John woke up, feeling warm and relaxed. He was spooning Sherlock, holding him loosely in his arms. It was surprisingly comfortable, and he felt a surge of emotions over having him so close.
Sherlock seemed to wake up then, and he rolled over to face John. His green eyes were sleepy, making him look younger. His messy hair and the pillow crease on his cheek were just too much to resist, and John leaned in to kiss him lightly.
He kept the kisses slow and sweet, just teasing Sherlock with lightly brushing their lips, moving his head back when Sherlock tried to intensify them. Eventually, he sunk against the pillow, giving into John's slower pace, letting him take the lead.
Kissing slowly down Sherlock's body, John took his time to explore like he never had before. Previous encounters had always been hot, urgent and passionate. It was fun to touch, tease and explore, glorifying in the way Sherlock responded to it all. He was breathing faster, arching off the bed, moaning. His arousal was feeding directly into John's.
By the time John finally submitted to Sherlock's pleas, thrusting into him slowly, they were both on the edge. Still, John kept a slow pace, meeting Sherlock's gaze as they moved together, watching him closely for every flit of pleasure across his face. Every motion was to draw the most pleasure from his partner, making that the focus, his own desire secondary. Watching Sherlock reach his peak, panting and moaning his name, was what finally pushed John over the edge, tucking his face against Sherlock's neck as he shuddered in his arms.
It was only a few minutes later, when John had his breath back, that he realized how quiet and still Sherlock was, lying beside him. Propping himself up on one elbow, John looked down at him. "Are you OK?"
Sherlock had been looking towards the window, and he glanced quickly at John before nodding. He sat up on the edge of the bed, grabbing the thick bathrobe John had bought him yesterday, and slipping it on. "Is it alright if I shower first?"
"Yes. Yes, of course." John reached out to stroke a hand down Sherlock's arm, but the man was already moving out of reach.
Rolling onto his back, John stared at the ceiling as he listened to the bathroom door close and the shower start up. Sherlock was so hard to read at times, and he wasn't that open with his feelings. Had the way John touched him been too much? Too...intimate? He seemed to have responded well to it during... but afterwards...?
Perhaps this whole situation was screwing both of them up. Forced intimacy of sharing their space, their time. Normally they would only be together a few hours for sex, and then go their separate ways for a few days. Now they were eating and sleeping together, practically acting like a married couple. John had even bought him clothes.
John sighed in relief of the thought of going back to work tomorrow. It would be good to get some time on his own, and to do normal things. Time away from Sherlock to get back some perspective.
They would be running around today again, investigating any lead they came across. It had gone surprisingly well yesterday, getting good information at the stadium and from Paolo's mother. Interesting that she seemed to respect Sherlock's work, assuming that he was 'the chemist' she was referring to. How were they going to find out who else Paolo was getting treatments from?
He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the bathroom door opening. Getting out of bed, he put on his own robe, and stretched as he left the bedroom.
Sherlock was sitting on a living room lounger, still in his bathrobe, his wet hair in messy curls. He was working on his tablet, and barely glanced up as John passed him.
Sighing, John stepped into the shower. His emotions were a jumbled mess, as he rubbed a soapy facecloth over the many places Sherlock had left his mark. Light bruises on his arm from grabbing him on the street yesterday, and on his hips from last night. Bite marks low on his neck and his inner thigh. Whisker burn from kissing Sherlock, his stubble scratching against John's face. All these marks would fade in time.
John was more worried about his growing feelings for the man. Those wouldn't fade as easily when he left.
...
After dressing, John went into the kitchen. Sherlock was already at the table, munching on a piece of toast smeared with peanut butter and jam as he read his tablet.
Pouring himself a cup of tea after putting bread in the toaster, John was glad Sherlock was making himself at home. He sipped the tea, looking outside. Heavy dark clouds blanketed the sky, and there was a steady drizzle that probably wouldn't let up anytime soon. Normally, he would curl up under a blanket on Sundays like this, listening to some good music while diving into some good fiction. But instead he would be braving the elements with a moody git.
After he prepared his toast, he sat down across from Sherlock, noticing the chairs were back in their regular positions. Last night's clingy period was a short term aberration, it seemed.
He pulled out his own tablet, checking his emails as he ate. Giving Sherlock the space he was clearly telegraphing that he needed. There was a new one from Mike, and he opened it immediately.
After reading it, he glanced up, ready to share the new information with Sherlock. But the words stuck in his throat, seeing the way the man was looking at him.
