A.N. Ohh, thank you guys for the feedback! Seriously, thank you!And i think I should warn you that there are only 23 chapters in this part of the series, so it will go on hiatus afterwards (until season 2 aired and I've finished my PhD thesis).
Chapter Twenty One
Since Sherlock seemed adamant to leave the hotel, John folded the sheets and put Sherlock's trousers on top and then went down to reception to let them know about the laundry. The man did not even raise an eyebrow. Well, considering it was the wedding suite, they probably didn't expect anything else. Maybe they were even surprised that they had made it through two nights without any earlier request for new sheets. John knew he was blushing again and he decided to stop thinking about what others might or might not think about them. Sherlock seemed to fare quite well with that attitude.
Outside, he found Sherlock staring at the neighbouring houses.
"You're not paranoid, are you?" John asked him.
Sherlock just turned around and started walking. "Sheep frequently graze by the side of the road. They have miles and miles of room, and they chose to be in the one dangerous place. Why is that?"
John grinned. "They're quite a bit like a certain consulting detective, don't you think?"
"Or like a certain army doctor," Sherlock retorted.
"Good one," John laughed and bumped playfully into Sherlock, who didn't look down, but John could see the barely hidden grin.
They bought breakfast in a pub, and Sherlock ate all of it, which made John rather happy. After they were done, he pulled him in for a long kiss, smiling at Sherlock's slightly confused look, and then proceeded to kiss that look off his face.
The remark about kissing in public was lost on John as he pulled on his coat. Today, he didn't care.
Outside, Sherlock decided to walk east and John followed him without really paying attention. Only when it started to rain did he notice that they were well out of the town centre. "I left the umbrella," John noted, slightly miserable as the icy rain fell down on them. Sherlock simply shrugged and walked on. For a moment John was mad at him for not even suggesting to find a roof to stand under, but when Sherlock stepped onto the street which lead uphill and suddenly lost his balance, arms failing widely as his feet couldn't seem to find their hold and only managed to not fall on his arse because of a ridiculous jump and balance act which left him standing with feet wide apart and his arms stretched out to both sides, John forgot everything he had wanted to say. Instead he burst out laughing.
The rain had turned into ice on the street, and while John's shoes were doing a good job stopping him from slipping, Sherlock's expensive black shiny shoes obviously did not.
John knew that Sherlock hated it to be made fun of, but he couldn't reign in his laughter. Tears were running down his face and he wiped at his cheeks with gloved fingers, watching as Sherlock remained stock-still in his position, undoubtedly wanting to glare at him but not daring to turn around.
It took John a while to calm down again and when he finally caught his breath, he straightened and walked up to Sherlock, who looked on in contempt. The look set John off into giggles again, and as he looked at Sherlock he carefully stroked his cheek to show him that he didn't mean to make him feel bad. After a few moments, Sherlock's expression softened.
"Help?" he eventually said, sounding ridiculously lost.
"Sherlock," John simply said, taking his glove off to stroke his cheek again, feeling the icy water against his fingers. Then he stepped closer and hugged him tightly, feeling Sherlock's shoes slip away underneath him. "I can't carry you, but you'll have to make it to the sidewalk, alright?"
Sherlock hugged him back, huffing against his cheek. "This could ruin me if I was on a case. I need to get other shoes."
John laughed out loud again. "It would also make the Yard stop calling you a freak."
"Oh, Donavan and Anderson would certainly have a field day," Sherlock remarked drily.
"It did look spectacular, though," John said, pressing his lips to Sherlock's ear.
"I'm glad I could entertain you." The sarcasm in his voice made John sigh.
"I could let you go again, you know?" Sherlock instinctively grabbed him more tightly.
"Just get me off this street."
"Sorry I laughed."
"John!"
"Fine, come on." John stepped to the side, which made Sherlock slide around a bit again and his hands grabbed John's coat tightly. "Stop that, you have to relax. Have you never walked on ice before?"
"Not on ice that was forming under my feet as I was walking, no."
John grinned and plucked Sherlock's left hand from his waist. "Don't move," he instructed and draped Sherlock's right arm over his shoulder. When he started to walk, Sherlock simply slipped away from underneath him and ended up almost falling again, holding himself up by clinging to John's arms.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" John was laughing again and Sherlock glared. It was still raining and it wouldn't get any better, so John tested the ground again and then pulled Sherlock up.
