karadinart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
karadinart) wrote2011-09-24 08:27 am
karadinart) wrote2011-09-24 08:27 am
Entry tags:
Sherlock Fic - True (1/2)
True
Author: Karadin
Fandom SHERLOCK BBC
Main Pairing: Sherlock x John
Rating: M for Mature
Warnings: Explicit sexual description, language,
Genre: Humour, Romance, new relationship
One-shot, post Great Hiatus.
Sherlock Holmes created by Arthur Conan Doyle
Sherlock BBC created by Stephan Moffat and Mark Gatiss
word count 2,066
Synopsis: John Watson navigates the romantic shoals with Sherlock Holmes, takes place five years on from series one, after the Great Hiatus.
I've bought a ticket to the world
but now I've come back again.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line
I want the truth to be said.
Spandau Ballet
John Watson always loved the satisfactory resolution of a case, for a brief space his partner in crime-fighting - the World's Only Consulting Detective - Sherlock Holmes, would be basking in the afterglow of effusive thanks of their client, the grudging respect of the Yard or the terse gratitude of the Home Office, the culprit(s) either charged and put behind bars or in a few instances, occupying a space in a drawer at Bart's Morgue.
John would also be in a cheerful mood - if neither he or Sherlock had sustained more than a minor injury - having banked the cheque for their services, noted on a mental tally sheet favors owed and just putting the finishing touches on his account of their latest adventure in his blog.
For the space of a day or so, Sherlock would be at ease and content, before the finely tuned engine that was his intellect began to grind it's gears in boredom. Usually John could cajole Sherlock into going out to eat - at one of the many restaurants where they could have the best seats, food on the house and a candle on the table - or Sherlock's many connections could get them into any concert, film or play in London and it's environs.
As a matter of fact, John had in his jacket pocket a pair of tickets to Smiley's People hoping that Sherlock would enjoy the resolution of the film trilogy of John Le Carre's novels, recalling with a slight pang that when the first film 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy had been released, he had thought Sherlock dead at the hands of his nemesis, Moriarty.
John would have liked to hold onto a bit of a grudge, for he had mourned Sherlock's loss deeply, struggling over what he could have done or said to change the fact that his best friend was gone, but John was determined not to fall into a spiraling depression, not like those dark days when he had been invalided out of the Army. As an old song said, 'he picked himself up, dusted himself off, started all over again.'
Three years later around the time when the second film 'The Honorable Schoolboy' was released on DVD, Sherlock Holmes appeared in John's office at the London Royal Hospital; a tall, dark gaunt scarecrow of a man, holding John's arms pinned to his sides, grey eyes startling in his pale face and John didn't hear a word he was saying.
When the detective finally stopped talking, John hauled off and hit Sherlock on his right bicep with a closed fist, hard enough to make the man wince, then - delirious with joy - he kissed his erstwhile partner bruisingly hard on the mouth.
"It's fucking fantastic to see you, you great pillock!"
Sherlock did not kiss John, but did say, as they drew apart.
"That went better than expected."
He grabbed John by the hand, pulling him out of his office so both of them could chase - and defeat - Moriarty's last henchman Colonel Moran.
That night (or early morning to be precise) Sherlock returned with John to the flat they had shared at 221B Baker Street, and to anyone looking from the outside, their partnership continued exactly as before. Then again, everyone from Yarders to friends to enemies had supposed they were shagging like rabbits when they had been the most platonic of friends.
Their relationship took a turn a month later when Sherlock made an announcement in their sitting room, as John was flipping through 400+ channels and finding nothing to watch on the telly.
"I'm not interested in having sex with you."
John only hummed and took a sip of tea, his opposite hand still attached to the remote.
"I would however, be open to a relationship of limited close physical contact with romantic implications."
Sherlock's only sign of nervousness was clasping his hands into fists and shoving them deep into the pockets of his dressing gown.
John set down the remote, his brow furrowing slightly.
"What does that even mean, limited close physical contact ... and why do you think I'd be interested? Again?"
This last was a reference to their second meeting as prospective flatmates, when Sherlock had brushed off what he thought was John's attempt to ask him for a date. Sherlock frowned at that memory and John's dismissal of the current evidence.