"Why do you live like this?" Sherlock asked, seeming exasperated.
John was confused. "Like how?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and waved around the flat. "You are one of the best orthopedic surgeons in Britain, and you make good money, but you live in this dump. Your flat is so tiny you can't even fit a sofa in the living room. Your shower is only lukewarm with lousy water pressure. You buy secondhand clothes, and eat cheap food."
The words stung, and John immediately felt defensive, being attacked like this by someone he had been so open with. He hadn't invited Sherlock over before, knowing he probably would be judgmental. "Sorry things aren't up to your standards. You are free to get the fuck out anytime you want." It came out harshly, but John wasn't going to take attitude like that in his own home.
Sherlock jumped up, striding across the flat, looking disgruntled. "You know I can't do that."
John knew, deep down, that he was just a handy target for Sherlock's frustration over the whole situation, and for feeling out of control. From the little he knew about Sherlock, it seemed like he lived his life according to his own set of rules. John understood it, but he refused to be a punching bag for Sherlock.
"I said I'll help you, and I'll let you stay here, Sherlock. But you have no right to attack my lifestyle just because it's different than yours. You owe me an apology." It thankfully came out a lot calmer than the last thing he said. John finished off his toast, washing it down with a sip of tea.
Sherlock let out a big sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. I'm sorry, John. Can we leave soon?" He turned, pulling on a thick wool jumper from his pile of clothes, before donning the cap and glasses.
Knowing it was the best he would probably get out of him, John nodded. He got a big jumper on as well, and his navy mac.
Sherlock seemed to have a destination in mind, holding the umbrella over both of them as they walked down the quiet streets. Weather like this kept most people indoors.
About three blocks away, they turned a corner and Sherlock swore under his breath. He turned to John. "Don't judge me too harshly for this, OK? I'll explain everything later."
John gave him a confused look, and it was even worse when Sherlock guided them over to a car parked on the side of the road, it's electric motor purring almost silently. Sherlock closed the umbrella and climbed into the back of the car, leaving the door open for John.
It took a heartbeat or two of rain hitting his face before John ducked into the vehicle, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock was sitting beside a man on the backseat, so John sat on the folded down seat that faced them. It had been years since he had last been in a car, and he couldn't resist glancing quickly around. This one reminded him a little of the old black taxicabs from his childhood.
When he looked at the other man, he was surprised by his assessing glance. He felt like a bug about to be pinned to a board for scientific study. "So, this is your doctor," the man drawled with a bit of a sneer, looking back at Sherlock.
Sherlock sighed loudly. "Hardly my doctor, Mycroft. Do you have the information or not?"
The older man arched an eyebrow. "Are you denying that you have been involved with him for several weeks, and seemed to have moved in with him?"
"Things aren't always as they appear." Sherlock said impatiently.
Mycroft chuckled, pulling a tablet from a briefcase near his feet. He swiped a few times. "Oh really? What other explanation do you have for this?"
He passed the tablet to Sherlock, who looked it over. "It's really none of your business." He was about to pass the tablet back when John grabbed it. He had had enough of being left out of this conversation.
The tablet showed four grainy black and white photographs. He enlarged the images, making it very clear what he was seeing. Sherlock kissing him in that alley near the restaurant yesterday. The second picture showing John's arms around him. The third picture of them talking, still holding each other. The last one of Sherlock stepping back onto the sidewalk, a pleased grin on his face, as John straightened his clothes behind him.
"How did you get these pictures? Who are you? What do you want?" John stared at the man, a thousand questions zipping through his mind.
Taking the tablet from his loose grasp, Sherlock handed it back to Mycroft. "He's my brother, John. And those aren't the pictures I asked you for." He glared at the other man.
Mycroft...Holmes? John looked at the man closer in the shadowy car interior, and finally placed his face. He was always in the background, never featured, in the Prime Minister's press conferences. Her right-hand man, basically her chief of staff. An incredibly powerful man. No wonder he had a car and a driver.
John tried to match that man from the news with this man glaring like a spoiled brat at his younger brother.
"You'll get them when you give me something." Mycroft said simply, knowing he had the upper hand.
Sherlock huffed. "Fine. John is a fuck buddy upgraded to safe harbor until we resolve the Baresi situation. He is kindly letting me stay at his flat a few days."
Mycroft's expression was disbelieving. "Should I show you more pictures? Holding hands, eating out, shopping?"
