Title: Can I Have Your Attention, Please?
Author's Name: Laura Sichrovsky
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: M (or NC-17 if you live in the States.)
Word Count: 3041
Pairing: Sherlock/John – Already Established Relationship
Warnings: Sherlock/John kissage and shaggage
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sherlock has been a bit preoccupied lately. What can John do to get his attention?
Disclaimer: This is where I put the statement saying that I do not own John or Sherlock, (Heh! I wish!), or anything relating to the show or books. No one is paying me to do this and if you feel the sudden urge to send me gifts, you might want to talk to someone about that. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat own all things Sherlock and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle owns Holmes and Watson. None of them have given me permission to use these characters as I have so if you have problems with the story, please send the pretzel bombs to me, not them. (Though if you could actually send a pretzel bomb to ACD, I'd be impressed.)
Author's Notes: Just a little fun with the boys written for Verityburns's birthday. (I wrote this back in January for her birthday and I sent it to her, but then my real life knocked me on my butt and it sort of got shunted to the side. I am *finally* posting it today.) Thanks need to be given, and here is where they go. Thanks to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for giving me a Sherlock I can get behind. Thanks to Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman for making this Sherlock and John so amazing. I tried to fight it, but they were just too remarkable not to fall for. Thanks go to Elin for the feedback and the beta job, even if it wasn't in her native language. Also a big thanks to Verifiably Insane for the handholding and the support. I didn't get a chance to have it Brit-picked, so all the inconsistencies are my fault.
Can I Have Your Attention, Please?
John sighs as he pours half a mug of cold tea down the sink. He's not a brooding sort of man, he really isn't, but his mood over the past week has steadily degenerated to what could be described as dark, closing in on black. The worst part of it is that he honestly doesn't have a reason to be this grumpy. His life is going well; his shifts at the A&E have been interesting, he's picked up some extra work writing short crime stories for a magazine, which he is enjoying far too much to call a job, and he has an amazing boyfriend in the guise of his mad flatmate, who he's been happily dating for the last four months. It's everything he's always wanted and more, so why the hell is he so frustrated that he wants to take target practise at the wall?
John shakes his head, rinsing the mug and setting it to dry. He's behaving stupidly and he knows it, but he just can't seem to pull this mood up short. He looks into the sitting room, seeing Sherlock draped over the sofa studying a science journal. He pulls a frown as his bad mood ratchets up a notch and feels foolish for it. Yes, okay, Sherlock has been ignoring John quiet a bit this past week, but it doesn't have to mean anything, does it? Maybe John has just been reading too much into Sherlock's preoccupation. Just because he's spent all his time studying and on the internet, it doesn't mean he's lost interest in John. Does it?
It's one of John's biggest fears, really, though he hates to admit it. When Sherlock kissed him four months ago, it was right after they'd just solved a double murder and been shot at by weapons smugglers. John had barely gotten his coat off when Sherlock grabbed him and pinned him to the wall. He'd leaned into it enthusiastically, after all, this is what he'd wanted for over a year. Of course, John being John, he stopped things before Sherlock had even gotten out of his coat. He cared for him too much to take advantage of the adrenaline high Sherlock was riding and he told him so. Oddly, after studying John's face for a minute, Sherlock had accepted it and gone off to his room. Part of John was horridly disappointed, but he knew he'd done the right thing. He was even more sure of that when Sherlock came into John's room three hours later wearing nothing but his dressing gown.
"Now, John?" he'd whispered. "Now can I show you how I feel about you?"
How could John say no to that? They'd spent the next few hours slowly exploring each other, teasing and tasting. As far as John was concerned, it was perfect. The next morning, Sherlock moved his things into John's room and neither of them had looked back. But some part of John was waiting for the excitement to wear off and for Sherlock to get bored. He was amazing, brilliant, practically a force of nature. John was boring and predicable, nothing special at all. What would happen when Sherlock inevitably moved on to something more interesting? John had tried not to get in so deep that he would break when that happened, but he knew it was already too late. He'd lost his heart to Sherlock from that first kiss.
He wants to believe this is just Sherlock being Sherlock, caught up in research and cases, but up to this point, even when he was deep in his studies, Sherlock would put things aside to spend a few minutes with John, even if it was just to hold him or kiss on the sofa. This week Sherlock's been too preoccupied to even look at John. And here John is, standing in the kitchen wondering if this is the beginning of the end for them.
John sighs and resolves to stop acting like a love sick teenaged girl and just go get his boyfriend's attention. He crosses the room to sit on the coffee table. Sherlock doesn't look up.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock doesn't respond, all his attention focused on the page in front of him. John reaches out, resting his hand on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock jumps a bit, then turns, frowning at John.
