John tries to distract himself wondering about Sherlock.
But the discomfort of the push is so great not even Sherlock can distract his mind.
With a soft sound, like gentle ripping of silk, he slowly pulled his arm out of its prison. Clear and unblemished skin emerged, a fresh tan forearm followed by an angling of the elbow to pull out the rest of the limb.
The resulting molt fell limply to the white duvet, perfectly attached to the molt that was an almost eerie reflection of his face and upper torso.
John groaned as he stretched out his newly grown limb, examining the changes. He noticed his arm grew in muscle mass, a totally acceptable change since he's now wrestling criminals all around London and for the better part of Great Britain. He wondered if his legs would look much the same. But after a mild celebration at his improved physique he noticed that his human bones grew a bit more in size but had somehow become a little lighter in density.
John huffed, "What does Sherlock keep doing with all the milk anyway?"
He continued on molting after his little complaint. The process was slow and extremely tiring, so John didn't waste any time. He had finished getting his old exoskeleton of his left human arm and midway through his right spider leg when he heard the door slam.
He didn't even need shout for John to start panicking. John was familiar with Sherlock's pheromone scent; honey mixed with the pheromone scent for satisfaction; vanilla. The satisfaction is from solving the case, but even this was just too quick. Sherlock wasn't supposed to be back from that case until two hours later! Was the triple murder really that easy to solve? But then again, this is Sherlock. The world's only consulting detective, genius, who has a very possible case of arachnophobia.
He saw a spider (John realized after it was an annoying, backstabbing, can't-keep-his-prick-in-his-pants-but-somehow-was-able-to-mate-with-a-black-widow, bloody git of a third cousin) and threw 5 leather-bound volumes of Shakespeare at it.
John is not eager to see Sherlock's reaction to this.
Oh, nothing much. "This" is just the fact John happens to be a spider demon whose spider species happens to be one of the damn biggest on the whole entire bloody planet.
Sherlock's gonna take this real nice.
Sherlock notices many things.
Sherlock notices the many jars of jam in the cabinets because if there was any fresh fruit, it would be contaminated by his experiments. Or how John always orders some sort of poultry during takeaway (John always likes his Chicken Chow Mein with extra noodles and chicken). And of course, how John is always sick in bed the third of Wednesday of every month. Sherlock thinks it may be a psychological problem, but there is a nagging thought that the notion of John's mental health causing his physical health to deteriorate only on this specific day being an incorrect theory. Something tells the great detective that he is mistaking and missing something.
Something he doesn't want to find out.
He's not going to ask Mycroft to bug John's room. He already has. But it's not like Mycroft was willing to tell Sherlock about his flat-mate's every dirty little secret.
But it's still bugging him. (Bad Pun)
As much as Sherlock hates to admit it, he does care about John. He cares a lot actually. And it doesn't matter if John wants to hide whatever secret he has from Sherlock, the curly haired detective will just barge into his life, not quite giving a bloody flying squirrel.
And when he barges into John's life through the bedroom door…
John is now officially waiting for a huge book or slipper to hit him.
Sherlock's arachnophobia is not obvious to most people, but to John, it is as clear as the midnight moonlight streaming through John's bedroom window.
The slit pupils – making the opal colors of his eyes drown out the black and white – and tension in every muscle in Sherlock's body are all screaming out fear even though his face didn't show it. And even if Sherlock didn't let his emotional guard just a bit while around John, the good doctor could smell the fear wafting off of the younger Holmes.
Sherlock's fear smells like peppermint.
"Sherlock…"
The sound of the detective's name is passed through a weak moan from John's lips, but it is enough to send Sherlock reeling back from his trance, but Sherlock is still staring in wonder. He knows what the taller man is staring at. The way john's human body disappears into the hairy blonde abdomen, the six tarantula legs that protrude from his hips, his lower extremities nowhere to be seen, the second pair of smaller pure sky blue eyes near John's temple, and a pair of venomous fangs that pokes out from the sides of John's mouth.
The look of dreamy awe on Sherlock's face was kind of adorable coupled with the smell of chrysanthemums.
Then his expression morphs into the usual stoic stare Sherlock has on his face. He pulls out his phone from his jacket pocket and speed dials someone. While Sherlock is waiting for the ring, John gathers a small last-ditch effort to say something, anything really, to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, wait-"
"John, don't use any more energy than you have to. You should better than anyone that molting could be a dangerous process if you don't have enough energy to see it through."
After John hears a third ring, the other end of the line picks up and he is surprised to hear the manager of the Chinese restaurant answering.
"Hello?"
"2 orders of Chicken Chow Mein with extra noodles and extra chicken to 221B Baker Street."
Sherlock immediately hangs up the phone, sweeping out of room in his posh attitude before stopping at the door, sensing John's fear. He pivots and asks John…
"Strawberry?"
John smiles and makes a whimper of approval. Sherlock's lips quirk up so fast John thinks he imagined the soft smirk on his face.
When Sherlock returns with half burned toast and a jar of strawberry jam, John is molting through his second left leg.
"I expected you'd take longer, judging how badly you burnt it."
"I used the blowtorch."
John's tired face and sleepy hum are all Sherlock needs to know. He watches John intently as he continues to molt out his leg. When the blonde spider hybrid is pushing rather hard, Sherlock's gentle fingers slip into the shedding exoskeleton and pulling them along, like one might would when opening a letter, to help John with his growth. When the molting takes the toll on John's body, Sherlock's finger gently massage his back, rejuvenating the blonde as he relaxes into the other man's expert touch. The silence between them is comfortable, almost like they've being doing this all their lives.
