CHAPTER 2
Summary Ch.2: John wanted to take back his premature deduction that Sherlock was Johnsexual. A Johnsexual Sherlock was insufferable and insatiable. John proposed a new less harmless deduction: Sherlock Holmes was falling for him.
AN: It's 29th January! The first time Sherlock Holmes and John Watson met!
Happy Anniversary!
(John's blog about the meeting: johnwatsonblog. co. uk / blog / 29january )
And Happy Belated Birthday, Sherlock!
I. Accidentally in THOUGHT
John blew a heavy sigh for the God-only-know times that noon.
Sherlock was firing gun to the yellow smiley face spray-painted on the living room wall downstairs. The doctor couldn't put his concentration on reading his new British Medical Journal with that condition. So he put down the journal on his desk and walked out of his room toward the sitting room where the current apocalypse happened.
When he entered the room, John didn't see any tall arrogant figure stood around. Instead he found the man he was looking for curled up on the sofa facing its back. Sherlock had violent mood swings during periods of extreme ennui when there were no cases. John knew better not to disturb the sullen consulting detective.
"Sherlock, I'm going to buy jam and milk. Do you need anything?"
No answer. With another heavy sigh, the doctor took his journey to the market.
When he arrived, Sherlock wasn't found anywhere in the sitting room, nor the kitchen.
And when he was about to take a step to his room, the doctor heard a big thud from Sherlock's bedroom. It sounded like a big and heavy thing fell onto the floor.
"Sherlock? What was that?" No answer. "Sherlock, are you all right?" John walked toward the room. He put his ear on the door to hear something but he heard nothing. The older man began to panic. Sherlock had tendency to hurt himself in time like this.
"Sherlock? Sherlock are you all right?" John knocked the door. "Sherlock, I'm going in."
The doctor tried the door knob and it wasn't locked. So he opened the door and stepped into the dark space. John looked around in search for his intimate friend's figure. His eyes fell to the big bulge in bed. He sighed a relieving blow, but not entirely. He had to check the man if he really was fine and still in one piece. He walked toward the bed and reached out to open the cover.
And when he opened it, he saw a pile of pillows. At the same time John saw a flash movement behind him.
"Damn!" John made a quick movement to reach for the door.
He was a fast runner. He used to have strong legs. But, that moment, with a tiger-spring, the dark haired man had intercepted him. John heard a sharp snap of a twisted key. The light turned on. The doctor could now saw Sherlock stood before him and was staring at him with predatory eyes. Sherlock started to walk toward John. The doctor staggered backward, suddenly felt thrilled and panting to the aura Sherlock was spreading.
The next moment Sherlock pounced on the panic man; both men fell to the bed.
"Sherlock, no. No, no-no-no stop it!" John was trying to escape from the strong man. With his best effort to struggle, he escaped from Sherlock's grip.
John ran toward the door but the key wasn't attached to the door so he ran round and round the bedroom with Sherlock chasing him behind.
"Sherlock, no. This is not the best solution!"
And after minutes chasing game, John felt his left leg started to give up. With so much hope he reached for his mobile phone from his jeans' pocket and dialed the Scotland Yard man. Sherlock was already got him and dragged the doctor to his queen sized bed.
"Lestrade," John almost shouted as he was pushed to the bed and got stripped. "Do you have a case- Sherlock! Will yo- What do you mean you have no case?!" The detective inspector seemed to understand John's intention at calling him because soon as John yelled Sherlock's name, Lestrade answered quick to his unspoken question. Then hang up the phone.
The Scotland Yard had been in absence of critical cases for three weeks now and no worthy cases came from any client to their flat and by the second week of case absence John started to make terror calls to Lestrade asking for any case.
For God's sake this would be the third time in three days of sexual assault if Sherlock had not get case at hand. John had had two in a row at Tuesday. Yesterday he was saved by his sister—Harry's visit to their flat. That's why Sherlock was so infuriating this morning. He was very careful and full alert since then. But apparently John had fallen to the crafty man's trap now.
And suddenly now the bored consulting detective who was already naked without John's knowledged, was performing a skilled fellatio to John's shaft.
"Gaah! Sherl- oh Gods, Sherlock! Sto-op it… ahh!" John tried to pull Sherlock by gripping the consulting detective's hair to no avail.
Not for long, John's shaft became rigid hard as rock. And with a blink, followed by widened eyes, John saw his flat mate was already on top of him and positioned himself on top of his pointed shaft. John managed to hold Sherlock's hips in the air prevent him not to thrust down on him.
