Look at what happens when I randomly sit down and don't leave this story alone for two hours. 4,000+ words happen.
Btw.
I decided that I'm going to stay away from graphic smut, So all sex scenes will just be implied, unless a lot of people want them.
I really appreciate all of the reviews. This story is kind of on going, I don't have definite end goal in mind.
If you guys want to see an event played out or anything let me know.
Also, would you guys like to see some genuine h/c. If so, which one Sherlock or John?
Peace&Love Lovelies.
Attention Fluff ahead.
"Sherlock, you are being overly dramatic. More so than normal." John states exasperated.
"I am not." John hears the muffled noise of the detective through the bathroom door. John sighs. "Idiot."
"Hey! Come out already." John asks, leaning against the door frame, staring at the wooden door standing in the way of the doctor and his genius boyfriend who is holed up in the bathroom refusing to come out.
Sherlock doesn't answer and John is growing impatient. He slowly opens the link between them, lilacs and honey filling his nostrils pleasantly, John closes his eyes and tries to see through Sherlock's mind, hoping that Sherlock will think of the image John wants to see. An image of the bathroom through Sherlock's eyes comes into view.
"Stop that, it's cheating." Sherlock yells. John sees darkness suddenly, he realises that Sherlock has shut his eyes to prevent John from looking.
"Well, excuse me for wanting to see what my very hot boyfriend looks like when he is in his very hot suit." John huffs backing out of the connection and crossing his arms, leaning his full weight on the door separating the two of them. "Forgive me for being impatient." John scoffs.
"I don't see why we have to go Mycroft's party away." Sherlock whines. "Dull, idiots."
"Because your brother invited us, and there will be free food." John replies honestly, brushing his hands over his own suit.
"And because you said we could experiment." Sherlock insists.
"I said I might let you experiment if you were good." John clarifies picking a piece of lint off his shoulder. "Besides-" John starts but he is suddenly falling backwards, his arms flailing. Warm arms wrap tightly around the doctor before he can fall to the floor. He relaxes instantly into the detective's embrace, the connection instantaneous as Sherlock hands rest over John's exposed wrists. John twists his head and beams up into the gray eyes, letting the silence and the connection warm him. "Hi." John exhales lazily, getting lost in the genius's gorgeous eyes and silence.
"Hey yourself." Sherlock stand like that for a few minutes, John leaning heavily into Sherlock's chest, held tightly while Sherlock creates lazy circles absentmindedly across the the back of John's exposed hand, not letting any images through just warmth and love.
"A little warning next time?" says finally, standing himself up right, his tone mocking.
"I'm not the idiot who was leaning against the door." Sherlock says stepping out of the bathroom. John is pretty sure his mouth is on the floor, and drooling like a cartoon character. Sherlock strolls across the room picking up his phone and watch. John looks at the man in front of him, probably one of the most beautiful people he's ever seen. The suit is tailored perfectly, tightly fitted to accent the detective's features. It is a light gray shade that works well with the detective's eyes. John has never seen someone look so good in a suit before. As Sherlock walks around the room getting ready, picking up this and that. John just stares, albeit a little creepily. John suddenly feels very self-conscious in his own navy blue suit.
"Don't be silly John. That suit fits you very nicely." John cast his eyes downward at the compliment. His bashfulness makes his ears twinge with a pink hue.
"Now stop standing there with your mouth open." John closes his mouth with an audible click, He hears a sigh from across the room and notices Sherlock moving closer to him.
"All I meant was, I have several other ideas of what your mouth could be doing rather than wide open, it was adorable but distracting." The baritone states, his breath right at John's ear, the military man straightens up instinctively and waste no time. He grabs Sherlock's suit carefully, trying not to wrinkle the perfect clothing and mashes their lips together. The kiss is sweet and clean, the connection is silent, no images float between them but John can feel the spark of the link enhancing the kiss. John moves his tongue slowly across Sherlock's lower lip and Sherlock groans in pleasure. Sherlock pushes John against the wall and pins the doctor with his body, cupping John's face and bombarding him with images. A laughing Sherlock insulting Anderson, a grinning detective poking at something in a petri dish. John welcomes the pictures and tries to stay focused on the kiss, but he knows that Sherlock is fighting dirty.
Sherlock breaks the kiss and they both pant heavily.
"That's really not fair." John states, gasping for breath.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." The younger man states calmly.
John huffs. "Of course you don't." He mumbles under his breath.
"If you let me test some of my theories I could probably distract you less." Sherlock says out loud just to prove his point.