"Stay," he said, holding up his index finger as if Sherlock was a dog. Then he turned with his back to his lover, grinning all the while. "Come on, love, up you go."
To his surprise, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and eventually climbed up onto his back. John was laughing so hard he barely made it under the nearest tree where the ground was not covered in ice. When he let Sherlock down, he had to lean against a wall. They would never make it home like this, and they were fairly far away from any shops or cafés now. He looked at Sherlock, whose hair was starting to freeze. The temperature had dropped drastically over the past half hour, and they clearly needed to get out of the rain. "Wait here, I'll be back," he announced and walked down the street instead of up. They had come along a small park, and the only houses there were closed and empty; probably holiday homes which were now deserted. There were more of these houses ahead and he tried a few doors, but all were locked. He found a phone booth and pulled out a few coins with fingers which were now stiff from the cold. When he dialled the number of the cab company which had advertisement plastered all over the inside of the booth, he was reminded of the lift shaft. For a moment he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe evenly as the phone rang.
He was told that because of the weather, all public transport had been suspended. John didn't argue. Instead he was glad that his shoes were thankfully not forcing him to slide and slip around and embarrass himself like Sherlock had.
When he came back he found Sherlock standing pressed against the wall of the house, shivering slightly. "Oh, Sherlock, come on, we need to get you somewhere inside."
"Do we?" Sherlock asked, but his sarcasm was spoiled by a shiver which ran through his entire body.
John simply grabbed him and dragged him along the sidewalk, so he could hold onto the wall with one hand and use John to hold himself up with the other. Eventually they came to a stable and John left him standing again and forced the door open. When he came back out he was grinning. "It's such a cliché," he said happily, "but it'll have to do."
Sherlock needed John's help even to get into the barn and when he dropped down on a wooden bench by the door, exhaling loudly, John laughed again.
"Shut up!"
"I am so glad I got to see you flail like this," John answered, grinning as he closed the door. It wasn't exactly warm inside, but it was dry and felt somewhat warmer.
Sherlock didn't respond. Instead he stood up again and started to explore the barn.
"Sherlock," John said warningly, "come back here."
He stopped, and after a moment he did turn around. "What now?"
"We need to get dry."
Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, the ice in it having melted. "There, dry."
"You're such a..." John stopped before he said something which would undoubtedly offend him. "Come here."
And finally he did. John started unbuttoning his coat and pushed it over his shoulders. The jumper underneath was dry. He made sure by running his hands over Sherlock's chest and down to his stomach. Sherlock squirmed.
Then he unwrapped his scarf which was already wet and used it as a makeshift towel to dry Sherlock's hair a bit. "There, that's much better," he said with a smile, gently patting his cheek.
Sherlock seemed unable to decide whether to stare him down or find him adorable. It was a very odd mix and John found it hard to keep his face straight. Instead, he tried to focus on the way Sherlock looked now; so unlike himself.
"John," Sherlock simply said. He knew that Sherlock felt strange to be looked at like this, but he couldn't help himself. His hair was a complete mess, his cheeks reddened from the cold. The way he stood there, still a little hunched as if he didn't trust his feet, despite being on dry and solid ground now.
"What do we do about your shoes?"
"They never did that in London," Sherlock stared at his shoes as if they had personally betrayed him. Well, they had, in a way.
"You have an incredible sense of balance," John noted, not quite serious. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, his lips tightening as if he was biting back a hurtful remark, then he took a few long steps towards John and kissed him hard. "Need to warm up," he justified himself in between kisses.
John smiled into the kiss and gently tugged Sherlock's shirt out of his jeans. His skin was hot despite the weather. The jumper had served its purpose. "John, cold hands," Sherlock grunted, but he didn't try to shake him off.
They kissed for a long time, and even though it was an incredibly heated kiss, Sherlock kept his hands out of John's clothes, and John only stroked Sherlock's back and didn't venture anywhere else. Eventually they parted. Warming up had definitely been achieved.
"Your hair is still wet," Sherlock murmured as he drew his hands through John's hair. "As always, you only cared about me," he added, speaking very quietly. It sounded almost like an accusation and John knew why.
