Hello all! Just a little oneshot written in response to the challenge issued to me by theCauldron (majesty of muse, temptress of tales, all around bamf when it comes to story ideas). I know she was hoping for a Harry Potter story from this, but Sherlock came to mind instantly and this was born. That doesn't mean that there won't be a second story with the same prompt set in the HP universe though! ; )
This wasn't like any other fight they'd had. Before, they had teased and bickered, they'd tormented and struggled. But this was no holds barred, fury boiling to the surface, knock down drag out fighting. John wanted to tear Sherlock limb from limb. Then proceed to beat him with said limbs. Wanted to slam his fist into that angular face over and over again. The rage in him wanted to utterly destroy the man in front of him, and the smug look Sherlock had on his face wasn't helping the situation any.
Did he really not perceive the danger?
Had his fantastic mind not deduced that a line had been crossed? This wasn't doctor John Watson, tag along and flat mate. This was Captain Watson, soldier who could lay out a man in ten seconds flat.
John had crowded Sherlock against the wall, but that didn't change Sherlock's confident expression.
"Do you think this is funny, Sherlock? Do you think I won't beat you within an inch of your life? I know you don't doubt that I'm capable of it," he hissed angrily.
"Capable or not, you wouldn't do it. Physical violence is your last resort. You wouldn't hurt me unless you thought I was a threat. Unless their was a reason. There isn't." His confidence only raised as he talked. Good, steadfast John would not hurt him. Would not do any of the violent things lurking behind his eyes. But Sherlocks conclusion might have been foregone, because John gripped the front of his coat and jerked Sherlock forward. Then, pain shot through his back as he was slammed against the wall.
John's breath puffed against his ear. "Give me a reason," he growled. His body was literally trembling with pent up anger, with the need to lash out. Suddenly Sherlock wasn't at all sure that John would restrain himself. That rational would win out over rage. How had he miscalculated so badly? John had been pushed to his very limit, his patience at an end. Surely Sherlock should have seen this coming, known that the doctor was at the end of his endurance. But maybe Sherlock hadn't accounted for the silly sentiment John let himself be led by. It was possible...just possible...that John's depth of caring for Sherlock had brought them to the point of no return quicker than the detective could have expected.
Sherlock's body tensed, mind going over all the options. He'd never break free of John's hold. Despite the advantage of Sherlock's height, John had a soldiers strength and training. Even using his deduction wouldn't guarantee a win, and if he did, it would cost them both dearly. Was the best option be to simply let John strike him until he'd gotten all the aggression out of his system? Not appealing to Sherlock, certainly, but he'd subjected himself to pain for lesser causes. He turned his mind over to the range of possibilities. They laid out in his brain like a road map, each decision resulting in an entirely different branch splitting off, each branch with it's own decisions and outcomes.
Unfortunately, none of them ended with him being at the other end of the doctor's fists. One ended with John utterly beating Sherlock and then being wracked with guilt over it later. Another ended with them both in the hospital for nearly a fortnight. But none ended without scrapes on John's knuckles.
Sherlock did more calculations. He weighed the injuries he would likely receive with the amount of guilt John would feel for them, tabulated the number of days he would be unable to work and hence the number of interesting cases he might miss. When he felt he'd come up with the most satisfactory answers -not that any answer involving him on the receiving end of John's beatings was satisfactory, but it seemed unavoidable- and then acted.
In a quick move, he braced his shoulders against the wall and shoved hard at John's chest. As expected, John dug in like a bull and slammed him back against the wall again. Just as Sherlock was getting ready to use the momentary lowering of John's defenses to spin out from under his shoulder, John did something...unexpected.
John was always surprising Sherlock. He didn't try to, it just happened. Often when Sherlock was certain John would feel one way about something, he felt the exact opposite. Of Sherlock would expect him to get mad about something and he only waved it off. Of course there were times when the opposite was true- hence the situation they were currently in. But this was extreme, even for John.
Instead of keeping Sherlock at arm's length and therefore at optimal position to strike Sherlock, John let his body press close against him. The compact, firm muscles of John fitted tightly against Sherlock's long form. One capable hand slid into Sherlock's hair and fisted tightly. Sherlock's lips parted in surprise, shock written clearly on his face. John didn't even take the time to gloat over shocking the unshockable Sherlock. He curled his other hand around Sherlock's shoulder to hold him firmly in place, and pressed his lips to those parted ones.
Sherlock's mind went into hyperdrive for all of a half second.
Then it simply clicked off.
That half second had been enough. More than enough. Working at lightspeed it had observed, deduced, calculated and recalculated. It had run through all the scenarios, figured all the possible outcomes -even as it tried desperately to recognize the signs it had missed that led them to where they were- and then decided it simply wasn't possible. John Watson was capable of surprising Sherlock. Right to his very core. There was no way for Sherlock to see what would happen next. All he could do was deal with the here and now. For the first time in his life, all of Sherlock's considerable mental prowess was utterly useless. And so for the first time in his life, Sherlock was thrown into thoughtless, mind numbing physicality.
He found himself...responding.
Was that what someone like him needed? Was the reason he'd been wholly asexual before that no one had ever been able to bring out this mental blankness in him? But right then, the answer didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the feel of John's lips against his, the taste of John on his tongue, the heat of another's body pressing against his. It felt as if all the reactions his body had been previously lacking came rushing to the fore all at once. Blood was singing in his veins, this heart thundering and his breath coming in quick, stolen gasps.
Then a soon as it started, it was over. John released Sherlock and stepped away. Sherlock raised a trembling hand to his lips and pressed it there as if he could capture the sensation. His eyes were slightly out of focus, his chest still rising and falling sharply. John's penetrating eyes pierced him, bored into him until he felt unaccountably like squirming.
"Don't you ever put your life at risk like that again. Or I'll kill you myself." Suddenly, it was all startlingly clear to Sherlock. All the little details that he'd missed or simply overlooked. Things he'd deemed as irrelivent. But they hadn't been. They'd been the most important things he ever could have noticed. And now that he'd seen them, they couldn't be unseen. Nor did he want them to be.
"If this is your chosen method of deterrent, John, I'm afraid it won't be very effective." His voice was huskier than usual. John's eyes widened, a small gasp dying on his lips.
"You don't mean-"
"Apparently I do," Sherlock murmured softly. "So I hope you haven't started a game you can't finish, doctor. Because I'm not giving you the opportunity to back out."
The shock had faded from John's face, leaving desire in it's wake. "I never start something I can't finish, Sherlock. And I've waited a long time to finish this."
"Finish, John?" Sherlock smirked. "I hardly think so. In fact, I'd say this is just the beginning."