Equestrian Pleasures
909-word pre-Sherlock/John one-shot. Sherlock has the flu and is drunk, Mycroft visits, John eavesdrops. Rated T for themes, innuendoes and implied alcohol use. Probably my best so far.
John trudged up the stairs to the sound of a slurred Sherlock speaking quite loudly. Then another familiar voice replied, decidedly quieter and sober. Mycroft was here and Sherlock being civil?
He paused at the flat door and, after confirming his guess that both Holmes brothers were in Sherlock's bedroom, went straight to his laptop upon entering the flat. He had no inclination to speak to either of them, Mycroft because of the cold distance of politeness they'd always maintained and Sherlock because of the silly quarrel they'd had about - of all things - Sherlock's reluctance to let John check on him for his flu. He'd waved away John's concern, his voice thick, and hadn't left his room in all of two days. But even their tiff didn't stop John from leaving tea outside Sherlock's door.
Judging by the continuing conversation they were having, which did not involve heated exclamations or discordant violin-playing, a sick and inebriated Sherlock did wonders for Sherlock and Mycroft's difficult relationship. John supposed alcohol must wash away the bitterness and contradictions that had shored up between them over the years. Try as he might to concentrate on his email, John couldn't help but listen in to their animated discussion.
"I wish we were back at Eton. I'd give anything to ride Dolly again," Sherlock was declaring. Mycroft murmured something in response and gave a short laugh, which, to John, was rather out-of-character. John's mind whirred - Sherlock and Mycroft were educated at Eton? Then - wait, what exactly did he say? Who the hell was Dolly?
He was torn away from this somewhat disturbing line of inquiry by Sherlock's continued proclamations.
"Great stamina, and always willing. Truly a fine specimen, though I squandered my opportunities away," Sherlock was saying, a rare tinge of nostalgia in his voice.
That was it. John couldn't stand listening to any more of Sherlock's conquests. It made his blood boil. He stormed to Sherlock's door.
"I'm right outside!" announced John, a little gruffer than he would've liked, as Sherlock's bedroom door, previously ajar, violently swung open at his shove and he stepped in.
"John, eavesdropping?" Sherlock looked bemused, as though he hadn't known John was even home. He cradled a bottle of whisky against his chest, wearing the drunkenly-pleased look well as he lay against the headboard of his bed.
"Of course you were, John. Rushed footsteps, elevated breathing, why, your cheeks are even slightly red. Irritation? Anger? Jealousy?" Mycroft pronounced languidly, too at ease for John's liking.
What a Sherlockian - no, maybe Holmesian, deduction. John said nothing, but the colour in his cheeks increased fractionally.
They let the awkwardness hang there a moment as Mycroft and Sherlock each waited for the other to explain themselves.
But John was wearing his confused and vulnerable look that Sherlock wanted to admire for a little while more and, hang the flu and Mycroft, Sherlock suddenly wanted nothing but to…
Then Mycroft spoke, breaking the tautness of his concentration, "Sherlock and I were discussing horse-riding, John."
John immediately felt his mouth dry up and all the words he could have said disappeared into the deepest corners of his mind.
"Indeed," Sherlock concurred, and after a moment's thought, "Mycroft, your presence intimidates John. Get out of my room unless you want a whipping!"
John furrowed his brows - that just didn't make any sense.
Apparently it did make sense to Mycroft, because he half-smiled and replied in-kind, "I certainly don't want one from you, but maybe John does? I'll just go fetch you your riding crop, Sherlock." He slipped out of the room, faster than John thought possible, with a wink.
In a feat of intellect, John found himself blanching, then his blush redoubled and he was saying seconds later, staring out the door, "Don't tempt him, Mycroft. He's evidently too unwell for strenuous activity - and too drunk not to do anything he might regret." To his dismay, that came out completely wrong and he realised - he was conniving with Sherlock and Mycroft in their wordplay.
"I'm perfectly fine and lucid, John," Sherlock protested mildly, holding John's gaze. Raising his volume, he said, "Mycroft, just leave, and what makes you think John's into things like that? Riding, on the other hand, I could show him a thing or two."
They heard a soft chuckle before Mycroft shut the flat door and padded away down the stairs. They were alone, now. Free to do, or notdo, what they wanted.
John crossed the room to Sherlock's bed, not even sure why he was reaching out a hand to his flatmate's forehead. Did he really wish to check his temperature or did he desire… contact?
He forced himself to speak, which was difficult, because Sherlock's gaze was unwaveringly locked on him, "Good, your fever's gone."
Sherlock put a hand over John's and reached his other hand out to ghost over John's jaw, murmuring, "Mmm, but I'm burning for you, John."
"You sure that's not the alcohol?" John joked nervously, trying to jerk back a little but finding himself trapped by the intensity of Sherlock's look.
"I know what alcohol feels like. I know you don't feel like alcohol. Well, not exactly know. I should just try you on first, before I make any definitive statements about that," Sherlock slurred in his incredibly deep voice.
That was all it took for John to think that he might as well be drunk too.
Author's Note:
I sincerely apologise if that was weird. Ideas which coalesced into this were cultivated through the studious reading of Sherlock fanfiction.
"Dolly" is the name of a real horse I used to ride. She was quite feisty and liked to bite people's shins. And I realise "Dolly" sounds a bit like "Molly", but no matter! Like Sherlock, I'd give anything to ride horses again. (:
Am I deviating from canon? I think I may have crossed the border into why-is-this-even-Sherlock-related (the alternative being barely-believable canon). D: Tell me if this is the case? A deviation-from-canon alert is in order.
Proof of research: www[dot]etoncollege[dot]com/OtherGames[dot]aspx XD
-Random rambling starts here-
Also, I dodged a bee today.
While I was doing some writing in another language and another time when I was going about life as normal my mind just continued to run its Sherlock-story generator.
I feel very naughty writing stuff like this. Gah.