"You already know how to control it," John says incredulously, Sherlock backs away about to leave the bedroom. John, horrified, grabs his clothed elbow. "Fine. Fine. But if I'm uncomfortable at all you have to let me stop okay." Sherlock nods enthusiastically, smiling down at him and placing a chaste kiss to his lips, before breaking off and grabbing John's hand. John squeezes the detective's hand lightly once. No thoughts enter John's mind with the link and John let's the genius led him out of the bedroom. John looks back longingly once and Sherlock laughs at him.
"There will plenty of time for that later," John eyes beam and he willingly follows Sherlock out of the bedroom.
"Come on, you silly doctor, the car is here."
"God, Sherlock was right." John thinks to himself as he stands in a corner observing the party. "All these people are so dull."
At least, Sherlock is in the room, because with this many people, the white noise would have killed the doctor.
Nothing interesting about them, besides their fancy clothing and obvious affairs. At least the food is good and the champagne is free. "Liquor, a way to every Watson's heart." The sarcastic thought comes out of nowhere, John doesn't normally think about his family and John scolds himself bitterly. "Watson, don't ruin this party with your own bitter family affairs."
"Dull. Affair."
"Dull. Launderer"
"Dull. Nothing of remote interest."
The repeat phrases coming from Sherlock as he circles the room are, strangely comforting. He is now twirling around the room deduce various things about the party goers, while John resists the temptation to start the mental connection, but with each empty champagne glass, John is finding his self control slipping.
"John. I'm bored." John looks around for Sherlock but can't see him anywhere. He whips out his phone and sends of a text with a huff.
You better not be hiding, I'm too old for playing hide and seek with you. - JW
"Can we experiment now, I'm bored and there isn't even a murderer amidst us." Sherlock whines in John's head, ignoring his previous statement like usual.
I wouldn't say that - JW
"What? Who?, no no let me guess." John spots Sherlock suddenly, just on the outskirts of the dance floor, his expression manic and gleeful.
"That should keep him busy for awhile." Apparently, champagne makes John manipulative, he muses the thought over while he grabs another glass of the bubbly drink.
Eventually, John stops drinking champagne, but not before he has a pleasant buzz, if not in a drunken state. He lost sight of Sherlock an hour go, probably still hunting a murderer that John made up.
"John. You lied to me." The sudden intrusion pounds against John's head. "Ah. this is why we don't drink, Watson. Everything hurts more." John really hates when he talks to himself sometimes, he just has to have a smarmy conscience. It's true, though, whenever John drinks his gift is still as sharp as ever but he has problems tolerating the pain, sometimes he can manage it, other times it's worse than ever. John stands straight up and focuses on making himself more accommodating to Sherlock's thoughts. If Sherlock decides to push his thoughts, John needs to be ready.
"That wasn't fair." Nope, definitely not ready, John clutches his head and backs into the nearest wall. The doctor is, thankfully, far enough away from people that no one notices the bizarre man clutching his head. He hopes to god that nobody touches him.
"John." John grunts. "Yep, just keeping the thoughts coming Sherlock." John thinks bitterly. The doctor shifts his body and stumbles away from the party to a nearby door, opening it without thinking and practically falling into the adjacent room. He just needs to sit down.
"Am I drunker than I thought?" John wonders to himself as he staggers to a chair, his brain slow and hazy. He starts to scan the room but gets as far as the wall to ceiling windows on either side of a fireplace and gives up, he honestly doesn't care what Mycroft's rooms look like. Rich, smug bastard. And let's introduce Bitter John. He sits in the moonlit room for a little bit, letting his perfect drunken haze entertain him.
Suddenly, John's phone rings. He knows right away it isn't Sherlock, there is hardly ever use for a phone call between from Sherlock anymore.
Blocked number.
Normally, John doesn't answer blocked numbers, but let's take in the factors, the party is boring, Sherlock isn't around and the doctor is drunk.
John answers the call with disinterest, a slight throb in his head.
"Hello." John slurs.
"Hello, Johnny." A strange voice answers. John disinterest gets pushed aside at the use of his name.
"Who is this? How do you know my name?" John spits unoriginally at the stranger on the phone, slouching into the chair impatiently. A sharp painful throbs in his head but then it dies.
"Now now, Johnny no need to be so touchy. Pets aren't supposed to bark at strangers." John sits there confused, Who is this guy? He tries to latch onto the link over the phone. Sherlock and he have been practicing it, with a little bit of success, but with John drunk and the pain of any mental connections looming over him, John doesn't know if his subconsciously not trying or if he really can't get into the guy's mind.
"I'm drunk, I really don't have time for this buddy." John states finally, his limbs getting heavier with the sudden realisation, he wonders idly where Sherlock is and how come he hasn't thought about anything recently, maybe the detective will take him home.
"Drunk, no not drunk Johnny. Drugged maybe." The sing song voice is shrill in John's ears, causing him to pull the phone away in disgust. He recognises an accent. He tries to place it, his head is fuzzy.
