AutumnL said: "I really love AUs, like REALLY. I'd love to read something where Sherlock (or John) is deaf and while they use BSL most of the time when they are alone (or *cough* in bed) Sherlock/John (depending on who's deaf) lazily tap morse code on the other's skin. Gah that's so cute. If I wasn't so lazy I'd write it myself."
This was an interesting prompt, as I've always believed there needs to be more disabled people in stories. More Professor X's of the world that defy the stereotype of the wheelchair bound being weak and such. I wanted to approach it in a way that was respectful to those with hearing disabilities, in a way that even those of you who ignore my author's note at the beginning of the stories (if indeed, dear readers, there is anyone capable of avoiding my personal charm) could tell was not cheapening the disability. Though my knowledge is somewhat limited, so I don't know how well I actually did. Hopefully it was good enough!
Sherlock had always told John not to treat his musical ability like some sort of miracle gifted upon him by gods unknown.
Of course, John tried to comply and show respect for his flatmate, but it still amazed him that someone without hearing was capable of creating the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. Sherlock was a master of the violin, but usually kept his talent hidden away in the flat in order to keep people's jaws from dropping and beginning to wag with insensitive questions.
To Sherlock it was all just vibrations, as though the violin became an extension of his heartbeat. The deep thrum of the strings which created such elegant sound for John, evoked feeling in Sherlock.
The violinist was practicing a song of his own creation when the detective inspector entered. John, on impulse, went to tap Sherlock on the shoulder to inform him of the man's presence. However, when his hand went to the detective's shoulder Sherlock turned and gave him a sharp look before signing out that he could always tell when Lestrade was in the room due to the presence of idiocy that followed the man. John suspected it had something more to do with feeling his footsteps but decided not to argue the point.
"We've got an unidentified corpse, one of three found with a red x over their stomachs and their faces disfigured." Lestrade sighed. "Now, not that I need any help, but I figured this sort of freakshow is kind of your division."
"Not to mention that you're starting to look bad having not caught the son of a bitch yet." John mentioned casually, pointedly looking at Sherlock and speaking slowly. He was rewarded for his efforts with a thin smirk.
"Look, the reason why doesn't matter." Lestrade argued. "Are you coming or not?"
John looked to Sherlock with a questioning gaze, and the detective gave a shrug and a nod.
He signed something along the lines of: "Hate to leave the poor detective inspector in such a tight situation."
Be nice. John signed back with a stern look. "He's in." He explained to Lestrade.
"Good. You'll be coming, right?" Lestrade asked nervously. His nervous behavior was due to the fact that if John didn't come along he'd have little way to understand Sherlock as the officer knew very little sign language and Sherlock refused to attempt speech. Most of the Yard thanked their lucky stars that Sherlock's new flatmate just so happened to know sign language, and was more than willing to act as the detective's translator.
"Of course." John shrugged.
But once again the murder was the least of the problems weighing on John's mind. The entire time Sherlock ran about the crime scene, crawling about with a magnifying glass, John could hear the jokes the many officers of the Yard were making. It was amazing the kind of things people would say when their target could not hear.
He forced his way past the laughing officers to his boyfriend's side, and knelt down next to him. He slid his hand carefully around Sherlock's, letting his fingers brush against his palm. They quickly tapped out a message in Morse, a system the two of them had developed in order to talk more intimately.
You are perfect and I love you. He said. Sherlock smirked and pressed his fingers to John's palm in return.
Even when I leave fingers in the microwave?
Okay, you're not perfect. I still love you.
After a long day of solving murders, John finally convinced Sherlock to get into bed.
Sherlock stretched out to take up the unoccupied space in the bed. John often told him that he acted like water in this way, filling up every corner. He ran his hands over his boyfriend's exposed back, at first with no purpose and then to communicate. He tapped out sweet nothings most lovers would whisper, smiling as Sherlock's slight smile grew wider.
They lay there, tapping out messages and ignoring the need for sleep until late into the night.