Helloo (peeking around the corner afraid you may throw something at my head) The Cold East Wind here. Remember me? I have a little something for you if your interested. Before we go back to kicking ass and extracting names, we drop in on our boys where we left them, at The Waldorf Astoria in Berlin.
~Conversation In The Small Hours of The Morning~
-Part One-
John and Sherlock spent three idyllic days at The Waldorf Astoria. No strike teams to call down upon the heads of would be miscreants. No big brother lurking behind every CCTV camera, just the two of them. Unguarded. Un rushed. Naked. Literally and figuratively.
"S...A...S." Sherlock kissed the letters onto John's belly, where he'd been resting his head and laughed quietly as it caused an involuntary flutter coupled with John's light laughter. "How long have you been The Queens weapon?" Sherlock asked.
"The Queens Weapon? Isn't that a bit I don't know dramatic?" John looked down at Sherlock's playful eyes. God he was beautiful.
"Normally I would agree. It's a description with a certain weight. But I've seen you work, and you're quite good. No other word will do. So then how long?" Sherlock punctuated the words by trailing his fingers along the soft path of blond hair that ran from John's navel all the way down...
"Ten years." John's own voice startled him with its aching far away tone as he continued to tangle his fingers through Sherlock's mess of curls.
"And how will it all end? Will you retire to the countryside one day?" Sherlock tried to remain jovial but the air had grown heavy and Sherlock cursed himself for such clumsy words.
"Mmm. Men like me don't retire." John ran his knuckles over sharp cheekbones and he met Sherlock's pale liquid eyes. Sherlock looked away sadden by John's words but said nothing. He was right tho. Men who did what John did, didn't get old and tell war stories by the fire. They died bloody in the field at the hands of an enemy, the thought made Sherlock feel sick and hollow. A world without John. He let his head rest back on John's belly, their breathing even and peaceful in this moment mixing and becoming one. John continued to rifle his fingers through thick silk grazing warm scalp.
"Sherlock." John hummed the syllables soft and low. "Sherlock." Drawn out over long sighs, Sherlock knew that this was perfection. This was all there was and all there ever needed to be. John. Just John. And him. It was heartbreaking.
"Consulting dick." John made to change the solemn tone. "Tell me more about what you do."
Sherlock knew what John was trying to do so he took a deep breath through his nose, he steadied himself sat up and moved his naked form from between John's legs to the foot of the bed sitting crossed legged back impossibly straight. He could feel the sting at the back of his eyes begin to betray him. But no. None of that. John had asked a question. Best get to it. Sherlock jutted his chin pinned a pretty smile on, and jumped in.
"Consulting dick?! Forensic scientist I'll have you know, theoretical physicist, a botanist, a chemist and a private detective all in one. I lend assistance, to a Detective Inspector Lestrade, and his woefully inept team of subordinates when their out of their depth. Which is always. Mostly."
John had sat up, back against the headboard while Sherlock outlined his litany of skills. John drew a sheet over his naked body that Sherlock snatched away throwing it to the floor grinning all the while he spoke. John smiled and gave a half laugh shook his head and pulled a pillow over his lap.
"I see what others overlook." Sherlock raised a suggestive eyebrow at the offending pillow. "I solve the puzzle. Murder, cold cases, kidnapping, jewel heist. I also have a wide variety of clients, not just NSY. I've worked for the FBI, Shayetet 13, royal families, and well more then I care to name."
"That's brilliant. And incredibly dangerous. Now I see how you fell into the hands of the Russian's. I'm shocked as shit I didn't have to come rescue you sooner. You live a very interesting life Sherlock Holmes."
"Would you like to be a part of it?" Sherlock asked impulsively.
"More then anything." John's answer was automatic. Pillow joined sheet on the floor.