"Sorry," he said, shedding his own coat and pulling his jumper over his head, using it to pat his hair dry. Sherlock watched him for a moment and then turned around, venturing into the half dark of the barn. Then, as he opened a door in the back, a small gleeful sound escaped him. "What?" John asked.
Sherlock didn't answer and John heaved a sigh and followed him. He found his friend on one knee in front of a very fluffy looking sheep. When John had thought that Sherlock would look ridiculously adorable holding the skull in a Hamlet like fashion he had underestimated the effect which Sherlock had on him as he stared into the golden eyes of a sheep in a mixture of adoration and clinical interest.
"She's not afraid of me," Sherlock announced. "So their vital reflexes are clearly not in working order."
John chuckled. "Did you try staring it down? I don't think sheep are very impressed by threatening looks." He received just one of those looks as an answer.
The small stable held about a dozen sheep, all of them completely white with no coloured marking of ownership. John wished now, more than ever, that he had brought a camera. An idea struck him. "Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock kept staring at the sheep, probably trying to silently communicate with it. John bit his lip. "Can I leave you with her for a few minutes without having to fear to be cheated on?"
Sherlock shot up from where he was kneeling, blinking as his blood needed a second to reach his head. "John, did you really just stoop so low as to make a sheep shagging joke?"
"There was never an opportunity more fitting," John defended himself with a wide grin.
For a moment Sherlock remained unimpressed, but then his expression changed. Suddenly the air between them was burning and John inhaled sharply, reaching for the door behind to stabilise him. While he was surprised by the sudden mood change, Sherlock was not. With a growl he flattened himself against John, pushing him against the door frame, cupping his head as to make sure he wouldn't hit it again and kissed him with such passion that John let go of the wooden frame and instead clutched at Sherlock in a desperate attempt to keep upright.
In a flash it was over. He blinked as Sherlock disentangled himself from him and stepped back. "What in the world ..." John tried to catch his breath, but it seemed impossible.
"No reason to be jealous," Sherlock said with a smirk and knelt down in front of the quiet sheep again.
John laughed until he was even more out of breath. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days," he muttered, half heartedly kicking into Sherlock's general direction.
"Don't slip on the ice," Sherlock retorted smugly without turning around.
For a second John considered paying Sherlock back, but he didn't want to waste any more time. Without a word he closed the door and, pulling his jumper and his coat back on again, went outside and back into town. The stores were open, but there were no people around. The department store seemed deserted, but when he entered a small photography shop, he was welcomed with a smile. "Rubbish outside, innit?" he man behind a small desk greeted him. "How can I help you?"
John smiled, remembering that he had no idea of the balance on his bank account, but frankly, he didn't care. "I need a camera. Just a small one, but it needs to react quickly. You know, when you try to photograph animals or children who run around all the time. Don't want blurry pictures," he grinned, thinking of Sherlock's resistance to be photographed which he would undoubtedly encounter as soon as he wanted him to pose.
The man was extremely helpful with his advice, selling John a small Canon Powershot a1000 IS for half its price as it was an outdated model and yet exactly what John wanted. He promised to send him any wild life pictures he would take, and, grinning, went to the shoe store which he had spotted as he had arrived. He wished he could call Sherlock to see how he was holding up and for a moment he considered to just throw his rule in the wind and get their phones, but then he decided against it and bought Sherlock some lovely walking boots which he would make Sherlock pay for in whichever currency he chose.
He found Sherlock sitting in the middle of the little flock on a small stool, simply observing.
"Any break-through?" John asked as he watched him with a smile.
"They are easy to scare, and they react the same way every time. They seem to forget that I am no threat and as soon as I get loud, they try to run away."
"You got loud?" John asked, feeling slightly sorry for the unsuspecting fluffy animals which were now happily munching away on some hay.
"I yelled, what else could I do to achieve the effect?"
"PETA would love you," John retorted with a snort and when Sherlock finally looked at him, confusion written all over his face, John had to fight hard not to laugh at him. "Animal rights organisation."
"Whatever," Sherlock answered and finally got up. "You got me boots you wonderful man," he exclaimed even before John had the chance to tell him about it. Instead of being irritated, John simply grinned happily as Sherlock grabbed for the bag which sat next to the door. He toed off his shoes and experimentally stepped into the right boot.
