Lady of the Flowers
'Scuse me
I apologize
He likes your attitude
He tries it on for size
He spends the afternoon
Between your thighs
How's that for gratitude
I apologize
John isn't sure how he ended up here, trying to navigate the halls of a mental hospital without being seen by the night staff and return to his bedroom hopefully without being noticed by his eccentric roommate or noticed missing during a routine check. He had been sure to prop his pillow between the sheets and make it look like he was just cocooned in them but it certainly wasn't fall proof and John didn't want to risk it much longer.
For the past week Sherlock had been moody and reclusive since John had found him shivering and asleep half naked under the weak stream of the shower head, it had spent John's head spinning trying to keep up with the mood swings that exploded from the younger youth. When Irene had approached him after a group three days ago he had been greatly relieved for her presence and change of scenery and conversation that wasn't wholly one sided give or take a few grunts or biting remarks. As much as he enjoyed being around Sherlock, some of the snide remarks or biting comebacks he had been giving John were starting to become a bit painful and tender. It seemed Sherlock wasn't against using his keen deductive skills to pick John apart when he felt the need to be left alone.
So when Irene had invited him back to the lounge room, where John had never been before he had gone along willingly and spent the rest of the day sitting on the sofa with the pretty young woman and felt a burgeoning sense of normalcy. He could have almost shut his eyes and pretended they were at home on his own couch after a day at school and were just hanging out with crap telly on in the background for white noise as they had chatted.
Irene seemed like a lovely girl, someone John certainly would have approached in school given the chance. She was beautiful for one, naturally with full lips and high cheek bones a lot like Sherlock's with matching blue eyes to boot; though hers were warmer and less clinical the way they seemed to draw John right in.
They sat and spoke about school, their prospects in life and what they hoped for on the outside after discharge. Irene was excited to embark on a gap year and travel Europe on her own, she had been studying for her A levels whilst she was here and was aiming to get approved leave to sit her final exams.
'If you don't mind my asking, why are you here? You seem so well adjusted and put together.' John had jokingly asked, searching her face and lean body for any hidden answers that might reveal an answer. He had let his eyes linger a little longer than normal on thighs and legs where they were folded beneath her, appreciating the smooth milky white skin and muscle tone.
With a musical giggle that carried, Irene had blushed and ducked her head against John's inquiry. 'Being this well-adjusted comes with some neurotics.' Was all she had said, and John hadn't wanted to ruin the moment they were sharing by being more intrusive then he was welcome to be.
With a laugh in return John had shaken his head and agreed with her, talking about how difficult he usually got around big rugby games or tests at schools and drove his parents insane. It was all easy talk, nothing that was too difficult to follow through with or left John uneasy or questioning himself over. He had found of late when he spoke with Sherlock some things were off topic, and getting to know him a little better by asking questions he hadn't known where a sensitive subject had been what led to John receiving a verbal lashing from his friend.
Either way it hadn't taken long for things to pick up with Irene, they spent the quantity of the next three days in each other's company and progressively getting closer to the point of limbs brushing and faces reaching in unconsciously towards each other. John found himself wetting his lips more often around her, adjusting the uncomfortable tightness of his underwear around his groin on more than one occasion when Irene would teasingly brush a hand across his thigh before resting gracefully on his knee.
After having such tumultuous thoughts about his feelings and growing desire for his handsome roommate, John was more than happy for the welcoming touch of an attractive female against his clothed skin. It was something he was familiar with, a territory he had well-travelled and didn't feel the need to question the way he had with Sherlock.
Peeking around the corner of the hallways that broke the boys rooms apart from the girls John quickly tucked his head back behind the wall when a torch light flickered over the floor. He was running out of time to get back to his bed, and the material of his flannelette pyjamas was sticky and damp against his leg and becoming uncomfortable as it cooled. Swallowing against the growing regret brewing in his stomach John quickly darted out and moved in to his bedroom as fast as he could and softly clicked the door shut, leaning his head against the white wood and breathing out a deep breath of relief for having made it back.
Turning around he was thankful to see Sherlock still asleep, he looked so much younger and relaxed when he slept; his long lashes fanned against the dark circles under his eyes and his lips opened softly with a delicate snore that only Sherlock could have.
Tonight had been unexpected. John was still reeling even as his stomach turned against the realisation of what he had done. He had not meant to have sex with Irene; he had gone to her room simply under the pretence of simply sharing bodily contact and simply holding each other. That had quickly dissolved as soon as Irene had John wrapped in her arms and she started to pick him apart with her lips and things had moved forward from there. Sneaking in to the bathroom with a fresh pair of bottoms John changed and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, guilt and regret were making him pale with a contrasting blush high and rosy against his cheekbones, hollowed out from weight-loss brought on by stress and poor diet.
