Author's Note: This is a sequel to my first Sci-Fi fanfiction story: Some Things Never Change. It has an M rating for a reason, folks, so be warned; some of the "steamier" scenes may be edited because I am worried about staying within the rating boundaries of this site. If you are so inclined to read them in their entirety, please check out this story on AO3. Thank you.

Another note: there is lots of "hidden" stuff in this story, so enjoy! Kudos to anyone who can find them *all!*


More Than A Passing Fancy

Chapter 1: Qualrics and Aphrodisiacs

"If I say run, do it!" Captain Holmes shouts as he drops down out of the bright green-leafed branches. He slides down the yellow bark a little ways before landing on his feet. Ambassador Watson is in the tangle of branches right behind him, except that he just jumps to the ground and lands with his knees bent, tall boots digging into the soft, mossy ground beneath. They are both shirtless; John's skin is tan and there is a slight red tinge to the porcelain across Sherlock's shoulders. They have been climbing in and out of trees all afternoon, searching and cataloging the plant life here on this orbiting moon called Bellatrix.

Around them, a canyon wall of pink and tan rock stretches across the horizon to the east and the west, as far as the eye can see. The sky above them is pale blue with low, white clouds. Beyond the canyon are the green foothills of a great mountain range. John moves his gaze from the scenery back to Sherlock when a movement of the other man's arms brings his attention back around.

Sherlock holds one wide palm high into the air and starts folding his fingers down in a silent countdown. When he gets down to two, the ground beneath their feet rumbles. John's eyes go wide and he spreads his legs apart. John does not see Sherlock get to "one" because at that moment a herd of gigantic quadrupeds comes rushing through the grove, tearing his attention away from his lover.

The animals are big with thick legs like elephants back on Earth, though they do not have any type of proboscis; rather their distinguishing facial feature is a single long ivory white horn growing from the center of their foreheads. John crouches lower under the tree as he watches the creatures with awe. Sherlock has circled around behind him and now stands with one hand on his kneeling partner's shoulder. John remains where he is feeling the ground shake under his hands. The last creature rushes past them and John takes note of its scarlet red hindquarters, white middle and black neck and head. He could swear he saw cloven hooves that were as black and glossy as polished carbonite. The last animal is about half the size of the others, its head a good meter from the top of Sherlock's. It snorts and bucks as it gallops by, a forgotten mouthful of long yellow grass hanging from the side of its muzzle. John is thrilled.

"Guess we didn't have to run after all?" He regards his partner over his shoulder with a smile. Sherlock shrugs and for a second his fingers tighten against John's bare skin.

"Those were just the female Qualrics, John. The males are aggressive and rarely seen in herds." He grins back, his green eyes sparkling in the dappled light under the tree. "The males are also much larger."

John's smile falters for a second, he is thinking: larger? Wow. He wipes his damp hands on his black trousers as he stands. Sherlock gives him a little pat/shove between the shoulders before turning on his heel and shimmying back up the tree. John snorts and follows him up. They wrap their legs around the trunk of the tree, and then they pull themselves up using the branches for leverage. In the past few days, John has gotten really good at it; though it hasn't always been so, judging by the lines of scabbed-over scrapes from human skin meeting the rough, alien bark up and down his torso.

The yellow branches are thick enough for two grown men to stand on comfortably. John retrieves the black canvas pack from where he left it hanging before he dropped down to watch the Qualrics. He thinks to himself about how much he enjoys it when Sherlock finds some new thing to share with him: sometimes it's a simple as a new type of vegetation, the colors of a multi-sun set or even something as large as the giant creatures that just ran past. He continues to be as fascinated with Sherlock's knowledge of the biology of other planets as he is with the man himself.

Currently, the man himself is hanging out on one of the smaller branches with one muscular arm like a monkey. He is using his other hand to gently pry bright green leaves from the end of the branch. The only problem with this is that each time his hand grips the base of the leaf to remove it from its pithy home gooey urine-colored sap wells up from the wound. The stuff stinks. John carefully makes his way over to where Sherlock is hanging and leans down, placing his knees on the branch near Sherlock's hand.