"Like I said before, things aren't always as they appear. In John's neighborhood, he is well known and I'm in the role of visiting boyfriend." Sherlock said dismissively.
Mycroft appeared ready to argue his side more, but another glare from Sherlock had him tapping on his tablet. "Fine. I just sent you the pictures. So far, we haven't been able to identify him."
Pulling out his phone, Sherlock checked that he had received the information. "Lay off stalking me, Mycroft." He threw open the car door, opening the umbrella as he went.
John followed him out, standing beside Sherlock as he slammed the door, finally able to breathe freely again.
The car drove off, tail lights glowing red reflecting off the wet streets.
Sherlock was looking intensely at his phone, scrolling through some pictures. He made a frustrated sound, and passed it to John.
Standing close beside Sherlock under an umbrella in the pouring rain, John scrolled through the images. Each one was more shocking that the last. It was more grainy black and white pictures, often from strange angles, or obviously zoomed in, the images blurry. They all had one thing in common. The main subject was John's attacker.
"Mycroft's position gives him access to the CCTV cameras all over the U.K. I told him the times and places we saw the man, and he was able to get these images." Sherlock explained softly, even though there was nobody else near them.
John looked up at Sherlock, so many things clicking through his mind. "That's why you stopped me from chasing after him. You knew Mycroft could probably get you information on him."
"Yes, and partially because you can be a little...impulsive. What could have happened if you took off after him, and got into a bad fight? Your hands are your career, John." Sherlock said, his expression hard to read in the shadow of the umbrella.
John followed his impulse, grabbing Sherlock's head with both hands and snogging him senseless. The berk looked a little stunned when he let him go, the umbrella tilted a bit to the side and dripping water on them.
Grabbing the umbrella from Sherlock's loose grasp, John stomped off towards the tube station. "Safe harbor," he grumbled to himself.
It took a minute for Sherlock to catch up to him, ducking under the umbrella and shaking his wet hair like a dog.
John laughed, shoving Sherlock away. But when Sherlock's arm latched around his waist, pulling John firmly against his side, he relented, matching his pace as they walked on.
...
"We have nothing. This has all been futile." Sherlock moaned dramatically.
John rolled his eyes. Sherlock was turning out to much more moody than he expected. Being him around him more showed that hour by hour, Sherlock could go from being giddy over a lead to seeming anxious and hopeless a few hours later. Was this just the stress of the situation, or how Sherlock really was?
Tearing off a piece of pita bread, John spread it with hummus and chewed it slowly. "We are working our way through his teammates. You got their addresses from the coach's computer, so we know that's accurate information. They aren't all going to be around when we knock on their doors or have leads for us, Sherlock. Investigating is a lot of leg work and dead ends."
"These athletes are bringing stupid to a new low. If a hungry cannibal cracked their heads open, there wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small water biscuit." Sherlock grumbled, taking a bite of his falafel.
The image had John setting down his fork and pushing his plate away, appetite suddenly gone. "Well, that Jeff guy mentioned Paolo getting sick a couple days before he died. If he was vomiting a lot, that could have left him dehydrated. That would had made his hematocrit higher."
Sherlock shrugged. "Perhaps, but it's not very strong evidence, is it? It would hardly dissuade the Yard if they come after me."
John couldn't argue against that point, sipping his water as he thought over the case. Jeff had said the team was given a special dinner a couple days before Paolo's last game, one with biogenic meat. People usually called it 'lab meat', and it was almost as expensive and rare as the real thing these days. Unfortunately, Paolo hadn't tolerated it well, and had been sick all night, not looking great the next day, according to Jeff
Maybe it had nothing to do with his death, but the more they found out about his last few days, or even weeks, the more likely they would uncover the truth.
Sherlock still look discouraged. He had eaten well, at least. Perhaps it was futile, but John wanted to cheer him up. They couldn't give up. "Oh, I forgot to tell you about an email I got earlier. Mike mentioned that he he going to an art show tomorrow night with his wife."
Green eyes flicked up to meet his, the dark frames making them even more attractive. Was John getting a fetish about glasses? "That's terribly exciting, John."
Sighing, John glared at the moody git. "They are going with her friends, Felicity and Oscar."
That had Sherlock leaning forward, suddenly all ears. "Really? Where?"
"The Crypt." John read from his email, as he saw a text come in.
