A/N: Dah dah dah dahhh! I'm back from Jamacia and, in honor of my return, I present to you this vaguely Jamacia-themed one-shot. I was going to aim for the typical beach sex, but then opted for this instead because hammocks are amazing. Seriously, I spent so much time on the hammock at my grandpa's beach house this Spring Break… if that hammock were a (wo)man, I would make sweet love to that hammock, because that hammock is my one true love. Not an awkward comment at all… ALSO, expect consistent daily updates and a few Supernatural bunnies to pop up outside of here as well, because I did way too much writing while I was on vacation than should even be healthy. And, on that lovely note, enjoy this… thing.
Word Count: 1,200 (EXACTLY. I don't even do this shit on purpose.)
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John
Warning(s): Excessive amounts of pre-slash fluff, stupid-one and stupid-two being flirtatious, Sherlock wearing shorts, and big floppy sun hats. Because I like big floppy sun hats. Also, Disney movie references.
Swing Both Ways
John didn't know just how he'd been talked into taking a trip all the way to the West Indies with Sherlock Holmes, even if it was for a case. Sherlock had been insufferable during the entire airport/airplane experience (although at least John wasn't bored) and Sarah was going to murder him for missing yet another week from the surgery to go play crime busters. But now, sitting back in a wicker chair, feeling the hot Jamaican sun on his face and listening to the roll of the ocean rumbling in his ears, John was glad he had been. He hadn't relaxed this well in years.
Reaching across the table for his cola, he stole a look at Sherlock. The detective in question was flopped face-first on the hammock, long limbs spilling off the edge of the gently rocking contraption. It was a pleasant experience, seeing Sherlock that way. Since they'd ended up solving the case a full 48-hours earlier than they'd anticipated, Sherlock had shifted into the like of an oversized feline, lounging in each and every available patch of sun and (to John's shock) actually snoozing much of the day away. This, combined with the change of attire – full body coverage of London exchanged for fitting white shorts and a blue sleeveless top – made John seriously consider the existence of body-snatchers. But, all in all, it was a welcome change to see his flat mate relax.
"I can feel you staring, John," Sherlock said, not moving from his position on the hammock. John startled and turned away, taking a hasty swig of his pineapple-flavored beverage and trying his best to quell the blush rising in his cheeks. Sherlock flipped over on the hammock, a lazy smile forming on his lips.
John didn't seem to realize it but, in the wake of warm West Indie sunshine he'd made a transformation of his own, if the bright Hawaiian-print shirt, oversize sunglasses, and giant floppy sunhat were any indication (although, with the later, Sherlock was largely responsible, having purchased the sunhat with the prime intention of seeing John wear it). John had allowed himself to completely mellow out once the case had closed, spending his suddenly acquired free time indulging in a good book, floating about in the pool, or simply lazing about in the sun. All in all, completely different from the army-strong, rugged, responsible man Sherlock had grown so attached to. Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but despite his "our flight back isn't for another two days" excuse they could have easily hopped onto one of Mycroft's jets and leave whenever they fancied. It just so happened that Sherlock didn't fancy. It wasn't every day one got to see John Watson in a floppy hat, after all, and he was going to take full advantage of the opportunity.
"You're free to join me on here, if you wish," Sherlock said. He extended an arm over the edge and gestured him over, fingers wiggling. John blinked and pushed the sunglasses up to his forehead, wide-eyed as if the invitation might be an illusion. Sherlock rolled his eyes and scooted over, making more-or-less enough room for his companion to fit. "Come on. It's quite comfortable."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah."
After a moment's hesitation inducement won out and John flopped into place beside him. The hammock creaked and rocked deeply at the sudden added weight. Sherlock grinned and pulled John in closer, shifting them both in effort to balance it. John laughed – an easy, breezy sound – and allowed his head to rest in the crook of Sherlock's neck.
"People will talk," John said, tapping Sherlock's arm, which was draped around his midsection. But when Sherlock moved to pull his arm away John stopped him, holding his arm in place with a squeeze and a smile. "It's fine," he added. "We're on vacation, after all. Hakuna Matata, right?"
Sherlock smiled back. "There will be no worries," he translated. Then, face falling into a slightly unnerved expression: "I didn't know you knew Swahili."
John gave him a startled look. "I don't," he said. "But I've seen the Lion King."
"The what?"
"Never mind." John tisked and muttered something about not having a childhood before closing his eyes, a fond smile playing across his lips. Lips that Sherlock watched with undisguised interest, considering their curve, their color, their consistency until John's eyes popped open again. Caught, Sherlock flipped his head around to face the sky again, frowning if only to disguise the tender expression he'd undoubtedly been wearing before. John flashed him a toothy smile, clearly amused. "You've got sunburn on your nose."
"Do I?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose experimentally, then winced; John chuckled. "So I do," Sherlock said, humming. "Oh well." He reached out to the edge of the deck and pushed off of it, setting the hammock rocking again. John closed his eyes and rolled his head back, content to toss inhibition to the wind and just enjoy the proximity to his normally so painfully distant flat mate.
"Rather convenient of your brother to have a beach house in the area our case was set, wasn't it?" said John.
Sherlock shrugged. "Mycroft has connections everywhere. Well, and Mummy. We sort of just have places everywhere. After all, the Holmes family is one of lavishness, virtue, and honor." Sherlock rolled his eyes, his tone singed with bitter sarcasm. John hummed, hoping he sounded more understanding than amused.
"Nice though, isn't it? The house?" John rolled his shoulders and arched his back in an attempt to stretch, yawning. Sherlock closed his eyes, fighting a smile. "Very nice," John continued once he'd regained his breath. "Even if there's only one bed."
"Yes. I'm thoroughly convinced Mycroft had the second bedroom obliterated and turned into a useless storage area just for this purpose," Sherlock replied, sounding grim. John just laughed and decidedly did not mention all the incidental cuddling that went down due to the arrangement. As it went in Uni: it wasn't gay if you didn't talk about it. Briefly, John wondered if the same rule applied to hammock lounging, but pushed the thought away in favor of watching Sherlock bask in the sun out of the corner of his eye.
John reached up to toy with the strap of Sherlock's shirt, blessed out to the point of thoughtlessness. "Maybe sometime we can come back here for a proper vacation," he ventured, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers. Sherlock glanced down at the contact with a blink before he gave in and smiled.
"Yes," said Sherlock. "Perhaps we can. I'm sure Mycroft would be thrilled to see me doing something practically normal with my time."
John smirked. "Is lounging about with your male flat mate in a one bedroom beach house considered normal now, 'Lock? Did I miss something?"
"I said 'practically.'"
John chuckled briefly before he snuggled into a comfortable position and closed his eyes, letting himself drift off in the drowsy warmth and the distinct smell of the nape of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock, who had gotten far too much sleep this trip already for his taste, simply laid there and rocked the hammock gently, brushing his fingers through John's hair and contemplating the definition of "flirting."
Reviews fill my heart with rainbows. Or something else equally heterosexual.
ALSO, because authors notes are solely for TMI: I got a bug bite... on my eyelid. So I can only see out of one eye. How lovely is that?