"Fit?" John asked, slightly worried that he's misremembered Sherlock's size and would have to go back to the store.
Sherlock simply smiled and put the other one on. He looked even stranger now, John noticed. Like a farm hand who was ready to tackle his day's chores. Sherlock looked more attractive than he had any right to be.
"John?"
"Hmm?" He looked up at Sherlock's face, realising he had stared quite blatantly. "Umm, sorry," he murmured, trying to shake off the feeling of awe.
"No, it's ... fine," Sherlock said, somewhat coyly.
"Close the door," John said, sounding calm again. For a moment, Sherlock looked a little unsure about that request, but he didn't question it and closed the wooden door. Wordlessly, John pulled the small camera out of his coat pocket. "Don't move," he said, making it sound like a warning.
Sherlock remained as he was, completely still. John took a picture. No flash. He knew he could get decent pictures out of this camera if only his hands would stop shaking. He used the flash on the next one, shaking his head slightly. No, he'd have to get him out of this dim light, preferably naked and begging for his attention.
Okay, wrong thought. Very wrong. But so good. He put the camera back and still Sherlock didn't move. So he went to grab Sherlock's scarf and threw it at him. "Back to the hotel then."
"Not here?"
He was surprised by the question, guessing that Sherlock had anticipated some sort of sexual encounter in this barn.
"Not here. I don't want to get arrested. I also don't want to disturb the sheep. And it's too cold."
"There's nobody here but us. No one has been here for at least seven hours, and it will most likely be another eight before anyone comes to check on them. The door is closed, so they wouldn't be disturbed. I'm also sure that it would be warm enough very soon."
John knew he was losing this game, but he was adamant at being the sensible one of the two. "The bed is more comfortable. We also don't have what we need."
Sherlock smiled. "I do not necessarily consider any bed to be of particular importance to what I want to do with you. And I certainly have all I need," he nodded at John, who flushed with pleasure at Sherlock's exclamation.
"I meant condoms," he argued.
"You want to fuck me?" Sherlock seemed slightly surprised, which he had any right to be, considering how stubborn John had been this morning.
John stood a little straighter at Sherlock's use of words. Trust him to call things by their name. "That was my intention, yes."
"Was or is?"
"Keep on talking like this and I'm not going to care for condoms or lubricant anymore." He didn't mean it. He would never do that to Sherlock, especially not since they both hadn't quite figured things out yet, but saying it gave him a strange confidence; something which he had lacked a bit when it came to sex with Sherlock. And the effect it had on Sherlock was also quite remarkable. He could see him getting aroused. Colour rose to his cheeks and his hands started to fidget at his sides. Eventually he exhaled noisily, biting his lips as to keep himself from talking.
"Undress," John ordered, feeling somewhat high on the power he had over Sherlock in that moment. "Slowly," he added as Sherlock started to push his jumper over his head. So Sherlock took his time with his shirt, his eyes locked with John's. Somewhere in the back of his mind John realised that Sherlock was actually the one who got his will, but he didn't care. He got Sherlock to strip for him, what more could he ask for. Just as Sherlock flicked open the buttons of his jeans, a loud noise came from behind the door. Sherlock froze.
For a few seconds, neither of them dared to breathe, but then a string of suppressed curses reached them and Sherlock bent down, picking up John's jumper where he had dropped it, shaking it free of dirt and straw and pulled it on, ignoring his own shirt. When he had closed his jeans again, he quietly walked up to John, pressing the shirt into his hands. "Out, check out the back. They are trying to steal the sheep."
John stared at him, still a bit dazed by the show and the shock of interruption which had followed so unexpectedly. Before he could respond, Sherlock pressed a quick and heated kiss to his lips and pushed him towards the door.
Outside, John stuffed the shirt into his coat pocket and rubbed his face. What in the world had just happened? Oh, right, burglars. Thank God they hadn't been naked and going at it like rabbits. With a snort he carefully walked around the barn, flattening himself against the wall, glancing around the corner. How had they not heard the truck approaching? Two men were walking out of the stable, carrying one sheep each. This time, however, the sheep weren't quiet but were baaing as if their life depended on it. John suppressed a short giggle, and, instead of giving himself away, pulled out the camera and took a few pictures from where he was hiding. Then he put it back into his pocket and waited for something to happen.
