The Science Of Seduction
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By: Akiko, Keeper of Sheep
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Chapter One: Epic Pouting Maneuver!
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In retrospect, perhaps I should have known that forcing panel shows on Sherlock would be a terrible idea. He'd made it quite clear that there was very little room in his "hard-drive" for useless information. Still, as a little knowledge of astronomy would have been immensely useful not six months ago, I had thought that perhaps his feelings on the subject had changed a bit. God, was I ever wrong...|
"Oh, come on! That's not even close to having a practical application!" Turning his cold, analytical gaze on his flatmate, Sherlock crossed his arms and glared. "Why would anyone watch this program, John? It's half an hour of positively useless rubbish."
Rolling his eyes, John crossed his arms as well. "And you said we could watch whatever I wanted, so you don't get to complain."
It never failed to amuse John just how child-like Sherlock could be, here, in the privacy of their own home. He could be childish, certainly, snarking at innocent bystanders and becoming sullen when he didn't get his way. It was only when he was surrounded by the safety of their flat's walls that the blockade came down and the almost vulnerable side of his brilliant friend emerged. It wasn't a recent development, either, although much had changed since The Moriarty Incident. John could still remember that very first case they'd worked together, the first time he'd gotten a glimpse at that endearingly...cute side of Sherlock.
"Mrs. Hudson took my skull."
Since then, he'd collected a delightful number of memories of his usually-prickly friend, sans prickles. Moments where Sherlock smiled fully, where he would duck his head and laugh quietly. Moments where he curled up on his side on the couch and stared into space, not realizing that he was rubbing the hem of his silk dressing gown between his fingers while he thought. Moments where he would text John from across the room, sometimes just a simple command (Amuse me, John, I'm bored. SH), sometimes a nonsense comment (I have one word for you, John: transvestites. SH), always exaspirating. The ones John liked best were the ones where Sherlock would pout, usually because he'd lost an argument, and would whine John's name pathetically...
"But Joooooohn."
...like that.
"Oh, hush, Sherlock," John said, not even bothering to hide his bemusement as his companion squirmed beside him on the couch, drawing his knees up so he could hide his face against them. "Look, they're starting the General Ignorance round, that's the best one."
Sherlock groaned pitifully, prompting John to relent.
"Fine," he said with a sigh, reaching for the remote. "What do you want to watch?"
Sherlock turned his head to the side, still resting against his knees, to regard the doctor with wide, hopeful eyes. "Can we watch Silent Witness," he said quietly, as though he were afraid that insisting would make John say 'no'.
He was very aware that Sherlock knew about John's tendency to allow compassion to overrule reason. He knew that if Sherlock really wanted to turn the show off, he would have picked up the remote and done it himself. He also knew that Sherlock detested Silent Witness, mostly because of the impracticality of it. The last time he'd watched it, he'd raved about how no proper DNA test took that short a time, and that if people weren't going to get their facts straight, why bother to make a show at all?
"Sure, we can watch it," John said, turning back to the television and pretending his stomach hadn't done an impressive flip at Sherlock's tiny, gleeful smile.
It wasn't as though it was a new feeling. He would have had to have been blind not to notice his friend's good looks, and coupled with a voice that sometimes dipped into a sinfully deep tone and eyes like nothing he'd ever seen before, it was no surprise that John was attracted to him.
Since The Moriarty Incident, John had noticed that attraction growing at a frightening rate. He would phase out an entire crime scene investigation, complete with Donavan's insults and Anderson's idiocy, only to jerk back to reality at the sound of his name and realize he'd spent fully twenty minutes wondering how it would feel to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Just the other day, they'd been jumped by four members of a drug-smuggling ring, and had only just managed to subdue their attackers, and all John could think was how very much he liked seeing Sherlock flushed and breathless, and how much he wanted to press his lips to the taller man's throat and taste his sweat and skin.
"John? Are you going to change the channel?"
Damn it! Stomping down on his traitorous thoughts, John swallowed and stared down at the remote control. He could feel Sherlock's analytic gaze on him as he fumbled with the buttons, before the consulting detective sighed in a very put-upon manner.
"Oh, fine, we'll watch this ridiculous program. It's almost over, isn't it?"
Pleasantly surprised at this unexpected compromise, John was tempted to not tell him the truth. Unfortunately, his honest nature surfaced yet again - lying to strangers was hard enough; lying to Sherlock was just impossible.
"Actually, it's a marathon. It'll be on until seven in the morning."
With a moan (don't think about it, don't think about him moaning, don't you dare!), Sherlock flung his arms up and flopped over dramatically. Sadly, this resulted in his head resting in John's lap.
He's trying to bloody kill me!
"Seven in the morning! Who stays up to watch television for twelve hours? It's ludicrous, John! Ludicrous!" At which point he pouted up at John, his lower lip sticking out ever so slightly, his eyes wide and seeming to beg John to make the world make sense again.
God, he wanted to throw him down and-
Coughing, John smiled. "Don't worry, I won't make you stay up to watch it," he reassured Sherlock, whose pout only intensified. "I have the first three series on DVD; we can watch it whenever we want."
Said pout slipped into a comically horrified expression. "John," he wailed, grasping his shirt in one hand and waving the other at the television blindly, "it's pointless! It's hours of utterly useless tripe! Who cares whether or not a duck's quack echoes? No one! Because it's absolutely, totally, and completely pointless!"
"Fine," John said, prying Sherlock's fingers off his t-shirt. "Allow me to amend my statement: I can watch it whenever I want, provided you're out of earshot, okay?"
Narrowing his eyes at John, the younger man thought for a moment (undoubtedly questioning whether or not John meant it, or was just appeasing him for the time being), before he nodded, letting out a relieved breath, before turning on his side to scowl at Stephen Fry, who was explaining to Alan Davies that frogs were not mammals in a rather sharp tone. He even suffered through another episode, shouting abuse at the panellists and occasionally whacking John on the knee in his ire. Once or twice, John poked him in the back of his head when he got too violent, and told himself firmly that it wasn't just to let his fingers brush those soft, dark curls. He also pretended his heart didn't flutter oddly when Sherlock, tiring of being jabbed, grabbed John's hand and held it for a moment as he glowered up at him.
It was much later, ensconced in his warm bed, that John pondered if maybe it was more than just physical attraction. Too much caffeine, he told himself. It was no wonder his heart was beating oddly, with all the coffee he'd been drinking lately.
He fell asleep somewhat fitfully, his fingers tingling with the memory of being held in Sherlock's strong, yet strangely delicate grasp.
I should have known then what was happening. Even now, I'm somewhat dismayed at the depth of my denial. Perhaps it was somewhat fortuitous, then, that we got a visitor the next day who would set events in motion that neither Sherlock nor I had anticipated...
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To Be Continued...
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A/N - Chapter One! Huzzah!
Yes, I realize that Sherlock seems very out of character. Then again, he had just been nearly blown up four months before, and who knows how that would affect a person?
Anyway, it's a bit short, just a sort of lead-in to the real action. I adore QI, and I can't wait for Series I to come out, even though I live in the US and can't watch it. For those of you who don't know what it is, it's an absolutely genius panel show wherein people are asked questions about how many moons the Earth has and why Henry the Eighth couldn't marry Lord Pembroke. It's really just chock-full of fascinating, ultimately useless information, and I think it's exactly the sort of show that Sherlock would despise. Then again, I can't see him watching a lot of television besides the news.
How are you liking it thus far? Leave a review and let me know!
Songs for this chapter: 'You're The Reason' (Victoria Justice) and 'I Want To Hold Your Hand' (TV Carpio).
Peace.
Akiko