"Sherlock, no. No. Here, look," the doctor worked his brain amazingly fast that his brain discovered a might-be important medical invention proposal, "Sherlock, listen. I just read a journal about leukemia this morning, and, I was thin- no-no-no!" John's strong grips on Sherlock's hips were pulled by another man's stronger hands.
"No Sherlock listen here I offer you a medical experiment about the effect of Ponatinib to an abnormal tyrosine kinas—"
"Dull. All I need now is you, John. How many times have I told you that this activity between you and me—in so called intimate connection—can release my tension and refresh my brain." With that, Sherlock pushed himself down in one swift thrust and John was deep inside him.
"Holy Mother, Sherlock! Ahh!" John threw his head back. In a mist of his mind he managed to notice that Sherlock had prepared himself with much lubricant inside.
Sherlock moaned with a clear hint of a satisfying relief.
John glared at the sleeping man beside him. The face of Sherlock looked so peaceful and sated. John took a long breath. Two rounds in a row, again. The man had overly manic energy in his body to worn out.
Oh, poor John. He was sitting against the headboard on Sherlock's bed, closing his eyelids. He began to questioning his premature deduction about Sherlock. Was he really into him, or was he just the easiest tool around to bring Sherlock back to his sanity and regroup his mind palace.
As if the consulting detective could sense the irritation, he opened his eyes revealing his awakening.
"John, my dear salvation, you know how bored I have been since we locked up that serial killer. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. Life is commonplace; the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world."
John's eyes snapped open. His stare was digging a straight hole on the wall before him.
"Sherlock, do you," No. No, he wasn't going to ask it. Too hurt, too afraid of bringing reality and truth to his own hope. "Never mind. Now I believe you've been calmed down. Get some meal."
"Unnecessary. What did you want to say, John?" Sherlock looked up to John.
"Nothing. Now, we'll have dinner. Don't try to avoid. You need it. You haven't been eating for two days."
"John…" Sherlock started to slide further into the cover.
"Don't try it." John grabbed Sherlock's hair. "Your doctor says eat!"
"'m tired. Need sleep." Sherlock closed his eyes.
"Nope. That won't work for me. And since when did you aware that you need sleep? God, Sherlock, what's the harm of taking a meal that your body obviously needs?" John straightened his sit. He was ready to get out of the warm bed.
"Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may prove?"
John turned a sulky but amazed face upon his partner.
"You have a case?" John made expression as if his wildest dream finally came true. "But why you…needed me?"
"Too excited. Mycroft just called me while you're shopping. He needs a…leg."
"All right," Oh Mycroft, my hero! "Then you really need the eat. Come on!"
"I'm on a case, John."
"Will be. Now get up. You need to recharge your energy after we..." John blushed.
"John, I don't eat on a case… Will be on a case. I need to prepare."
"But why not eat? Please, I'm concerning about your body."
"Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why, surely, as a doctor, my Dear John, you must admit that what your digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the brain. I am a brain, John. The rest of me is transport. Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."
A silence for a brief moment.
"So you chose to take an activity which need a massive amount of energy instead of eat just to refine and keeps your brain organized?" John stared blankly.
"That's not—"
"So you," John chuckled cold, "only did this just because you're considering of your brain. None other reason?"
"Sex actually boost brain growth, you know that, John?" Sherlock glanced at the man beside him. He saw John made unexplainable expression.
"No consideration to my side?" John's voice was almost like a whisper.
Sherlock was taken aback.
"I…" Sherlock Holmes didn't understand.
"So, just the sex, then." John heaved a long suffering sigh. John tried to speak nonchalantly, but Sherlock could point the hurt and disappointment carried in the voice.
Sherlock took a deep sigh and he sat up against the headboard, shoulder-to-shoulder with John.
"John…" He waited until the doctor turned his face toward him, while he himself stared at the wall before him. "Human, predictable. Complex but still predictable. But emotions are more sophisticate and delicate thing, which I never stop understanding human let their emotions rule them. John, you know this is something new to me. Not the discovery of the benefit sexual activities brings to my brain. But…oh God for the first time in my life, I don't know what happen to me. I am trying to understand this. Since you, since you come into my life, everything happens in me seem novel. I feel alien to myself. You changed me."
Sherlock turned his face, now facing John.
"What is this, John, tell me. What is happening with me?"
John Watson blinked. Blimey, Sherlock Holmes was really naïve and oblivious! John gave the mentioned man incredulous look.