"Sorry," John says, wondering why he's apologising. "I didn't mean to…"
Sherlock is still watching him, one eyebrow raised. He's closed the journal, one long finger marking his place. John blushes, then mentally berates himself. This is ridiculous. Sherlock is his boyfriend. He can just tell him how he's feeling. And yet, when it comes to Sherlock and feelings, it's like they are speaking two different languages.
"Sherlock, I know you've been a bit busy lately…"
"You have no idea, John," Sherlock says, shaking his head. "I've been doing research for three separate cases and a few personal projects. I can't seem to even shut my brain down anymore. Exhausting, really."
"Well, yes," John replies, feeling like he's losing control of the conversation. "I know how that is for you, but…"
"That's one of the many things I like about you, John," Sherlock says. "You understand and accept that I don't think like other people."
"Yes, yes I do, but it's just…"
"Oh, damn!" Sherlock exclaims, pushing up and off the sofa. "I need to put in an order on the internet before noon or I won't get the item when I need it."
He moves to the desk, opening up his laptop, all his attention there, ignoring John. John takes a deep breath. He's got a few options, as he sees it. He can get angry and stomp off, which might make him feel a bit better initially, but it's not like Sherlock would notice and in the end, he'll just be alone and brooding. He can take away Sherlock's laptop and try to force his attention onto John, but that's just likely to end up in an argument and John knows a defensive Sherlock won't listen enough to resolve anything.
He's just about decided that perhaps a nice long walk will give him perspective when a fourth option presents itself to his brain. He frowns, thinking it over, but he really can't see any downside to it, so he pulls his phone from his pocket and walks into the kitchen. He feels a bit foolish as he dials Greg's number, but really, what does John have to lose?
"Lestrade."
"Greg, it's John."
"Please tell me this doesn't involve a dead body."
"Well, not directly. I need you to do me an odd favour."
"You think it's odd? Do I want to know?"
"It's not that bad," John assures him. "Call me back and just follow my lead while I go over a case file with you."
"Is this something new?"
"No, something old and already solved."
"Then why am I doing it?"
"Are you sure you want to ask? It involves Sherlock, our relationship, and my very bad mood."
"Okay," Greg says after an awkward pause. "I'm pretty sure I don't want the details. I'll call you back."
"Thank you."
John hangs up and moves back into the sitting room. He settles on the sofa just as his mobile rings.
"Yes, Greg, what can I do for you?"
"I'm calling you back. Oh, wait, is this part of it?"
"It is," John says, looking up at Sherlock, who is still studying his laptop. "So, what do you need from me?"
"Am I supposed to answer that? Because you didn't tell me I'd need a script here."
"Just let me get my laptop," John says, wondering exactly how crazy his plan really is and hoping Greg won't think less of him for it.
He gets his laptop from the kitchen and sets it up on the coffee table.
"Okay, so what do you need me to look up?"
"Damned if I know," Greg responds and John fights to keep a straight face.
"Okay, hold on, let me look up my notes from that case."
"What case are you looking up?" Greg sounds honestly curious.
"Yeah, the Piedmont case. I remember that one now."
"Wait, was that the triple murder, double stabbing?"
"It was," John answers. "So, there were three bodies, all in different rooms of the house. They had all been killed in different ways and the two stabbings occurred after they were dead."
"Why are you going over this with me?" Greg asks.
"Mrs. Piedmont had been strangled. I knew that from the marks on her neck, even though she'd been dressed in a turtleneck jumper after she's been killed. I could tell it was after from the angle her arms were at and the way the weave of the jumper left lividity marks where the blood settled after her heart stopped."
"Again, I ask, why are you telling me this?"
But John's attention isn't on Greg. Sherlock's typing has stopped and he's gone very still. John presses on.
"Mr. Piedmont had been asphyxiated. I was able to ascertain that from the bruising around his mouth and the cotton fibres just inside his nasal cavity. He'd put up a struggle and had defensive wounds on his wrist and hands."
"You aren't even listening to me, are you?" Greg asks.
John keeps his eyes on his laptop, but he can hear Sherlock shifting around in his chair over at the desk.
"Their son, Charles, now he was the interesting one. There was a gun in his hand and a hole in his temple. Anderson said that he'd killed his parents, then shot himself, but I noticed there was no powder residue on his skin and there wasn't a burn mark on at the entry wound. If he'd had the barrel of a gun against his head, when the bullet discharge, the heat would have burn his skin. And I realised that the size of the entry wound didn't match the calibre of the bullet fired from that gun."
