That sucking noise you may be hearing? That would be my Muse dragging me into the Sherlock fandom. *sigh*
Set in the Season 1 finale, "The Great Game" right at the end. A little "what-if" moment.
His fingers are trembling.
Sherlock has no idea why, unless it is in response to the adrenaline that had flooded his system the moment he had heard John's voice. The moment when he had thought – for one spectacular second – that the mysterious Moriarty had actually got one over on him and had been under his nose all this time.
Then his thought processes had caught up. John would have no need to wait for me to bait the trap with the flash drive; he had access to it at the flat. He's wearing a thick, bulky duffle coat – army-green, parka, cheap, not his usual style – when it's not cold outside, and inside the pool where the wind chill is even less, and it's fastened, so it's hiding something, and why would he need to hide something, unless it was something that would have panicked anybody who would have seen him outside the pool, which means it was something dangerous, and what dangerous thing have we been dealing with lately that needs to be hidden . . .
He had known the truth even before John opened the coat to show him the brand new vest of Semtex he was wearing.
And now they have beaten Moriarty, caused him to flee, and even as the bang of the door echoes, Sherlock finds himself on his knees in front of John, both their hands scrambling for the fastening of the vest, getting in each other's way, and his fingers are trembling.
"Are you all right? Are you all right?" he hears himself repeating, apparently unable to stop the words from escaping.
He is vaguely annoyed that he can't control the tremor, as it is taking him longer to unfasten the simple clasp than it should – three point eight seconds, instead of two point six – but finally the clip parts, and he is on his feet, tearing at the edge of the coat and the vest simultaneously, ripping it off of John as John wriggles his way out of it, throwing it away from them.
They end up facing each other. Sherlock's hands are gripping John's shoulders, and John is gripping his forearms in return. It is impossible to tell which one of them is actually shaking – perhaps it is both of them.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock says, again, his eyes darting over John as if he expects some other injury to be visible.
"I'm fine," John croaks out, then clears his throat and squeezes Sherlock's wrists. "I'm okay; I'm fine now."
"Good." There is a split second pause, and then suddenly, Sherlock's hands are framing John's face, and tilting it up towards him, and their mouths are pressed together, and the warm, wet, wonderful aliveness of John spreads through his body.
Elevated pulse, elevated temperature, heart rate increasing, blood flow moving in one direction – so this is what arousal feels like, Sherlock thinks, and then he is drowning in sensation as John's mouth moves and opens under his.
He shivers as John's tongue paints a trail across his bottom lip, but not because he's cold, oh no, not with the flush of heat that drenches him from his head downwards. His own mouth opens, and John's tongue is tentatively seeking his, and he can taste the faint dregs of the tea John drank hours ago, overlaid with the thick, coppery taste of fear and the spicy remnants of adrenaline.
John's tongue retreats, and Sherlock sets his teeth gently into John's lip, a marking of sorts, even if it won't be visible to anyone else, and then they are suddenly apart, panting for breath.
They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, and Sherlock is opening his mouth – and for once he has no idea what will come out – when he suddenly realises that he could have caught Moriarty, and with a curse, he pulls away from John and darts out through the door the evil mastermind had gone through.
It's no good, though, and so he returns to the poolside, where John is crouched against the wall for support, and they look at each other again, and then Moriarty's gloating voice sounds behind them and red dots dance over them.