"What? John, are you mocking me with that look." Sherlock furrowed. It wasn't a question.
John still staring in disbelieve at Sherlock.
"John, I'm concerning about myself here. Have I gone insane? The next thing I'd probably think would be of why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem."
Then John burst into laugh. He could forgive the man this time.
His brain made an excuse for his heart.
II. Accidentally in FRAME
The Scotland Yard sprang on to the two villains and hurled them flat upon their faces. Click sounds of handcuffs did their justice.
John swung his body in disarray.
"Where's Sherlock?" His eyes searching the consulting detective in wild movement.
"He's chasing the other man that way!" Lestrade signaling his team to follow Sherlock chasing the escaped villain.
They ran into a mess of deserted harbor. Running separately in disarray as they'd lost the sight of Sherlock and the villain.
Somehow, John had a bad feeling about this. This was not any random ordinary villain they're dealing with. Sherlock couldn't do it this careless, chasing the dangerous brainy villain alone in stack of winding warehouses. Even if it had been planned. Past experiences had certainly not smoothed the asperities of the consulting detective's temper or his impatience. Couldn't he just wait for the Scotland and give them chance to do their job?
John ran into the harbor, in pursue of his close friend. Which way, he didn't know. The main road split into some ways. A trip in distorted harbor. He kept running here and there until finally he got a slight view of Sherlock's coat. He tried to chase him with all his remained strength. Once he stopped to curse at his weak leg, and continued running toward a warehouse.
When he entered the warehouse, John hardly settled in his breath before he was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. A thick, black cloud swirled before his eyes. A freezing horror took possession of him. The turmoil within his brain was such that something must surely snap. John tried to scream Sherlock's name and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was his own voice, but distant and detached from himself. At the same moment, in some effort to find his friend, he broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Sherlock's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror—the very look which John had seen upon the feature of the dead. It was that vision which gave him an instant of sanity and of strength. He dashed from the entryway, threw his arms round Sherlock, and together they lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown themselves down upon the dusty road and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt them in.
Slowly reality and consciousness returned in John's soul. He abruptly sat and thrown his attention toward the man that was still lying beside him.
"Sherlock! Sherlock are you alright? For God's sake, say that you're all right!" John shook Sherlock's shoulders. He placed his index and middle finger on Sherlock's neck, checking for pulse. When the man made eye contact, John inhaled deep and blew a gratitude toward God, wrapping Sherlock's neck with his hand.
As he did so, some features of Scotland Yard ran toward them. One of them blew a whistle.
"Inside… But…wait... He t- threw strange toxic in the air…" Sherlock pointed his index finger toward the warehouse where the villain was hiding, breathing weakly.
John and Sherlock were looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that brief but terrific experience which they had undergone.
"You two all right?" Lestrade gestured medic team to check them. "Accurate prediction, Sherlock. He led you to their lodge there. Though, I didn't recall you said anything about the toxin."
One of John's grips was strongly clutching on Sherlock's coat, staring at the man with tremulous look. Sherlock blinked once and looked away.
John sat on his bed. Head down, cradled by both of his trembling hands. He had been like that for almost half an hour since they're back after noon that day to their flat from the hectic heroic battle of one daft git Sherlock.
Downstairs was Sherlock with his violin playing a piece with many off tune noticed. They hadn't talked since they arrived home. John walked straight to his bedroom and Sherlock took his instrument.
The night had come and John made appearance to the kitchen. He boiled a kettle for a cup of tea. Then he sensed Sherlock's existence at the threshold. He didn't turn his head around to look at him. He just focused on the making of his tea.
"John,"
"Don't." A teaspoon of sugar paused midair, "Just…please, don't say anything right now." He put his hands on the worktop.
A silence filled the air.
And then in a moment it happened. Two arms wrapped around John's waist. Sherlock pressed his head on John's nape. He suddenly hugged John tightly from behind, pulling him back against his chest.
The tea man held his breath.
I'm sorry.
I was scared to death.
I'm sorry.
Never do that again!
John turned around in Sherlock's embrace, slipping his own arms around Sherlock's waist and tucked his head below the pointy chin. They stood still in silence, savoring the first embrace they'd ever shared off bed.
After amount of peaceful time, John looked up at Sherlock. The taller man was looking down right into John's eyes. John noticed the look was so vulnerable.
'What would I do without you' was written all on that raw look.
It never happened before; Sherlock tailed John into his bedroom and slept in the narrow space together.
