A/Note: I had written this quite a while ago, but now that I don't have a beta there's nothing to stop me from publishing it. :D Just light Johnlock fun.
I should be working on a murder mystery that TheCaudron kindly agreed to beta, but then I got distracted with an exciting bunny plot that sprung out of the blue. Then in the second story Sherlock had a fantasy that spawned yet a third one. But soon it became clear that the third plot will need a bit of reasearch and time. With all this and work, I thought I'd keep you interested with this one shot, so those of you who like my stories won't forget me.
Disclaimer (that I usually forget): not mine, obviously. Just fun. Enjoy!
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1. A visitor
Sherlock opened his eyes. He was in a different bed, a different bedroom. He felt the softness of Egyptian cotton sheets against his skin; he was naked. He turned his head and saw John, standing, smiling at him. He was wearing his camouflage uniform, sleeves rolled up, in the "at ease" position, head slightly turned towards him. Without a word, John cast his beret aside and started to unbutton his jacket, never breaking eye contact. Sherlock squirmed, only to feel his own arousal against the silky slide of the sheet. John took off his undershirt, showing his toned upper body as he raised his arms. He approached the bed and sat down, his dog tags dangling from his neck. With a smile he lowered himself for a kiss. Sherlock could smell him, feel his body heat and his breathing close to his face. He felt a hand on his cheek, a firm touch...
'Sherlock! Sherlock!'
Sherlock felt a hand shaking his shoulder. 'Sherlock!'
'What?' He blinked his eyes open, angry at the interruption, only to see his own sitting room's ceiling and (a clothed) John looming over him.
'There you are. I've been trying to get you out of your mind palace for the past five minutes. Greg called, you have a case!' He smiled widely.
...
As they rode the cab to the crime scene Sherlock asked abruptly, 'Do you still wear your dog tags?'
John's head whipped around. 'Huh?' Where did that come from? 'No, why do you ask?'
'Just curious', he shrugged.
'Well, there was no use for them once I was discharged. I wore them for a while, out of habit. But eventually I took them off. I had considered wearing them again once I started going on cases with you, but I figured there would be no point. If a criminal didn't want me to be identified, he'd remove them anyway.'
Pity.
John glanced sideways at Sherlock, but he seemed to have already moved onto the next topic in his mind. After being discharged, he didn't feel he had the right to wear the dog tags. Plus, they reminded him too much of what he wasn't anymore and brought back too many painful memories. But there's no way he'd tell that to Sherlock. Too sentimental, he'd say.
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2. Slumber
Sherlock entered the room. John was sleeping, so he approached quietly. He was lying on his back, face turned away, right hand over his hip, left by his side. He was shirtless and the covers were pushed down to his waist. Sherlock sat on the bed and stared, drinking in the sight of John, so at peace, softly breathing. He extended his hand to touch the chest. The skin under his palm felt hot, feverish almost, as he gently glided it across the pectorals. He felt the nipples, softly plucking them between his stretched fore and middle fingers. John stirred, but continued sleeping. Sherlock grew bold and slid his hand down towards his stomach, feeling ribs, muscles and bellybutton. He bent down and planted a soft kiss between his pecs. He felt a hand and fingers weaving through his hair in acceptance and approval, so he lay his face onto the chest, inhaling John's scent contentedly.
'Sherlock, I need you.'
Sherlock's eyes flew open, his disgust plain in his face. 'What are you doing here?'
'I'm here to request your services, surely you have figured it out already.'
'Not interested.' That was so annoying, how was Mycroft able to pull him out of his mind palace so easily?
'I suspect you to not have me in your mind palace all that much, so obviously my voice can only be out here, in the "real" world,' said his brother, answering the non verbalised question. 'So now that I have you back to reality, I'd like you to look at this photo-'
'You would. I won't,' he said as he got up and headed towards his room.
'Sherlock!'
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3. A pain in the...
Sherlock saw John above him, holding his wrists next to his face. He felt and heard two clicks, indicating he was now handcuffed to the bed. John smirked at him and slid his hands down his bent arms, continuing to explore Sherlock's body. He looked down; he had no clothes on, his arousal was in plain sight. John was kneeling between his spread legs, also naked. It was frustrating to not be able to see all of John's body, obscured by his own. Then he felt it, a surprisingly smooth glide, stretching him, filling him up. He groaned and felt himself twitch, in protest to the neglect. John merely smiled and moved, holding his thighs wide open and folded. Sherlock watched but could only see John's torso as he moved against him.