By the time John has finished his legs, Sherlock looks down at John, biting his lips a little bit. John smiles at the little embarrassment flushing pink over Sherlock's face as those icy blue eyes look down at John's abdomen. The ex-army doctor chuckles a little before breaking the precious silence that had lasted them for the last 20 minutes. John smiles warmly at Sherlock, giving him his approval to touch.
Sherlock nods, his hands and expression stoic and sure, but John can smell the scent of pomegranates; Sherlock's nervousness.
Sherlock places his whole hand under the exoskeleton and begins to gently separate the molt from John's new abdomen. The golden tarantula hairs are slick with a small amount of moisture, but Sherlock doesn't mind. He continues downward. He freezes when he hears John draw in a quick gasp and his abdomen shiver.
"Sensitive?"
"Very."
Sherlock begins again, slower and more gently this time. John occasionally wiggles his abdomen to get another part of the thing out, but Sherlock grows so completely in-tune with John that his hands have already gotten to the spot and started separating the old exoskeleton. Sherlock removes his hands and with one final push, John has completely molted.
John lets out a few deep breaths, stabilizing his heartbeat and regaining his composure. He can feel Sherlock's eyes on him, pheromones with the scent of rosemary; Sherlock's passionate curiosity. John knows that when he opens his eyes, the questions will come blazing in. Before his human eyes open, as soon as his spider eyes open really, the first question comes flying out of Sherlock's mouth.
"Species?"
John is surprised that the first question isn't "What the bloody hell are you?"
"Theraphosa Blondi."
Sherlock raises an eyebrow in amusement. John huffs indignantly, clicking his fangs together.
"It was a joke among the other spiders when I first tried chicken. Just because Goliath Bird-Eaters do not really eat birds doesn't mean my human taste buds don't enjoy the taste of poultry."
There is a knock on the door and Sherlock answers. When the taller man comes back, he settles back into the bed of the spider demon with the carry out. They sit together in silence while eating the noodles, Sherlock keeping a close eye while John recovers his energy with the servings of toast and Chinese food. John's complexion immediately brightens and with each bite, the strength returns to the world's only consulting detective's only best friend. Sherlock packs up the finished take out boxes and trashes them before returning to John.
"What are we going to do with the molt?"
"I usually dump it. Go out to the bins myself in the middle of the night."
"Just throw it into the trash from now on; I'll take care of it."
The smell of cherries permeates John's sensors; Sherlock's excitement. John gives the detective a flat look.
"You can just ask for it, you know."
"Can I have your molt?"
John sighs and lifts himself off of his old exoskeleton. He grabs the shed skin with one of his spider legs – he notices that Sherlock stores this fact inside his Mind Palace, no doubt thinking about ways to exploit the use of his arachnid limbs later – and pulls the molt from beneath him. He folds it up and places it next to himself and covers his abdomen and legs using the duvet. Sherlock's eyes narrow, knowing that the movement had nothing to do with the fact that the window is open on a cold London night.
"There's no need to hide them anymore John. I know about it already. You're covering it up subconsciously, but from now on, walk around the flat with them out."
While it sounded more like an order (John is pretty sure that Sherlock just wants to observe how a spider demon moves), John knows that it means Sherlock accepted the good doctor for what he is. While he might not be fearless of what John is, Sherlock is willing to conform to certain things for John's comfort.
Sherlock cares about John enough to accept he's a spider demon and love him as his best friend nonetheless.
That, to John, is the highet honor in the world.
John hugs Sherlock.
Sherlock momentarily tenses, from his arachnophobia or from the fact someone willingly hugged him he's not quite sure, letting the feeling of the three pairs of arms around his neck, shoulders, and waist sink into his mind. John realizes what he has done and out of worry for both Sherlock's arachnophobia and low-spectrum autism, he's about to pull away from the embrace.
But Sherlock's sudden arms around his whole upper body lock the spider demon and the consulting detective together.
Too many moments pass and before they know it, John has fallen asleep in Sherlock's arms. The spider and human limbs are still tangled around the thinner man, unwilling to leave. The detective improvises, tucking the spider into the sheets and resting his head against the headboard. He strokes John's hair and back as the Theraphosa Blondi sleeps, gently lulled into slumber by the soft hums of pleasure in the breathing.
John, in his slumber, can smell an unfamiliar scent in Sherlock's pheromones; roses.
A/N: Well. I drilled to ya again. Damn myself for getting back into this fandom. Benedict Cumberbatch as Smaug is not good for my health. It does not help that Martin Freeman is Bilbo. It brings the Sherlock and Lord of the Rings fan-girls together. I am an extreme fan of both series. Imagine my reaction to when I found out they're going to be in a movie together. My house smelled like cherries for two weeks straight.
My T. Blondi is rather gentle, like John, and really John is kind of what I think my Cookie would be like if he was human. No, they don't use their sense of smell, they actually detect prey by vibration from movement. The artistic license is all mine.
SERIOUS NOTES: Never, and I mean NEVER, ever "help" a spider out of its molt. You could possibly break the new exoskeleton, even the whole limb/body of the spider if you try to. The only reason I took that Artistic License is because I think Sherlock would be able to help a molting spider and that it would be a good bonding thing for Kumo!John and Sherlock. DO NOT EVER TRY IT. YOU ARE NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES AND CAN POSSIBLY KILL YOUR PET SPIDER IF YOU TRY.
Kumo actually just means "spider" in Japanese, but sometimes people use it to refer to a spider demon.
Sequel anyone? =)