"Why? How?" He tries to straighten himself quickly and look for danger, his body and his eyes are slow to respond, a dangerous sign.
"Oh don't worry, nobody will get hurt, people will just feel drunk. It's my little gift to Sherlock Holmes." Irish, definitely Irish. John feels stupidly victorious.
"Why are you talking to me then?" John asks, genuine curiosity breaking through his drug induced haze, he slouches on the chair again, fatigue clouding over all of his instincts.
"Why not, you are his pet aren't you? Who better to get information out of?" A door creaks open but John doesn't notice it. His eyes are unfocused and he is lazily looking at the fabric on the chair. His head is starting to throb.
"A truth drug. Seriously?" John scoffs and then laughs hysterically. He suddenly wonders if he should get up and find Sherlock, after all he is drugged. A noise behind jolts John out of his trance, he flinches but does nothing. His limbs aren't cooperating at all, he couldn't get away if he wanted to. An irrational part of him, whether do to the drug or some other force, wishes for a painless death.
The sudden lean figure of Sherlock Holmes kneeling in front of him calms the doctor, completely relaxing John, who didn't even know he was tense. The detective's face is his full of worry and concern.
"John." Sherlock asks out loud looking quizzically at the doctor.
"Hang on, stranger." John giggles into the phone, manners first. He wonders if something is wrong.
"What's going on, John?" Sherlock asks placing a hand onto John's knee. John just stares at him, glancing between the hand on his knee and Sherlock's face.
"Is that Sherlock, Johnny Boy?" The Irish man ask him. For a split second, something tells him to just hang up, throw the phone across the room and get Sherlock out of the house. However, his limbs and his mind don't really feel the danger his logic does. So John nods stupidly.
"Well then, put him on." Red flags signal in John's brain but he passes the phone over to Sherlock who looks at him worriedly. The doctor tries to smile reassuringly but failing and it comes off as a sloppy, lopsided grin. If the detective wasn't so confused and worried by the situation he would have laughed at his lover's expression.
Sherlock takes the phone from John gently.
"Who is this?" Sherlock asks.
"Oh the Great Sherlock Holmes." The voice booms.
"DUBLIN!" John screams suddenly, the man's accent is from Dublin. A throb splits his head again and John cups his head with his head in pain.
"What do you want?" Sherlock ask the man on the phone, moving towards the windows away from a mumbling John.
John slides forward in the chair, putting his elbows on his knees, hands cupped around his head. His head hurt and it's fuzzy. Who is the man on the phone? What does he want? Why attack at Mycroft's place? John is royally confused, the throb starts to subside and a little room for thinking opens up. He doesn't even bother opening up a link with Sherlock, he can't handle the headache. John doesn't know what drug this is, he doesn't know how painful the side affects of a connections could be.
John tries to think around the pain, a Dublin man drugged an entire party just to talk to John or Sherlock himself. John looks at Sherlock at the window, thirty seconds have passed since John had surrendered the mobile and the detective does not look happy. His face is contorted and his mouth is in a thin line. He stands next to the window, absentmindedly looking out it.
John's mind is poking at him, telling him something is wrong. How did the man know John was by himself? What if Sherlock was around? Why hijack John's phone?
"He is watching," John thinks suddenly, somewhat surprised at his deduction through the haze. John nodded, he had nodded in response and the man responded to his nod. He is watching. John's eyes find Sherlock's form, standing in front of the gigantic window.
John is up in a flash and crosses the room to Sherlock, with surprising agility due to his state. The doctor pushes the mobile out of Sherlock's grip and pulls the detective by the back of the coat backwards onto John as the ex-soldier flies towards the fireplace. Milliseconds later, a crash is heard and the window shatters into a million pieces.
John crashes onto the hearth, bad shoulder first. Sherlock collapses on top of him. He grunts in pain. The doctor scrambles to but his back against the cover crate of the fireplace that is thankfully not on. He drags Sherlock with him, refusing to be in any line of the window, in case the shooter gets a different advantage.
"John what the hell?" Sherlock says exasperated.
"He can see us. Dublin man." John giggles hysterically at his nickname, even though he knows it's not funny. Adrenaline gone, John's head throbs painfully and John brings his knees up and puts his head between his legs rocking back and forth in the pain. This one is stronger than the others, stronger and still scary. This kind of throbbing has never happened before. In John's drugged, hazy state he can't comprehend what is wrong.
"John, what's wrong?" Sherlock says and the throbbing goes away slowly.
John extends his legs with a shaky sigh waves his hand dismissively. "You should call your brother and ask him to rescue us from the room. I don't know if the shooter is still out there." John says while he is sober from the pain in his head. Sherlock pulls out his phone and sends of a text.