'Aaaahh!' he yelled, jerking himself into a ball, hands flying in an attempt to contain the indescribable pain exploding in his groin from spreading out.
'Oh, Sherlock, I'm terribly sorry! Mr. Tubbs ran upstairs before I cold stop him!'
Mr. Tubbs? Sherlock thought that's what Mrs. Hudson must have said, but the blinding pain he felt obliterated all his senses at the moment. He attempted to open his eyes, but even that effort seemed to hurt. Through a sliver of shimmery light he saw Mrs. Hudson's blurry figure with something in her hands, something that moved. He blinked away his tears and tried again.
'Mrs. Turner next door is visiting her sister this weekend so I'm taking care of Mr. Tubbs for her.'
He finally regained his visual sense back and saw Mrs. Hudson struggling to hold onto the collar of a bulldog. The slobbery creature was panting, snorting with its tongue sticking out, as if mocking him. Seeing Sherlock on the sofa, the dog had decided to jump onto his lap, choosing a most unfortunate landing spot.
Sherlock groaned. If he had control of his lungs and voice right now, he would've cursed that dog with the foulest language known to men.
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4. A good skill to have
Sherlock saw the blurry shape of John through the steamy tempered glass shower. He was washing his hair and had his back towards Sherlock. The white suds were gliding down his neck and back as he approached. The foamy trail slid through the centre of his back oozing all the way down between his buttocks. Sherlock opened the glass door just as John ducked under the shower, a mini waterfall, rinsing it all off. He joined him, stepping into the enclosure. John turned around and smiled at him, hands still up on his nape. Sherlock reached around his waist for an embrace, bringing his face down for a kiss...
A loud click and the door banged open. 'Sorry Sherlock, I couldn't hold it any longer!'
Sherlock opened his eyes, and with alarm and horror, froze in panic. He saw John's back, standing by the toilet, unzipping his trousers in a hurry, clearly pushing the front of his pants out of the way, while the rest of his clothes remained in place. 'Mrs. Hudson is out and I've been waiting and knocking on the door for the past twenty minutes.' There was the unmistakeable hissing sound as John sighed, relieved. 'Ahhh. Usually you're much quicker, so at first I just waited. When I didn't hear any noises and you didn't respond to me knocking, I feared you were in your mind palace, and decided to break in. I didn't think I could make it down to Speedy's.'
The hissing continued, indicating that John really needed to go. 'Ho-how did you get in? I thought I had both doors locked!'
'Well, you were always telling me that picking locks was a good skill to have, so I've practiced on this door. I figured that, if I failed, at least I could come in through the door from your bedroom and unlock it. With time, I managed to be able to open this door quickly. Other locks still elude me, unfortunately.' He shook himself, pulled his pants up and zipped up his trousers. He flushed the toilet and, as he washed his hands, said apologetically, 'Sorry again for barging in. I'll leave you to it now.' As most straight males, John had stared straight ahead the whole time and left without a glance, respectful of Sherlock's nudity.
Had he glanced, he would've seen his flatmate beet red, his arousal very visible in the clear water of the bathtub.
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5. At the doctor
Sherlock pushed his trousers and pants down, bent from his waist, and lay his chest onto the cushioned examining table. He looked over his shoulder and saw John, with a white coat over his shirt, tie and trousers, stethoscope hanging around his neck, putting on latex gloves. The snap of the glove made him shudder.
'Don't worry, Sherlock. I won't hurt you,' he said softly.
Sherlock looked away, his breathing quickening as he heard an obscene squirting sound.
'You need to have check-ups more often, you know? I'm your doctor, you should've come to me sooner.'
He felt a gloved hand hold his hip, then a cold and wet feeling against him.
'Ready? Cough.'
He did, and felt a sheathed lubricated finger slide inside him. John wasted no time and reached for his prostate. Sherlock's eyes closed and he was about to let out a loud-
A very loud bang sent the flat shaking while a shockwave banged his bedroom door open.
What the Hell? This time I locked myself in my own bedroom. John said he couldn't pick my lock or the bathroom latch on my side.