"The kiss, John! You kissed me; an obvious indicator of affection and a desire for a relationship of a romantic nature between us."
"I kiss a lot of people, Sherlock. That doesn't mean I want to have a relationship with them."
This response only made the detective pause for a moment, before replying with a hint of a sneer.
"How many men do you kiss on a regular basis?"
John chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "I don't kiss men at all, as a rule, but I don't often have best friends return from the dead. You could consider it an outlier."
When Sherlock continued to stand completely still and stare at his partner, John wriggled a little where he sat in his favorite battered red chair, feeling as if his clothes were being stripped off and not in a seductive way as Sherlock might not stop until he got down to bare bones.
"I think the question is, what do you want, Sherlock? You know I'm ... intrigued and attracted to you, hell, I might possibly be in love with you, but that doesn't mean we would start having sex, particularly when it's something you don't like."
The idea of having Sherlock in bed had crossed John's mind enough times to lay it's own train of thought. It was terrifying, as he had never been attracted to a man before and thrilling, much in the way of learning that he was an expert marksman and a more than competent soldier as well as an excellent doctor.
But Sherlock only countered this remark with a satisfied - if not smug - sparkle in his eyes.
"I knew you loved me."
John gave his partner a pointed glance.
Sherlock loosened his hands in his pockets and looked down at his bare toes digging into the carpet.
"I liked it. When you kissed me. It wasn't too wet."
"Oh?" John's eyebrows lifted.
"No 'smacking' sounds," Sherlock's hands fluttered up as his mouth made a moue of distaste. "You enjoy a close shave daily. Your lips weren't chapped as you keep at tub of lavender and chamomile petroleum jelly at your desk which you use frequently and you had a mint after your French Roast coffee that day, Polo Peppermint."
"That's ... very detailed. So, it's not so much physical contact you mind as much as the specific nature of the contact?" John asked.
"Don't be absurd," Sherlock scoffed, "I liked it because it was you."
John set down his tea and reached out with his arms.
"Come here. That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
To his delight, Sherlock stepped across to him, letting John put his hands on his hips, and Sherlock placed his hands on John's shoulders, making physical contact and keeping his partner at arm's length at the same time.
"You must be aware that I'm only physically demonstrative with people I have a tolerance for, a very select group, yourself, Mrs. Hudson ..."
"Irene." John said with a sideways smile.
"That was in the course of an investigation, there have been a very few cases where I've engaged in a degree of physical intimacy to uncover information; with men and with women," Sherlock replied, with the pained expression of someone who has had to explain the same matter more than a few times.
"My equal opportunity offender," John replied fondly, though he thought the detective might have been protesting a bit too much when it came to the scintillating Ms. Adler.
Sherlock nodded. "There hasn't been affectionate regard for the other individual when I've engaged in such activities for sixteen years."
John was stunned and this showed in his expression as his hands moved up to Sherlock's waist to draw his partner closer.
"You've not been in love with anyone, for that long."
"Is that a surprise to you?" Sherlock said, and to John's astonishment, his partner turned so that he could sit in his lap. John's arms surrounded Sherlock, as six foot of consulting detective turned out to be heavier than expected.
"So much of infatuation is self-induced blindness. I can deduce with precision when someone will approach me with an offer and why; a superficial attraction to my physical attributes, a false layer of charm I've used or my intellect, there's never been a person that interested me enough to make such an experiment worth trying, not until now. Not until you."
"I think," John said. "You need to kiss me now."
Sherlock complied, curling in John's lap so he could bend down enough to kiss his friend's lips, the kiss was soft, chaste and John was happy, even as Sherlock pulled away to rest his side against the arm of the chair, folding his long legs over the opposite arm to give John's thighs some relief.
John gave Sherlock time to settle, not even complaining when the detective took John's still warm cup of tea and the remote control.
"I don't care for public displays of affection." Sherlock said after deciding they would watch a rebroadcast of Quatermass and the Pit. "This change in our relationship cannot be allowed to interfere with our Work."
John nodded, quite in agreement with these terms, noting that Sherlock had said 'our' and not 'my' as regarded their chosen professions of detective consultant and assistant. He was smiling as he patted Sherlock's thigh with the palm of his hand, that is, until Sherlock stared at his hand, making John stop its circular movement.