"John, What's wrong?" Sherlock asks again. John starts to answer but the haze is back and so is the throb. He can feel the bile in the back of his throat start to rise. The on and off pain is going to kill him.
There is movement next to the doctor and suddenly, the lanky form of his boyfriend is straddling him.
John smiles up at the detective despite his pain. Sherlock grabs John's face and through his haze the doctor doesn't see anything wrong. The throb feels like needles on his brain so the doctor closes his eyes in pain, his face contorting. The throb goes away quickly. John opens his eyes instantly looks at Sherlock in confusion. John's face relaxes and so does his body. He can't help but wonder where the onslaught of pain is coming from. Maybe a side affect of the drug. So he expect nosebleeds soon? Oh well. John giggles out loud again.
"John can you hear me?" Sherlock asks with concern.
"Yes of course, silly. You are talking." John says, kind of offended by the accusation that his hearing has suffered from the drug.
"No, John. Can you hear my thoughts?" Sherlock says, searching the doctor's eyes for treasure, or what John can assume is treasure.
"You won't find any treasure there. You have to look for the X." John blurts out before he thinks about it. The doctor doesn't know why he said that, it doesn't make sense. He tries to shake his head to clear it but long fingers are holding him in place.
"John. Listen to me. Can you hear my thoughts." John focuses, what is Sherlock asking, something about thoughts. He focuses. Sherlock is touching him. "Sherlock is touching me." John thinks to himself. He panics. "Sherlock is touching me. Sherlock is touching me. Sherlock is touching me."
"You are touching me!" John states out loud, "I don't feel anything. I can't taste you." John cries, his takes a deep breath, or tries to but it come out as shallow sob. "I can't hear you. I can't hear anything!" John calls, he is panicking. He tries to probe into Sherlock's mind but only comes away with coldness and a slight headache.
"What's going on?" John looks into Sherlock's eyes pleading.
"John. Calm Down." Sherlock commands, letting go of John's face, dismounting the doctor and scooping up the older man in his arms, cradling him closer. Some axiety leaves him once his is in Sherlock's arms and his breathing starts to soothe out.
"John. I've been screaming my thoughts at you ever since I got into the room." Sherlock states.
"That's why it hurts." John says. "That what the throbbing is, I have this random throbbing that is hurting my head, and then they go away quickly." John explains.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was hurting you." Sherlock admits, a guilty look on his face.
"It's fine, I didn't know either, I didn't know I couldn't read thoughts anymore" John states sadly, his eyelids heavy.
"John, what happened?" Sherlock asks quietly. John tries to recall the nights events, exhaustion and haziness clouded his memories.
"The Champagne was drugged!" John spits out. "You didn't have any did you, it messes you up." John cries, suddenly looking over Sherlock's face looking for signs of dilated pupils or other side affects of drug use.
"Yes I know about the Champagne and I didn't have any." Sherlock states calmly. John sighs and stops inspecting the detective for drugs.
"Sherlock what's happening?" John ask timidly.
"I don't know." Sherlock replies honestly.
"Why can't I hear anybody?" John asks, his voice devastated. "What if I can never do it again?" John lets tears spill down his face. "Then you leave me. You'll get bored because you won't have any experiments about me anymore. and I'll be all alone again." John sobs into Sherlock's suit, a little guiltily. And introducing, No filter Watson. John instantly feels vulnerable, he would have never confessed any of the last statement out loud. He suddenly feels very anxious and that just adds to his sobs.
"Shh. John..that is never going to happen. Your gift is not the reason I'm with you. I could care less if you couldn't hear people's thoughts anymore. That's not the person I feel in love with." Sherlock says, stroking a hand confidently through John's hair.
"Really?" John asks, his voice so small and broken.
"Of course. I love you John Watson." Sherlock says grabbing John's chin and closing the distance for chaste kiss.
John sighs and grips Sherlock tighter.
"Who was that man?" John asks finally.
"Moriarty." Sherlock snarls out.
"Who is that?"
"A fan."
"That's twisted." John states calmly. The pair sit in silence for a few minutes just holding each other.
"HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!" John screams after five minutes, just remembering the shattering glass and the reason they haven't left the floor. "Are you okay, you aren't hit are you?" John demands, running a hand over the detective's body.
"John. I'm fine. Thanks to you, we were already half way to the ground by the time the window shattered." Sherlock says, pulling John close placing a kiss on the doctor's temple.
"Anytime." John replies smiling with a lopsided grin again. "What now?"
"We wait for Mycroft and then get you to a hospital. We have to see what the drug is and how it's affecting your brain."
John nods and tries not to panic.
What happens if his gift is permanently gone?
Could he really go back to be normal?