'What did you do?' He cursed his reflection before slipping back in to the bedroom and casting one last look at Sherlock before sliding beneath his blankets and falling in to a restless sleep that found him tossing and turning for most of the night. He was thankful at five-thirty in the morning Sherlock awoke and groggily sat up in bed and looking surprised to see John staring back at him.
'Did I wake you?' Sherlock asked through sleep thick lips, eyes crinkled as he scratched the back of his impossible curly mop. John shook his head and sat up as well and stretched his sore muscles, rubbing his chest as his heart gave an almighty thump and skip that left him aching and slightly breathless against the sudden intrusion. 'You're never awake this early, you grumble when they wake you up for breakfast.' Sherlock slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom.
When Sherlock came back out, John dared to ask a question. 'What can you tell me about Irene Adler?' He tried to sound as casual as he could as Sherlock stooped down to reach for a hoodie, he paused face scrunching up in confusion for a second before he pulled the garment on against the chilly morning.
'Is that the girl you have been avoiding me with?' Sherlock sat back down on his bed with a yawn. John just nodded; of course Sherlock would have picked up that bit of information. Not that he could be blamed for avoiding the obnoxious git. 'Eighteen, Nymphomaniac and manipulative. She's in here for sleeping with and blackmailing her psychology teacher with sexually explicit images to gain a passing grade despite poor attendance and grades. She also prefers women, and finds sexual interaction with men purely entertainment. You can see it in the way she handles men and herself, probably stems from past sexual abuse from a male close to her when she was younger. Bright and intelligent, issues with control and impulse. Hides her obvious insecurities behind her sexual interest.'
Holding up a hand with a grimace 'okay that will do. Thanks.' John mumbled and let his head drop in to his hands. How did he not see that coming? Nothing good ever seemed to come from asking Sherlock to deduce someone, good chance Sherlock had even managed to sneak a look at her file somehow, no way he had been able to glean that much just from looking at Irene.
'You slept with her.' John's head shot up and his face flamed a deep red, he was confused when he unwillingly met Sherlock's eyes and thought he saw hurt there for a minute… that couldn't be right.
'I-I didn't mean to.' Sherlock snorted. 'I didn't know she was a sex addict or I never would have gone to her room at all, bloody hell what I have done.' Burying his head again John groaned and fell back on his mattress with a dramatic thump.
'Honestly why else would you have gone to her room, she is a female to whom you have been sharing close contact with for the past month and a half; were you just going to sit on top of the sheets and cuddle?' Letting a mumbled yes, John groaned against Sherlock's sarcastic snort. 'Are you saying you accidentally let her suck your cock and have sex with you?'
'Sherlock!' John buried his head in the blankets.
'You better hope she doesn't want anything from you John, she is very manipulative. Do you want to come with me and beg the night staff pathetically to let us up to the cafeteria for coffee?'
'God yes.' John rolled off the bed and pulled a cardigan on over his bedclothes and slumped off after Sherlock, grumbling the whole way up to the cafeteria. Apparently Sherlock's version of begging to be let up early consisted of swapping money for both cigarettes and access.
Sherlock wasn't hurt that John had slept with Irene. He wasn't. At least that was what he tried telling himself as they both stood silently and made themselves bitter cups of coffee with extra sweetener to try and wake up. It had shocked him to turn over and find John looking back at him, normally in the mornings it was just him and he took the moment to appreciate the state of utter relaxation that graced John's muscular face, the way his jaw loosened and his mouth hung open to release a small trail of drool that was dried white by the time Sherlock took in his features. The blonde of his eyelashes delicate against his tanned skin from so much time on a rugby field.
Realising that John had asked the question about Irene was because he had slept with her if the groan and dramatic way he had flopped back against the mattress had been any indication, Sherlock had felt a sting in his chest and a burn of jealous he that he didn't understand. He had been sharp and blunt with John over the past few days; unconsciously pushing his friend away when he ultimately he should have been enjoying the company. But it was hard not to fall back on bad habits of isolating himself when things got to be too much.
But for John to have gone off so easily and then just as easily fallen in to Irene's almost siren song hurt and tugged at him. So far John had seen and heard more about Sherlock than anyone else in his life, he was an easy going person who was easy and amiable and didn't take any effort to talk to. Sherlock even enjoyed his company, didn't mind the occasional touch of skin or limbs when they settled on the floor. It was comfortable.
