BBCSH Shorts I
BBCSH Short: 'And They Go'
"If I say I love you, will you stay?"
John stops at the door, coat in hand. He turns to stare at Sherlock.
"Depends," he replies placidly. "Will you mean it?"
"Yes."
"Then you've nothing to worry about, do you?"
And he's out the door again.
"This is my bedroom, John. These are my clothes, my shoes, my…souvenirs, you'd call them?"
"Ah," John says and he smiles, that pinched in smile that really means he's over the moon with it all.
Sherlock motions at his things. Not his any longer.
"Help yourself, to anything. It's all yours."
"No problems, then?"
He asks because he knows the answer. He knew it when he was soothing her, assuring her she'd be alright, that he and John were on the case. He knew it by the whites of her eyes and the tension in her wrists and the brittle sizzle of not-spark between her and John after. She still wants him but she's the better man. She's left him go where he pleases. Sherlock's respect is grudging but it does exist, wonder of wonders.
"No."
"Fantastic. Let's be off out, then."
And they go.
Flesh and skin and hank of hair. Sherlock delights. John goes about the business of fucking him thoroughly with flared nostrils and the rabid air of man possessed.
Zip ties to the normal of it all, poking through the lacy fringes. Impenetrable glue bond of sweat and semen. Mingle, mix, stir up.
And they go, whilst Sherlock (plus one) delights.