John found it rather sweet and adorable. Moreover when he saw the man laid his head on his shoulder with an arm on his waist, sleeping like a child. The endearment, however, lasted until that cozy midnight. Bottom on the cold floor, John made a face when Sherlock sabotaged all his space on the already narrow single bed.
"Bugger." He hopped up the bed and dropped his body onto Sherlock, pinching the dark haired man's nose.
Sherlock revolted and gasped for air.
"Good Heaven, John!" He tackled the laughed man down.
John was anticipating for a pillow on his face, only to find Sherlock's face hovering his.
"Huh?" John didn't have time to think of anything as he felt warmness on his lips. Sherlock was kissing him. Gentle and without a rush.
They pulled away until an act to catch a breath was needed.
"Midnight snogging? Sherlock, I didn't know you had it in you."
The consulting detective kissed his cheek, his jaw then his neck and then rested his head on John's throat and slumbered on top of the blushed man.
John was speechless.
The next day came with a shimmer from their landlady Mrs. Hudson's visit. She brought a plate of appetizing apple pie. John with enthusiast swallowing the piece on the dine table while Sherlock was reading newspaper on the next chair. Mrs. Hudson was standing between their space and had a morning chat with them about the incoming Christmas.
That's when the great Mycroft came in without invitation.
"Putting in weight again, I see?" Sherlock greeted him behind the newspaper without a glance.
"Lame, but still losing it, anyway. John," Mycroft greeted him, "still survive with the hellish brat, I see."
"I'm never bored." John plucked the pie from the fork.
"Mr. Holmes. Coming again, to send your little brother into another danger?" Mrs. Hudson held her hands before his torso.
"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft greeted the rest of the resident in annoyance. He stood with his glossy stick several feet from the dine table.
"MYCROFT!" Sherlock and John barked simultaneously and furiously.
Mycroft looked at their angry faces glaring at him, then cringes and looked at Mrs. Hudson.
"Apologies."
" Thank you."
"Though do, in fact, shut up." Sherlock turned the paper.
Mrs. Hudson just rolled her eyes and made a way out back to her place.
"So," Mycroft glanced at John's empty chair, "A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen." He raised his chin, looking directly at Sherlock through the newspaper.
"Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?" Sherlock replied behind the paper.
"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust."
"And you don't trust your own Secret Service? Wait. Of course, so you've said before many times." John put his fork and looked at Mycroft.
"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock still gazing at whatever on the newspaper.
"No-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time –not with the NRA critic so… Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" Mycroft smiled humorlessly in a clear message to forget what he just said as he saw John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock had lowered the papers. "Besides, a case like this, it requires… legwork." He grimaced in distaste.
Sherlock raised the newspaper back with an irritated look on his face.
Mycroft stepped forward and put a folder on the table.
"Find the masterplan, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."
"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock breathed in sharply through his nose.
"Think it over." Mycroft's tone lowered sounded more threatening. "Goodbye, John. See you very soon."
Mycroft turned and reached for the doorknob. When he was about to leave the room, he paused, and turned back with a furrow on his brow.
"Are you two…?"
Sherlock raised his newspaper until it was obscuring his head.
Mycroft smirked and left the room, hurried down the stairs.
"What?" John raised his eyebrows, looking at Sherlock, "What was he figuring out about us?"
"I'll leave you to your deductions." Sherlock folded the newspaper and walked toward his bedroom.
In a flash John saw a hint of pink on the dark haired man's cheeks.
The doctor made his brain to work. Mycroft, the seven years Sherlock's senior, had better powers of observation than his brother. He was Sherlock's superior in observation and deduction. So what did he and Sherlock share to possess to be necessarily noticed by him?
Think, think. Mycroft, amused, them both, Sherlock blushed… Get it together… And Click!
"Oh, bloody hell!" John put his forearm to his face, "Sherlock, he knew something about us, didn't he?" John absently rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. Whatever.
John came into Sherlock's bedroom.
"Look, he did say 'national importance'. You can't just ignore it."
"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now." Sherlock rose from his bed and stood.
"Right. Good." John nodded in satisfaction, and then looked at Sherlock in puzzlement. "Who?"
Sherlock pinned him with his piercing eyes.
" …Right. Me. When?" John was ready to take his jacket.
Sherlock walked toward him, keeping the eye contact.
In a blink of instinct, John ran out of Sherlock's room heading upstairs into his own bedroom.
He had seen that mischief look in Sherlock's face for the past few months.