"Have you managed to get any without getting that nasty sap all over you?" John asks, peering down just as the other man grips a leaf between two fingers and pulls it. The leaf releases from the branch with a pfft sound; sap is now running directly down Sherlock's arm. He hangs there for a moment, looking between the single leaf in his hand and the arm now covered with sap. He huffs in an irritated manner and holds the leaf out for John to grasp. John takes it as if it is a priceless treasure, carefully tucking it away into a small billfold-like folder that he is carrying in his trouser pocket. He returns it and starts to reach down to give Sherlock a hand back up into the tree; however, Sherlock has already dropped back down to the moss, though he looks ridiculous holding the arm that is now coated with sap in the air. John most emphatically does not snort at the sight before he grabs the pack and lowers himself to the ground.

"That really smells terrible, you are aware." John states, and then cocks his head to one side as he shoulders the pack. He makes a show of pinching his nostrils.

"Yeah, it is starting to itch, too." Sherlock continues to peer at his arm as if it were a new species to be observed and cataloged; completely missing John's little show. He starts to reach out with the other hand as if to scratch at the sticky fluid.

John swats at his hand. "No, Sherlock. Let's not make it worse. Come on." John grasps Sherlock's clean hand and leads him out towards a pond that they found earlier. Since they have already tested the water, he knows it will be okay to wash with, if perhaps not to drink.

John drops the pack on the ground, the black material contrasting against the yellow-green moss. He unzips it with a flourish and begins digging through it. Sherlock flops down on his rear end and proceeds to pull off his boots. He rolls his trousers up his legs then sticks them into the slightly pink-tinged water. John sets to work cleaning the sap off of Sherlock's arm, but not before collecting a bit of the nasty stuff in a small container with a lid. He drops the container into the pack where it joins a dozen or so others from the day.

John scrubs at Sherlock's limb diligently, concentrating on removing the gooey substance without damaging the skin underneath. Sherlock holds perfectly still, John's face capturing his full attention. John is fully focused on his task, though he does chuckle when Sherlock snakes his head forward and gives him a noisy kiss on the cheek.

"Will you hold still, captain?" John grabs at Sherlock's arm that is almost clean but his fingers slide against baby-smooth skin. John freezes in place and holds Sherlock's arm completely still, running the fingers on the other hand against the smooth skin. Goosebumps appear on Sherlock's skin and he leans in towards John. John runs his fingers up the arm and across Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock closes his eyes and hangs his head, sighing with pleasure. John lightly traces the insignia tatoo on Sherlock's shoulder blade.

"John." Sherlock whispers, his deep voice giving John his own set of goose bumps.

John just continues his ministrations, edging closer to where Sherlock sits. "Yes, Captain."

Sherlock is pushing his shoulders into John's touch now. There is a soft breeze around them that makes ripples on the surface of the little pond. "John, my head feels funny."

John has just pulled his arm back when Sherlock bolts upright only to pounce and push John to his back. When he kisses John, he pushes the entire length of his half-naked, lean body against John's. John actually moans in surprise when his lover's already very hard arousal is ground against his groin. John kisses him back, running his hands along Sherlock's spine. Sherlock responds by kissing him harder, opening John's mouth with a deeply probing tongue. He is almost panting into John's mouth.

To John's dismay it is all over in minutes. Sherlock pushes himself off of John and sits up, his eyes blinking as if he has just woken up from a deep sleep. "John?" He queries.

John just watches him closely. "Yeah." He says after a minute.

Sherlock shakes his head a little as if trying to clear cobwebs from his thoughts. "John, we have no need to further explore this particular plant."

John just hums a non-committal answer, seriously wondering when they can do that again, but properly naked this time.

"I do believe it is an aphrodisiac." Captain Holmes regards John with a predatory gaze. John grabs the pack up in one smooth movement and takes off in the direction of their campsite. He is laughing like a loon as Sherlock quickly overtakes him and pulls him down into the long grass.