"Problem?" John asked.
"I'm quite particular about where and when I'm touched," Sherlock said.
John snatched his hand back. "Well, just let me know what you don't like."
Sherlock smiled. "Of course I will."
It was only a few moments into the programme that John remembered it had given him 'the jib-jabs' as a child, Sherlock laughed as doctor hid his face behind the detective's shoulder at tense moments, but it also gave John the excuse to hold onto his partner.
In the months following, Sherlock and John exchanged kisses, never reaching a point where they became heated - Sherlock refused to have his mouth 'invaded' by John's tongue - the taller detective would at times, drape himself over his shorter assistant for a full-body hug, and John accustomed himself to being held against a flat chest, Sherlock's round chin resting ontop of his head.
As before John was pulled or pushed or prodded into movement, not only from doorways and cabs, but from his own bed when Sherlock wanted company. There were still times when Sherlock was taken by one of his black moods and wanted John as far away as possible, so John continued to cultivate those relationships he had made during their years apart, with work mates, army mates and members of his rugby team. What he didn't seek out, for the first time in decades, were intimate relationships with women.
And if there were times when John was overcome by his libido, as he and Sherlock sprawled on the couch or in John's bed, close enough to bring a flush of sweat to their skins - they never went to sleep in Sherlock's room and they had yet to be with each other without the barrier of clothing between them - John went off to the loo to deal with his arousal, quickly, as silently as possible, aware that Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing.
John was grateful that Sherlock made no biting or sarcastic comments after these incidents, but gave him small significant gestures of affection; making John a cup of tea and refraining from finishing the last of the Jaffa Cakes or clearing old experiments out of the fridge without being asked.
John was certain the only way to encourage Sherlock to deepen their physical relationship was to wait, and after three years, John was very good at waiting.
Now John checked his watch, as soon as the detective finished showering and dressing, most likely in one of his natty bespoke black suits, they would be off to see the film, for once in a theater that served sweet toffee popcorn.
"Sherlock," he called, "Gary Oldman is not getting any younger and neither am I."
TBC
(explicit in part 2)
True - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AR8D2yqgQ1U
Pick Yourself Up Dust Yourself Off - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6MtmkqPbps
Author: Karadin
Fandom SHERLOCK BBC
Main Pairing: Sherlock x John
Rating: M for Mature
Warnings: Explicit sexual description, language,
Genre: Humour, Romance, new relationship
One-shot, post Great Hiatus.
Sherlock Holmes created by Arthur Conan Doyle
Sherlock BBC created by Stephan Moffat and Mark Gatiss
word count 2,066
Synopsis: John Watson navigates the romantic shoals with Sherlock Holmes, takes place five years on from series one, after the Great Hiatus.
I've bought a ticket to the world
but now I've come back again.
Why do I find it hard to write the next line
I want the truth to be said.
Spandau Ballet
John Watson always loved the satisfactory resolution of a case, for a brief space his partner in crime-fighting - the World's Only Consulting Detective - Sherlock Holmes, would be basking in the afterglow of effusive thanks of their client, the grudging respect of the Yard or the terse gratitude of the Home Office, the culprit(s) either charged and put behind bars or in a few instances, occupying a space in a drawer at Bart's Morgue.
John would also be in a cheerful mood - if neither he or Sherlock had sustained more than a minor injury - having banked the cheque for their services, noted on a mental tally sheet favors owed and just putting the finishing touches on his account of their latest adventure in his blog.
For the space of a day or so, Sherlock would be at ease and content, before the finely tuned engine that was his intellect began to grind it's gears in boredom. Usually John could cajole Sherlock into going out to eat - at one of the many restaurants where they could have the best seats, food on the house and a candle on the table - or Sherlock's many connections could get them into any concert, film or play in London and it's environs.
As a matter of fact, John had in his jacket pocket a pair of tickets to Smiley's People hoping that Sherlock would enjoy the resolution of the film trilogy of John Le Carre's novels, recalling with a slight pang that when the first film 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy had been released, he had thought Sherlock dead at the hands of his nemesis, Moriarty.