'Sherlock! Sherlock!' He heard John running towards his room so he sat up and pulled the sheets to cover himself, hugging his knees.
'Sherlock! Are you all right?' John skidded into his room.
'Yes, yes. What happened?'
'An explosion outside, towards the back. It broke our kitchen window and a bit of the stuff in it, blew your door and the bathroom door open. As far as I can tell, the kitchen got the worst. Are you okay?'
'Yes, I'm fine.'
'You stayed in bed late and your cheeks are flushed. Are you sick?' John approached.
'I'm fine, John!' Sherlock put his hand out to stop him. 'I was just in my mind palace, thinking. That's all.'
John looked around the room. 'There's quite a lot that has fallen in here, let me help you clean up.'
'No! I mean, Mrs. Hudson! You should go check on her, I'll be down soon.' Sherlock knew very well she wasn't in her flat at the moment, she was out at her book club every Tuesdays at 10.
'Christ, you're right!' John left and ran downstairs.
Bugger! He wriggled his fingers through his hair.
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6. The moonlit gardens
Sherlock stepped out of the manor. John was standing on the terrace, overlooking the gardens. The moon above was full, covering everything with a silver blueish cast. Behind him, he could hear a Chamber Orchestra playing softly inside the house. Sherlock straightened his dinner jacket, then approached. He stood next to John and turned his head to look at him. He was wearing his dress uniform, his hair was gelled back and he looked even more alluring than in any of his other fantasies. He definitely enjoyed seeing John in uniforms very much, more than it was decent.
'I'm glad we're here, Sherlock. It is very pretty, just like you said.'
'John, I have something to tell you.'
John turned to face him, smiling.
'Before anything interrupt us, I need to get this out of my chest. I seem to have developed feelings for you. I've never felt like this for anybody else before. You are not only my conductor of light, but also my lighthouse, my anchor, my rudder, my compass. Before you came into my life, I was alone and I was content. Now I'm not alone anymore and I'm happy, happier than I've ever been. I cannot imagine life without you, no more than I can imagine life without crime solving. I wished I could say all these things to you openly, just like I can in here. I dream and daydream of you, I fantasise about you and I have you in my mind palace. I wished we could be more than friends. I have built all of this (he gestured in an arch) for you. So we could be together, here, in the most perfect conditions.'
John frowned, confused.
'You built - "this"? What do you mean?'
'All this around us, John. This manor, these gardens, the bedrooms, the Chamber Orchestra in the background, the moonlit night.'
'Even the moonlit night?'
'Yes. Just so I could recreate my dreams and fantasies about you and be the closest to reality that I can. In here, everything feels almost real.'
John stared at him, jaw hanging.
'You built all this - in your mind palace. For me?'
Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded. John had a confused face for a while, then he smiled. Then his face changed again, as something else occurred to him.
'Wait, did you say bedrooms?'
'Yes, those too. And the bathrooms, the sauna, the swimming pool -'
'Sherlock Holmes, kiss me already.' John leaned in, tilting his head up. Sherlock half expected an interruption, and was shocked when he felt thin wet lips on his. He groaned. John tasted like tea, Earl Grey, no sugar (Oh, we must have run out of milk again). This was the best one to date, he finally got to do what he wanted in this mind palace fantasy. He placed his arms around John's waist puling him closer, then felt hands on his nape and shoulder blades.
'Wake up, Sherlock.'
He hoped he could stall, this was the most delicious fantasy, he didn't want to...
'Wake up, Sherlock.'
He felt a nudge, No, not now. Then he felt a sharp tug on his hair and cried out 'Ouch!'
Hell, he was back to the real world! He was about to open his eyes and curse when he felt thin wet lips on his again. His eyes shot open and he saw, cross-eyed, a cyclopic double John in front of him. He pulled away, horrified.
John opened his eyes and smiled at him.
'Good, now that you're back here in the real world, can you tell me more about the bedrooms in your mind palace?'
But instead of wating for a reply (not that Sherlock would be able to articulate anything semi-coherent right now), John closed his eyes and leaned forward again.
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J+S
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A/note: Please review? I have a few one shots that I was saving to weave into other stories, but I may or may not publish them... :) Until next time, happy shipping!
BJ