He closed the door as he entered his bedroom and sat on bed catching his breath. Both hands clutching the edge of the bed tight.
Some reducing moment of rapid heartbeats later, John exhaled from his mouth. He reached for his desk and turned on the radio. A low tune of half playing 'One Love' of Ian Dury flew in the air. The song sort of irritated his nerve. The lyrics somehow reminded him of Sherlock and himself. So he turned off the radio.
He glanced at the table clock. It's quarter past ten.
John sat down and opened his laptop. He hadn't written their last case on his blog.
Because the case was to irritating. There was too much at stake, that bloody case. It almost cost Sherlock's life. Of course there had been many cases endangered the headstone consulting detective. But, it was different. If he was late one bit second, Sherlock could kiss goodbye to the world.
John slammed his laptop off with the time Sherlock click opened his door. The doctor rose up from his seat in surprise. The chair pushed noisily to the back.
Sherlock paused in his step, hand still on the doorknob. He had deduced John's state from the micro expression on the face at a glance and a treat to a laptop in sight.
"We're through this." Sherlock moved his right leg timidly and put it next to the left one, in the threshold line.
For a moment John didn't react nor blink. He stared at the man before him.
"Yes. We're through this." John made a quick check down on his feet and then looked faraway behind Sherlock's shoulder. He walked toward the door, grasped the doorframe and pulled the door. Sherlock's hand dismissed from the knob and fell to his side.
When john walked pass him, Sherlock grabbed his wrist, pulled the doctor and planted his lips on John's as he turned his head.
John awoken by the message alert from his phone on the nightstand. John flopped on to his elbow and took the phone, opened the message. There were two messages. One from Mycroft asking about Sherlock regarding the case. The other was from hospital, said that he was needed in full appearance for the next Friday ahead.
Why there was always busy hospitalization activity every one week before Christmas?
He put back his phone on the nightstand. He turned to his left side. Watching the sleeping man contently. He blushed hard when he looked at the marks he left on some spots on the translucent bare skin.
John slid back into the cover, hissed in the process. He looked to his back. Skin scratched, some inches red lines came from sharp nails.
He sighed. He had been pretty rough and treated Sherlock with anger. Sherlock in other hand accepted the raw treat understandably. He felt guilty but he had a suspicious that Sherlock enjoyed the roughness.
When John had settled back to the warmness, Sherlock turned to his side and threw an arm upon John's waist. The dark haired man snuggled closer and buried his head on the crook of John's neck.
John inhaled deep. He hooked his left arm around Sherlock's waist while his right hand slid along Sherlock's arm slithered up until he reached the head and entwined his fingers with the damped curly hair.
Few strokes on his hair, Sherlock tightened his hold on John's body.
The doctor smiled. He closed his affectionate eyes and kissed Sherlock's head.
Sherlock Holmes and his partner John Watson were in heated speed. They were running down the rocky ground, chasing the villain. Passing rapidly through the trees and into a small road which directed toward an old, gloomy building.
As they jumped the remain of the broken gate, trying to speeding the villain that was running into the deserted building, Sherlock spoke aloud to John that was three feet behind.
"I think I know the answer, John!" Sherlock said breathlessly while he kept the speed.
"What?" John shouted back.
"What's happening with me!" Sherlock yelled as he jumped a stack of wood.
"What's the answer?" John pulled out his revolver as they entered the building.
"I've eliminated the impossible, I've tried to find any rational explanations from whatever remains. But," Sherlock stopped. He fast-checking around. And then he kicked his leg and ran toward the stairs attached in the middle of the dusty room, yelling "But love resists to be rationalized!"
John Watson abruptly stopped his feet. He looked up to the direction where Sherlock hopped two stairs at once of his run. His eyes wide opened. And then he continued the chasing following the former man ran upstairs with a wide smile on his face.
He felt he could be overwhelmingly happy to get shot by the villain in that moment.
Wait. Maybe not.
"Sherlock!" John called, made the consulting detective stopped run and turned to him for two seconds.
When the doctor reached him, breathlessly, he inhaled deep and then grasped Sherlock's coat and pulled the taller man down.
John Watson just smiled widely and stole a brief passionate kiss from Sherlock Holmes.
Both men grinned and continued the chasing.
* * *
-You've been Johnlocked-
Chapter Note: 'Frame' crime scene taken from The Adventure of the Devil's Foot. Mycroft's case referred to The Great Game (Sherlock BBC Series 1).