In the end though, Sherlock knew it was his fault. He had brought his walls back up rapidly after John had found him pathetically cowering in the shower trying to wash phantom hands off his flesh, the lingering effects of a memory he had burned and rapidly tried to delete from his mind had kept sneaking in on him. It was affecting his sleep with unreachable nightmares that woke him through the night panicked and sweaty as he heaved gasping breaths around silent sobs he hoped wouldn't wake John. It had made him brittle and tightly wound, so he had become snappish and cruel in response to John trying to offer him assistance, a shoulder to lean on even one night when Sherlock had yelled out and woken to find John hovering over him with nervous eyes. He had been quick to snap off whatever first deduction about John had come to mind at the time and he had been quickly left alone to dwell on the left overs of his nightmares alone.
That night he had regretted being so mean straight away, as John had scuttled off like a scorned pet and he had been left to fall back to damp sheets and shiver on his own. He would have much preferred to have had John stay there, to sit up with him and touch shoulders and talk quietly. But instead he had laid there and tried to slow down his breathing and keep quiet until John's snores had filled the room again and he had escaped to the bathroom to sob in to his knees and scratch at the littered scars on his arm, desperate either for illicit drugs or the sharp throb and welling of blood as he tore in to himself.
It had been nights like that when he had been living at home with his parents that he would succumb to the cold bite of a razor blade he had stolen from his father's shaving kit, but back then all he had needed to worry about was the bullying at school that drove him in to deep depression and the mindless boredom of the classroom when he got too far ahead of the class. His mind rapidly fell apart landing him in the position of making friends with the wrong people and coming in to the right drugs that made everything that much more bearable.
But here on the ward he didn't have access to any of that when his mind started to cave in on itself and he couldn't put it back in order, all he had was John and now he had forced him away with his stupid big mouth that he could never keep closed.
'How do you sit out here every morning, its bloody freezing and I have body fat!' John complained as he shuffled deeper in to his cardigan against the chill of the crisp morning, the sky was a crystal blue that spoke of a promising day but without the sun at its full peak the breeze was cold from the night before. John sat down close to Sherlock, shivering as they huddled with their coffee mugs clutched between their hands for warmth.
Shrugging Sherlock put his mug between his bony thighs and reached for the cigarette behind his ear and put it in his mouth. 'Coffee and a cigarette raise your blood pressure and heart rate and spike your body temperature.' He mumbled around the smoke before lighting it and drawing back deeply. The first inhale of the day always made his head spin in the most pleasant way and he shut his eyes against the sway of his body as his lungs protested against the thick grey plume of smoke he easily exhaled in to the morning. He offered the cigarette to John on whim; bony pale finger tips a bright red against the bite of the cold making his nailbeds sickly blue.
'I don't think it's appropriate for a future doctor to start sucking on cancer sticks, but thanks.' John laughed, Sherlock felt him unconsciously lean a little closer to him. They were now pressed together from thigh to shoulder.
They stayed quiet as Sherlock blew smoke rings between the occasional mouthfuls of coffee; the stuff was truly awful here. He was almost willing to ask Mycroft to make an anonymous donation of a coffee machine for the patients lounge but didn't want to be left even more in his older brother's debt.
'I am sorry for being truly awful to you John, it is just a horrible way of coping when things get so hard and I am not accustomed to having a friend I need to be nice to. I believe I am still learning to realise when someone is trying to help me and not just being manipulative or for their own worth.' Sherlock blew out a long plume of grey smoke, the tendrils drifting lazily away from them.
For a minute he didn't think John would respond to his sudden apology, he had felt his shoulder tense up against him. 'It's okay Sherlock, just remember that sometimes words can really hurt whether you mean them to or not.' Their shoulders bumped as John accepted the apology. 'I don't want to get all parental or controlling here; but you need to talk to Lestrade. The guy honestly wants to help you, give him a chance and maybe you won't need to apologise for slipping up so much.'
Casting his eyes to the endless blue of the sky Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I don't know how to open myself up like that, I shut that part of myself up a long time ago John. The drugs…' He sighed. 'the drugs and the lifestyle I chose for myself changed me in a lot of ways and I don't think I have the ability to get any of it back; let alone the right too.'
'Of course you have the right to Sherlock, what makes you think you don't?' John had turned his head to face him now and their mouths were so close together it was almost distracting. Irene had been kissing those lips last night.
Looking away Sherlock shrugged. 'I lost my right to be vulnerable and open the moment I agreed to suck cock for a living; you can't allow emotions to get involved when you live like that. You shut off and see the next bloke as a way to get high and wind down; you don't process or go back to the drug den and cry in to your pillow or you will never make it. So I shut it all off and just learned to enjoy the moment as best as I could and move on.'
Sherlock's empty mug was suddenly pulled from his clammy palm before John replaced it with his own hand and squeezed. 'You don't live like that anymore Sherlock, it's time to move on from that and learn to open up all over again.' John squeezed his hand again. 'You have a friend now, I'll be here for you when things get hard but you need to at least try okay?'
Nodding Sherlock smiled softly down at their interlocked fingers.