John would have liked to hold onto a bit of a grudge, for he had mourned Sherlock's loss deeply, struggling over what he could have done or said to change the fact that his best friend was gone, but John was determined not to fall into a spiraling depression, not like those dark days when he had been invalided out of the Army. As an old song said, 'he picked himself up, dusted himself off, started all over again.'
Three years later around the time when the second film 'The Honorable Schoolboy' was released on DVD, Sherlock Holmes appeared in John's office at the London Royal Hospital; a tall, dark gaunt scarecrow of a man, holding John's arms pinned to his sides, grey eyes startling in his pale face and John didn't hear a word he was saying.
When the detective finally stopped talking, John hauled off and hit Sherlock on his right bicep with a closed fist, hard enough to make the man wince, then - delirious with joy - he kissed his erstwhile partner bruisingly hard on the mouth.
"It's fucking fantastic to see you, you great pillock!"
Sherlock did not kiss John, but did say, as they drew apart.
"That went better than expected."
He grabbed John by the hand, pulling him out of his office so both of them could chase - and defeat - Moriarty's last henchman Colonel Moran.
That night (or early morning to be precise) Sherlock returned with John to the flat they had shared at 221B Baker Street, and to anyone looking from the outside, their partnership continued exactly as before. Then again, everyone from Yarders to friends to enemies had supposed they were shagging like rabbits when they had been the most platonic of friends.
Their relationship took a turn a month later when Sherlock made an announcement in their sitting room, as John was flipping through 400+ channels and finding nothing to watch on the telly.
"I'm not interested in having sex with you."
John only hummed and took a sip of tea, his opposite hand still attached to the remote.
"I would however, be open to a relationship of limited close physical contact with romantic implications."
Sherlock's only sign of nervousness was clasping his hands into fists and shoving them deep into the pockets of his dressing gown.
John set down the remote, his brow furrowing slightly.
"What does that even mean, limited close physical contact ... and why do you think I'd be interested? Again?"
This last was a reference to their second meeting as prospective flatmates, when Sherlock had brushed off what he thought was John's attempt to ask him for a date. Sherlock frowned at that memory and John's dismissal of the current evidence.
"The kiss, John! You kissed me; an obvious indicator of affection and a desire for a relationship of a romantic nature between us."
"I kiss a lot of people, Sherlock. That doesn't mean I want to have a relationship with them."
This response only made the detective pause for a moment, before replying with a hint of a sneer.
"How many men do you kiss on a regular basis?"
John chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "I don't kiss men at all, as a rule, but I don't often have best friends return from the dead. You could consider it an outlier."
When Sherlock continued to stand completely still and stare at his partner, John wriggled a little where he sat in his favorite battered red chair, feeling as if his clothes were being stripped off and not in a seductive way as Sherlock might not stop until he got down to bare bones.
"I think the question is, what do you want, Sherlock? You know I'm ... intrigued and attracted to you, hell, I might possibly be in love with you, but that doesn't mean we would start having sex, particularly when it's something you don't like."
The idea of having Sherlock in bed had crossed John's mind enough times to lay it's own train of thought. It was terrifying, as he had never been attracted to a man before and thrilling, much in the way of learning that he was an expert marksman and a more than competent soldier as well as an excellent doctor.
But Sherlock only countered this remark with a satisfied - if not smug - sparkle in his eyes.
"I knew you loved me."
John gave his partner a pointed glance.
Sherlock loosened his hands in his pockets and looked down at his bare toes digging into the carpet.
"I liked it. When you kissed me. It wasn't too wet."
"Oh?" John's eyebrows lifted.
"No 'smacking' sounds," Sherlock's hands fluttered up as his mouth made a moue of distaste. "You enjoy a close shave daily. Your lips weren't chapped as you keep at tub of lavender and chamomile petroleum jelly at your desk which you use frequently and you had a mint after your French Roast coffee that day, Polo Peppermint."
"That's ... very detailed. So, it's not so much physical contact you mind as much as the specific nature of the contact?" John asked.
"Don't be absurd," Sherlock scoffed, "I liked it because it was you."
John set down his tea and reached out with his arms.
"Come here. That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
To his delight, Sherlock stepped across to him, letting John put his hands on his hips, and Sherlock placed his hands on John's shoulders, making physical contact and keeping his partner at arm's length at the same time.