John struggles to keep his focus as he hears Sherlock get up and cross the room, moving closer to him. His breathing has changed, but that could be due to the exertion of walking.
"On closer inspection, I realised that the wound had edges inconsistent with a bullet. They were rough and uneven. There was also a slightly odd smell, which I recognised as Chloroform, but it was faint and I determined it was coming from his lungs. He'd been rendered unconscious and then an ice pick had been put into his brain. Then someone placed an empty gun in his hand."
"Do I really have to say anything here?" Greg asks. "Because, honestly, I stopped listening about five minutes ago."
"No, that's fine," John replies.
Sherlock has moved to the coffee table now, sitting right next to John's laptop and John can feel the weight of having Sherlock's full focus on him. He swallows and continues on.
"As to the stab wounds, I could tell from the way the blood pooled around the edges that they'd been made after the victims were dead. I could also tell from the angle. If the victims had been standing or fighting back, the entry wounds would have been much different."
By this point, Sherlock's breathing has become rough and ragged and John is having trouble concentrating on his one man show. He takes a deep breath and looks up to see Sherlock watching him, his eyes dark and stormy, the pupils taking up most of his iris. John decides he's played this for long enough.
"Do you need anything else?" he asks Greg.
"I didn't even need this much."
"Okay then. If you want anything, just call."
"I'm sure you'll explain this to me someday," Greg responds. "I'm just not sure I want to hear it."
"I'm sure you don't," John says, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. "Goodbye."
He hangs up and shuts the file on his laptop.
"Something pressing?" Sherlock asks.
"No, just a report Greg wanted my opinion on," John says casually. "It's pretty cut and dried, nothing of interest to us."
"Good," Sherlock says, his voice deeper than usual. "I'm really in no condition to go to a crime scene right now."
"Condition?" John asks, suddenly wondering if he missed something and Sherlock isn't feeling well.
Sherlock gets to his feet and crosses over to stand next to John. At this distance, John can see Sherlock's condition up close and it's tenting his pyjama bottoms impressively.
"Oh, I see," John says, unable to look away. "You really should get someone to help you with that."
"Yes," Sherlock says, his voice practically a purr. "I was rather hoping to get it looked at by a medical professional. If my doctor can fit me in right now, of course."
"I'm sure he can," John replies, standing up and stepping into Sherlock's arms. "Something this important should be tended to straight away."
Sherlock leans down and takes John's mouth with startling enthusiasm and John leans into it, his hands coming up to tangle in Sherlock's hair. John opens his mouth and Sherlock's tongue sweeps in as he moans rather loudly against John's mouth. He pulls John closer and all John can think is yes and finally.
It doesn't take long before Sherlock is moving towards the bedroom, removing John's clothes as they go. There is something about having Sherlock's full, undivided attention that takes John's breath away. By the time they get to the bed, John can't stop the needy moans from escaping. Sherlock actually seems to appreciate them, though, his kisses and nips growing more amorous.
John manages to remove Sherlock's clothes before Sherlock pushes him down on the bed, kissing his way down John's chest. He moves to settle between John's legs, leaning down and kissing his thigh.
"God, do you have any idea what it does to me when you are so competent?" Sherlock asks, his voice deep and rough. "Just listening to you go over the evidence…it took everything I had not to just take you on the sofa while you were still on the phone."
John isn't sure how to react to that. Part of him can picture the trauma poor Greg would have suffered if that had happened. He likely would have never helped John with a favour again. But the greater part of John feels rejected. He'd hoped that Sherlock had been aroused by him, not the crime. He isn't sure that he can go through this every time he wants Sherlock's attentions. Why can't he be enough?
"I do know how much you enjoy it," John says, fighting the hopelessness rising in his chest even as Sherlock's kisses move closer to his groin. "I'm just sorry that I haven't been engaging enough lately."
Sherlock stops, his lips going still. He sits up and looks at John.
"What are you talking about?"
"I know that I haven't been…" John stops, feeling insecure.
Sherlock frowns, studying John's face.
"You think…I haven't been…so you've concluded…" His eyes go wide. "You think I've lost interest in you."
John feels petty.
"I understand that your work…it's more interesting. That's okay."
Sherlock shakes his head.
"Don't be an idiot, John. You know how attracted to you I am, how much I...feel for you."
"Yes, and that's why I had to dredge up an old murder to even get you to look my direction."
John hadn't meant to say that; it slipped out before he could stop it. And now he feels even more pathetic. He looks up at Sherlock who is watching him intently.
"So that's what that phone call was about," Sherlock says quietly, shaking his head. "You felt you had to take desperate measures to gain my attention."