You better be bringing your new boyfriend to the dinner tonight - Francesca
Shit. With Sherlock barging into his life, he had completely forgotten that it was the monthly potluck dinner that night. He looked over at Sherlock, busy with his phone. Would it better to take him, or make an excuse?
Well, if they went tonight, he could meet everyone at once, and it would be easier for him to come and go from the building when John was at work. Besides, they were trying to pass as a couple, and if this was a true relationship, John would be proudly introducing him to everyone.
"Mike and everyone else know me, so I should go to the gallery as myself." Sherlock commented, glancing up at John.
The comment had John nodding. It was getting confusing, trying to keep everything straight. Hopefully, this whole situation would be over soon and he could back to his normal life. "Um, yeah. That makes sense."
Sherlock pinned him with a direct gaze. "Should I go alone?"
The question threw John a little. At first, he thought to object, thinking he should be with Sherlock when he questioned Felicity and Oscar. They had done the investigation together so far, after all. But then he thought of being seen out with Sherlock, by people they both knew. Mike had already suggested John was attracted to Sherlock at the memorial service. He would have no problem believing they were dating or in a relationship. That could get awkward later, when Sherlock went back home and they reverted back to how they had been.
John ran a hand through his hair. "I'd like to be there, but not go with you, if you don't mind. Mike doesn't know that we are..." He blanked completely, not knowing what word to use to describe what they had.
Sherlock arched an eyebrow, grinning slightly at John's discomfort. "Shacking up?"
"Involved." John corrected with a glare. Sherlock could be very irritating at times. "I'll message Mike that I'm interested in that show, and meet them there. You can make an appearance later on. I'll keep Mike and his wife busy, while you talk to Felicity and Oscar."
Nodding, Sherlock was texting on his phone. "I'll ask my landlady to bring a suit to your flat. I can hardly go dressed like this."
The server came by, clearing away their dishes and leaving some pistachio baklava with the bill.
Looking down at the dessert, John sighed, making a decision about that night. "Um, Sherlock, there's a bit of a gathering planned tonight in the building. Our monthly get together."
Setting down his phone, Sherlock took a bite of the baklava, some honey escaping to drip down onto his chin. He scooped it up with a long finger and sucked it clean. "What does it involve?"
John had a hard time looking away from his mouth. "Everyone brings a dish of food to share, a variety of everything. We eat and visit over supper. It's very casual. It would be seem odd if I don't bring my visiting boyfriend. Plus, you can meet everyone at once. Make it easier to come and go on your own from the building while I'm at work."
"Fine." Sherlock said, not overly concerned, before he went back to finishing the pastry.
Then again, they could just go back to the flat right now. Maybe have an afternoon nap... All sorts of images were popping in John's head as he watched Sherlock lick the honey off his bottom lip.
But he pushed them down, taking out some cash to cover the bill. Sherlock had been so distant after their morning session, John wanted to hold back a little. Give Sherlock some space. Just because he was staying with John didn't mean he was up for sex as much as John was.
"So, where to next?" John asked, pulling on his coat.
...
There was a knock on the door, and John opened it to an attractive woman in her seventies, with a friendly smile.
"You must be Mrs. Hudson. Please come in. Sherlock is just in the washroom." John waved for her to enter.
She walked in, carrying an old suit bag draped over one arm. "And you must be John Watson." Her eyes were curious as they scanned over him and around the flat.
Sherlock came out of the washroom. "Hudders!" He enfolded the woman in an enthusiastic hug that had her giggling, and thanked her for bringing the suit. He hung it up in the front closet's door.
John made tea and put out some oatmeal raisin cookies. Sherlock eyed them suspiciously but Mrs. Hudson had a few as she caught Sherlock up on everything. John enjoyed seeing Sherlock interacting so easily with the older woman, his affection clear in his manner with her. He needed some normalcy, something to ground him back in reality like this.
"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson placed her hand on his forearm as she leaned in. "A detective from Scotland Yard was knocking on your door this morning. I told him you had gone away on a trip and I wasn't sure when you'd be back. You don't think they would follow me here, do you?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I don't think they are desperate enough to try things like that yet. If they don't solve the case in a week or so, then maybe."
Getting up, John left them to chat as he made a salad for the dinner later. By the time he finished, it was almost time to go. He looked at the elderly lady, wondering how to get her to leave without seeming rude.
There was a knock on the door, and John found it was Francesca. "Dr. John! Oh good, you are home! You didn't reply to my text earlier so I thought you might be skipping the dinner."