"You must be aware that I'm only physically demonstrative with people I have a tolerance for, a very select group, yourself, Mrs. Hudson ..."
"Irene." John said with a sideways smile.
"That was in the course of an investigation, there have been a very few cases where I've engaged in a degree of physical intimacy to uncover information; with men and with women," Sherlock replied, with the pained expression of someone who has had to explain the same matter more than a few times.
"My equal opportunity offender," John replied fondly, though he thought the detective might have been protesting a bit too much when it came to the scintillating Ms. Adler.
Sherlock nodded. "There hasn't been affectionate regard for the other individual when I've engaged in such activities for sixteen years."
John was stunned and this showed in his expression as his hands moved up to Sherlock's waist to draw his partner closer.
"You've not been in love with anyone, for that long."
"Is that a surprise to you?" Sherlock said, and to John's astonishment, his partner turned so that he could sit in his lap. John's arms surrounded Sherlock, as six foot of consulting detective turned out to be heavier than expected.
"So much of infatuation is self-induced blindness. I can deduce with precision when someone will approach me with an offer and why; a superficial attraction to my physical attributes, a false layer of charm I've used or my intellect, there's never been a person that interested me enough to make such an experiment worth trying, not until now. Not until you."
"I think," John said. "You need to kiss me now."
Sherlock complied, curling in John's lap so he could bend down enough to kiss his friend's lips, the kiss was soft, chaste and John was happy, even as Sherlock pulled away to rest his side against the arm of the chair, folding his long legs over the opposite arm to give John's thighs some relief.
John gave Sherlock time to settle, not even complaining when the detective took John's still warm cup of tea and the remote control.
"I don't care for public displays of affection." Sherlock said after deciding they would watch a rebroadcast of Quatermass and the Pit. "This change in our relationship cannot be allowed to interfere with our Work."
John nodded, quite in agreement with these terms, noting that Sherlock had said 'our' and not 'my' as regarded their chosen professions of detective consultant and assistant. He was smiling as he patted Sherlock's thigh with the palm of his hand, that is, until Sherlock stared at his hand, making John stop its circular movement.
"Problem?" John asked.
"I'm quite particular about where and when I'm touched," Sherlock said.
John snatched his hand back. "Well, just let me know what you don't like."
Sherlock smiled. "Of course I will."
It was only a few moments into the programme that John remembered it had given him 'the jib-jabs' as a child, Sherlock laughed as doctor hid his face behind the detective's shoulder at tense moments, but it also gave John the excuse to hold onto his partner.
In the months following, Sherlock and John exchanged kisses, never reaching a point where they became heated - Sherlock refused to have his mouth 'invaded' by John's tongue - the taller detective would at times, drape himself over his shorter assistant for a full-body hug, and John accustomed himself to being held against a flat chest, Sherlock's round chin resting ontop of his head.
As before John was pulled or pushed or prodded into movement, not only from doorways and cabs, but from his own bed when Sherlock wanted company. There were still times when Sherlock was taken by one of his black moods and wanted John as far away as possible, so John continued to cultivate those relationships he had made during their years apart, with work mates, army mates and members of his rugby team. What he didn't seek out, for the first time in decades, were intimate relationships with women.
And if there were times when John was overcome by his libido, as he and Sherlock sprawled on the couch or in John's bed, close enough to bring a flush of sweat to their skins - they never went to sleep in Sherlock's room and they had yet to be with each other without the barrier of clothing between them - John went off to the loo to deal with his arousal, quickly, as silently as possible, aware that Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing.
John was grateful that Sherlock made no biting or sarcastic comments after these incidents, but gave him small significant gestures of affection; making John a cup of tea and refraining from finishing the last of the Jaffa Cakes or clearing old experiments out of the fridge without being asked.
John was certain the only way to encourage Sherlock to deepen their physical relationship was to wait, and after three years, John was very good at waiting.
Now John checked his watch, as soon as the detective finished showering and dressing, most likely in one of his natty bespoke black suits, they would be off to see the film, for once in a theater that served sweet toffee popcorn.
"Sherlock," he called, "Gary Oldman is not getting any younger and neither am I."
TBC
(explicit in part 2)
True - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AR8D2yqgQ1U
Pick Yourself Up Dust Yourself Off - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6MtmkqPbps