Ships this post: gen, John/Sherlock (second quote comes from a story with triggers)
John really, really
doesn't want to know why there are two dresses on Sherlock's bed.
Really, he doesn't.
Because he has a terrible suspicion.
He hopes that he's man enough to say "no." He hopes even more fervently that when the time comes, he'll not have to wear the dress with the peacock feathers.
--Don't be a Drag
, by sc010f
“And those ridiculous
paintings – all flowers and and fields and colours
as though the patients and visitors are meant to forget they're in the hospital. As if you ever could with that distressing smell of disinfectant about the place...one would think they had people bleeding out every two feet with the way they're layering it down...”
For a moment, just a moment, John could almost believe this was normal – well, his and Sherlock's version of normal, anyway.
Which is why his mouth opened on a retort automatically, instead of just basking in Sherlock's return to bitter sarcasm. “Oh, leave off, Sherlock, they do the best they can. Besides, some of us actually like
nice, colourful paintings of flower fields.”
As soon as the words were out his mouth, John could have kicked himself. Now Sherlock would back off and shut up as he'd been doing for days, because god forbid John should get distressed
in any way even though he'd been frustrated and on-edge since this whole train wreck had started, and really, there was very little Sherlock could do it make it worse.
But Sherlock paused in his stream of dialogue, narrowed his eyes briefly like he was looking at a blood sample under a microscope and then...acted as snotty as ever.
“Wouldn't have taken you for the type to like flowers, John.”
John was so relieved the words shot out of his mouth on pure reflex. “I was in the army, I shoot like a sniper, and I played rugby in spite of being the smallest guy on the field – at this point, you can't make me insecure about my masculinity just because I like flowers.”
, by (AO3)Blind_Author, (Sherlock/John, TW for rape and rape aftermath)
Gradually, as the chatter continued through morning coffee and a late breakfast, it began to sink in that John wasn't going to mention it at all. As if kissing Sherlock had not been in any way remarkable for him.Remarkable... Extraordinary... Singular... Worthy of remark.
Two sulks later he decided that it was for the best. If John didn't think it worth noting, then neither did he. Sherlock settled down with his laptop and determined to put the whole business out of his mind.
He lasted three minutes.
"So, if you like men, why were you never attracted to me before?"
"Well - now I know. And guess what? The sky hasn't fallen and the world is still turning." He hesitated, his authoritative stance wavering. "It's supposed to do that. Turn, I mean."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and John raised his hands defensively.
"Sorry, sorry. I just wasn't sure what had survived the 'great astronomy purge' of nineteen-whatever."
John took a mouthful of his tea and settled deeper into his chair. "So correct me if I'm wrong, but we seem to have accidentally kick-started your sex-drive, yes?"
Sherlock grimaced, but nodded.
"So, what do you want to do about it?" John took another drink.
"Other than wank myself into an early grave, you mean?"
John's tea made an unscheduled re-appearance.
He checked his watch, then got to his feet, deciding to take a circuitous route back to collect John. Anything was better than sitting here anthropomorphising the wildlife. Things would improve in time. They must... or he was going to be risking repetitive strain injury - and to his bowing hand, no less. Not acceptable.
Almost immediately he was forced to revise an earlier opinion, since he had previously assumed that there was no method by which the experience of kissing John could be improved, it already being so very, very, vastly, enormously, radically, superlatively better than the experience of kissing anyone who wasn't John. Clearly he had theorised ahead of his data because it was now extremely apparent that kissing John while they were both naked added an entirely new dimension, taking the whole thing from 'who is this man and what is he doing to me?
' to 'who am I and why aren't we shagging already?
"Why would he bite back a curse? Even the BBC's censorship policy is not that
illogical… What's his thinking? It's all right to carry out an armed robbery as long as you don't swear while you're doing it? Ridiculous!" Sherlock shook his head. "No… the other thief's name
is what he started to yell - a much more likely reaction and the reason it was cut off."
John opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"What?" Sherlock looked piqued by the silence.
"I'm trying to think of a variant on 'amazing' that I haven't used before."
He started stroking upwards and Sherlock shifted his legs apart in invitation, wishing he'd worn looser trousers… wishing he owned
looser trousers… wishing his trousers would just evaporate when John touched them… and oh
. John's hand had arrived
John took a half step closer. "Look, I promise not to get more emotionally invested than I already am, OK?" That was easy since it would be virtually impossible, short of him turning into a Time Lord and suddenly having an extra heart to deal with the overflow.
"So you don't think Mycroft and I are alike?"
"God, no!" John nearly snorted himself off his cushion. "Can't imagine Mycroft
jumping around yelling 'It's Christmas!' at the news of an exciting coup coming up." John's imagination immediately proved him wrong, which was a rather disturbing visual.
John stirred slightly, not entirely sure of what he'd heard, but aware that something had reached down through the last few layers of sleep and poked his consciousness right in the 'Huh?'
Sherlock reeled in all the brain cells that were currently lying on their backs with their legs in the air and called them to attention.
--Given in Evidence
, by (AO3)verityburns, (John/Sherlock)
This entry was originally posted here
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