Mrs. Hudson was looking between John and Francesca, clearly wondering what was going on.
"We are coming soon. See you down there." John gave her a forced smile, as he slowly shut the door.
The older woman popped up. "Oh, I'm sorry! You two have dinner plans and I've overstayed my welcome. I'll just get going."
Sherlock seemed to frown slightly as she picked up her purse, looking disappointed at the abrupt end of their talk.
"Um, Mrs. Hudson, would you like to join us? It's just a casual dinner my building has each month. There's always heaps of food, and everyone is quite friendly." John found himself saying. "Plus, Sherlock won't be the only new person there then."
He got big smiles from both of them in return, and it felt quite good. They explained that she would have to call Sherlock 'Frank', and gave her his fake backstory. She chuckled, seeming delighted at being included. They decided to say that she was a friend of Frank's family, keeping things as vague as possible.
John went to tidy up and change into fresh clothes, feeling a bit nervous about the evening. Sherlock had been moody all day. Would he behave himself around John's neighbours? John still had to live with them after Sherlock moved back to his own flat. Would Mrs. Hudson remember to call Sherlock 'Frank'? Would she be able to keep their story straight?
...
A/N: -Sherlock is pretty moody in this chapter. He is feeling stressed about the investigation, and also feels confused about what's going on with his relationship with John.
-Ideas for the future: I'm exploring a lot of different 'what if' scenarios in this fic. This is just one possible way the future could turn out, and it's interesting to consider how things could be affected.
-CCTV Cameras: The UK is one of the most surveilled nations in the world. An estimated 5.9 million CCTV cameras keep watch over 65 million Brits' every move.
-Insult: 'If a hungry cannibal cracked their heads open, there wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small water biscuit' -This insult is from the BBC comedy TV series Black Adder (1983-1988). It starred Rowan Atkinson, Tony Robinson and Hugh Laurie. Each series was set in a different historical period. It is ranked as Britain's second favorite sitcom (Only Fools and Horses is #1), and #16 in the list of the 100 Greatest British TV Programs.
-Arable land use: Currently in the UK, they produce 60% of their own food, and the rest is imported. 25% of the UK is arable, and 45% is grassland, woodland and rough grazing. Wales and Scotland have a lower agricultural yield as it is too hilly for growing crops. Sheep and dairy farming is more common there.
There is a limited amount of arable land (suitable for growing crops) in the world, and with a growing population, it will be needed to feed as many humans as possible. A 10-acre farm can support 60 people by growing soybeans, 24 people by growing wheat or 10 people by growing maize, but only two by raising cattle. In this version of the future, the government will restrict arable land use to producing crops for human consumption. Land devoted to raising livestock will be limited, so the cost of meat will go up until most people can't afford it, and they will become mostly vegetarians due to economics. Meat will become a rare luxury item.
-Lab Meat: Articles about food in the future mention that it may be possible to grow 'meat' in a lab setting. Instead of raising a whole cow that we only eat 40% of, it is a better use of resources to just grow a steak. It could use less energy, could be made healthier, and would be cruelty-free. In a future where meat is expensive, this may be a viable option.
-'Biogenic' body parts: Similar to lab meat, there is also the possibility of making body parts in the lab. Generating ligaments, tendons, muscles, skin, and maybe even organs or limbs. It would eliminate rejection issues that we currently have from transplanting these body parts from other people. Currently, people with organ transplants need to take drugs for the rest of their lives to repress their own immune system from rejecting the organ.
In this future, I have John discuss using a biogenic ligament in the athlete's knee surgery. I doubt we will be able to create complex organs within thirty years, but hopefully smaller, simpler body parts will be available.
-Potluck dinner: I checked with a British friend if they use this term, and she wasn't familiar with it. Maybe it will spread to that country in thirty years. I'm in Canada, and we hold 'potlucks' where all the guests bring a family sized dish of food. The food is set out buffet style and everyone shares everything. Often people are assigned a category of food to bring (salad, dessert) so there is a good selection available. It shares the work and the cost of having a dinner party, and it's a fun way to try other people's cooking.
One possible origin of the practice could come from 'potlatch', a word meaning "to give away". A potlatch is a gift-giving feast practiced by indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast of Canada and the United States. The status of any given family is raised not by who has the most resources, but by who distributes the most resources. The hosts demonstrate their wealth and prominence through giving away goods at the feast.