"You wouldn't even look at me," John whispers. "And I know I'm not anything special. I was just hoping…"
"No, John, you don't understand." Sherlock cuts him off. "I've completely messed this up. Yes, you caught my attention with your phone call, but my affections were always yours. I haven't been attempting to ignore you. It's just…These projects I've been working on...I know it's your birthday next month and I wasn't sure what was appropriate. Romantic relationships, feelings this intense, they aren't my area, but I wanted…you are very important to me, John."
John blinks.
"You were planning something for my birthday?"
"I…Molly suggested that perhaps a short holiday would be nice and I was attempting to determine where the most appropriate venue would be. I had no idea there were so many variables to calculate. We need a nice hotel with a comfortable bed, but I know that you also appreciate having other furniture to make use of, as it allows us a wider variety of sexual positions. I noticed when we went to Scotland for the O'Dell case that you were intrigued by having more rooms to choose from as well. I know you enjoy making love in front of a fireplace, but you once said something about wanting us to have sex in a hot tub. And then there is the question of other activities that don't involve us being naked. Would you want to have the option to tour museums or historic sights? I suppose I got bogged down in all the choices and became lost in my head as I considered them."
John sits up on his elbows staring at Sherlock.
"Wait, you've been planning a romantic holiday for my birthday?"
Sherlock nods.
"But…all the research you've been doing. I saw you studying a science journal today."
"What you didn't see was the travel brochure I had tucked in the pages," Sherlock says quietly. "Why do you think I always closed the magazine when you came over?"
Now John feels like a first class idiot, and not in a good way. He sits up, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry," John says, his breath shaky. "I shouldn't have thought…
Sherlock reaches up, putting his fingers across John's lips, silencing him.
"This is entirely my fault," he says, just above a whisper.
"How do you figure that?" John asks, his lips brushing against the pads of Sherlock's fingers.
Sherlock draws a shuddering breath and drops his hand, shaking his head.
"I was so preoccupied attempting to be the perfect boyfriend and give you the perfect birthday that I made you think I don't love you. When in fact, John, you are the most important thing in my life."
John feels his breath catch and he reaches out taking Sherlock's hand in his.
"And you are the most important thing in mine. I should have just told you that I was feeling ignored, though."
"You shouldn't have had to," Sherlock replies. "I'm not used to this yet. The idea that someone wants my companionship and affection…"
He breaks off, his brow furrowing. He looks lost and confused.
"I understand that," John says gently. "And I promise to be more candid next time."
Sherlock looks relived and nods.
"Please do, John. I assure you, my inattention had nothing to do with a lack of desire for your affections."
John smiles, feeling both foolish and hopeful. He leans closer, brushing his lips against Sherlock's ear.
"And how do you feel about my affections right now?" he whispers, feeling Sherlock tremble against him.
"That's all I've been able to think about for the last hour. If you don't kiss me soon, I might have to do something drastic."
John chuckles.
"We wouldn't want that," he says, pulling Sherlock closer. "And of course there is still the matter of your condition that I haven't taken care of yet."
Sherlock starts to reply, but John cuts him off, kissing him with all the pent up desire he's been holding in this week. By the time he breaks for air, Sherlock is writhing and desperate, staring at John with dark, hungry eyes.
"God, John, yes, please," he gasps, pulling John back down for more kisses.
John wants to draw this out, to savour it, but they are both too turned on, close to frantic, and it isn't long before they are stroking each other, gasping endearments as they tip over the edge. John cleans them up and Sherlock wraps himself around John, burying his nose in John's hair.
"How do you feel about Greece?" Sherlock asks after a few minutes of silence.
"Greece?"
"I found a private villa there and while it doesn't have a fireplace, there is a hot tub and a private beach. We could take a week, maybe see some sights…or not see some sights?"
John has the sudden image of making love to Sherlock on the beach under the stars and he can't think of anything else he'd rather have for his birthday.
"That sounds lovely, Sherlock," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I would very much enjoy that. But anywhere sounds perfect as long as I'm with you."
He feels Sherlock go rigid and leans back to see him staring at John with huge eyes.
"Yes, I mean it," John whispers, his fingers going up to brush Sherlock's face. "I love you so much and if I have you, I couldn't ask for anything more."
"I love you too, John," Sherlock says, his heart in his eyes.
"Then how do you feel about a round two?" John asks, trailing his fingers down Sherlock's arm. "Slower? Maybe give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me?"
"Always, John," Sherlock says, leaning into the touch.
"I'm holding you to that, you know," John says smiling.
"Anything for you, John," Sherlock says, leaning down to kiss him.