam had gone through with the ice packs for his bruises, the doctor spent one of his days off scouring the internet for friendlier, less messy alternatives to ice. After finding something surprising, John went out and bought a bag of mini marshmallows to keep in the freezer. Apparently they absorbed the cold really well, and since they were soft they were easier to apply to sore or achy spots on the body. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with the wetness of melting ice, and he’d have something sweet to nibble on later if he liked.
As strange as it was, it was a better option, theoretically.
December 17th excerpt:
John couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of detail he was able to see through the small lens, if slightly distorted. The individual spikes of Dean’s hair which swayed as though in time with a breeze; it didn’t take John long to realize that the breeze was his breath, and he made a conscious effort to lessen the gust. Freckles across Dean’s cheeks and stubble on his chin, the tiniest things that John wouldn’t be able to make out ordinarily. Bloodstains on his black shirt, and… John squinted and looked closer, a little thrown by the sight of a necklace resting against Dean’s chest. Even with the magnifier, all he could really make out was an outline of a leather cord and a metallic gleam from a pendant.
“What is that? ” Sherlock piped up, leaning in close again.
December 16th excerpt:
Leaning on the slight incline of John’s fingers, some of which outsized him in length, Dean had never looked smaller and more vulnerable.
This was further accentuated when a longer, paler finger came from behind John to poke at Dean’s shoulder, flipping the tiny person onto his back.
“Stop that!” John hissed, slapping Sherlock’s hand out of the way. The hand supporting Dean wavered ever so slightly, causing his head to loll to the other side.
December 14th excerpt:
John blinked at the sudden shift in Dean’s trajectory, concern mounting as the man fell silent. He glanced at Sherlock again, whose frown deepened. “Is this– Has he ever tracked a person? ”
“Not to my knowledge,” muttered the detective in reply. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes darted between Dean and John. Sherlock wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was looking to John for answers as much as John was to him. As a doctor, his expertise was more expansive than Sherlock’s from a medical standpoint. There was no telling what sorts of limits Dean’s ability held, or the toll it would take.
Brothers Apart 