The men went back in and for a moment, only the noise of the sheep could be heard until, suddenly, a violent roar came from inside the stable and the two men came chasing out, slipping on the ice as they tried to run towards their car. This was John's chance. He jumped out and grabbed the man who was closest to him, tackling him and holding him down on the ground. Surprised by the sudden attack from the side, the other man stared at John as Sherlock threw himself on the other man in a slightly less elegant fashion than John had, but just as efficiently.
"Sherlock?" John asked to break the awkward silence which followed. The sheep from the stable had filed out of the building but remained close, sensing the slippery ground.
"Don't move and don't speak," Sherlock said, sounding very sure of himself. "Everything you say can be used against you in court."
"You're not the police," the man who was held down by John said, making John pull at his arm a little tighter, causing no damage, but undoubtedly hurting him.
When John looked back up he saw Sherlock as he used a rope to bind the man's hands behind his back. For a moment, John was distracted by how quickly and efficiently Sherlock worked with that rope, but then he watched on as Sherlock yanked him up to his feet and led him back into the barn. A few moments later he came out, repeating the action with the other man.
"Not the police, no," he answered with a half smile, "just a consulting detective on holiday. Tough luck."
John burst into giggles again, but shut up when he caught Sherlock's expression. It wasn't that he was angry at John for losing it in this situation. Sherlock simply looked at him as if he was a marvel and that made his heart skip a beat and then hammer away.
After Sherlock had manhandled the other man into the stable as well, John tried to shoo the sheep back in, but it didn't quite work. It did work, though, when Sherlock came back out and let out another roar like he had when he had scared the two men; the sheep all hurried to get back inside, leaving John to drop to his knees in helpless laughter. "Fuck, Sherlock. You'll be the death of me," he gasped for breath.
"Come, John, let's give the local police a call." They both went back to the phone booth from which John had called the cab company, and, in a few words, Sherlock explained to them what had happened and where they could find the two thieves.
John leaned his head against the cold glass, looking at Sherlock's flushed face. "How did you know they were thieves and not the owners of the sheep? You know that we could get into real trouble for restraining them."
"Trust me, they were. I will explain it to you later, if you'll still want me to, but I gather you're not quite as interested in my deduction as in my ability to tie a knot?" he raised one eyebrow suggestively and John lunged forward, crowding Sherlock into the tiny space between the window and the phone. He knew he'd probably bruise Sherlock, but judging by the eagerness with which he was kissed back, his friend didn't seem to care much about that.
Sherlock grabbed his hair, pulling him even closer as he wrapped one and then the other leg around John's hips. Suddenly John realised that carrying Sherlock earlier must have triggered some kind of fantasy in him which now bubbled to the surface. He plucked Sherlock's left hand out of his hair and placed it on top of the phone box. "Hold on," he grunted as he grabbed hold of Sherlock's arse to pull him higher and then push him against the glass again to keep him up.
There was no room, and he knew he couldn't stay in his position for long, but Sherlock pushed against him, tightening his legs so he could feel his heat against his stomach and John attacked his mouth again. This was the most indecent thing he had done in his life, and God it felt great. He pushed harder and harder still, making Sherlock shudder. Then, after quite a bit of fumbling and trying to dig his way under Sherlock's coat, he pushed his hand into his jeans and grabbed his arse again. Sherlock jerked, his right elbow hitting the uppermost window, sending a shower of glass to the ground. "Fuck," John grunted, trying to keep his knees from giving in. Seconds and he would collapse.
Sherlock carefully dropped his legs and came to stand, John still pressing against him. For a moment they simply breathed against each other, but when the sound of distant sirens reached their ears, John stepped back, almost dropping to the ground as his knees were indeed very wobbly now. Sherlock grabbed his arm and held him up. "You okay?"
John nodded, somewhat delirious. How Sherlock had found that on-switch that he hadn't known about was a mystery, but he had, and it could turn into a rather big problem. Well, only if they weren't at home. If they were at home it would be the opposite of a problem. He chuckled. "Are you?"
"Yeah, fine."
Sherlock pushed the door open and stalked outside. For a moment John wondered whether he had been hurt after all, but then, just as the police car pulled up next to the barn, he realised his mistake.