Something short and sweet for you to have with your afternoon coffee.
You deserve it. Because why? Because I love you.
Sherlock doesn't know about wet raspberries. John & Molly enlighten him. Mega superfluff.
Zorbots 101
A journal on mushrooms no fascinating but no not right now not just what I need I need I need I need a paper on krill and it's impact on the Antarctic no fascinating but no not now right now I need something to utterly transport me utterly drag my mind away from this this this this madness this delicious terrible wonderful painful incredible horrible choice of where to kiss John when he comes in no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching so when he comes in tonight almost five almost five just before five any minute now when he comes in he'll let me gently hold and touch him and I can kiss him wherever I like wherever I like wherever I like wherever I like it's impossible to choose.
Sherlock didn't like narrowing down his choices for where to kiss John upon his coming into the flat. It was too difficult. Very often he was fine at just waiting until the doctor came in the door and then he would either continue with whatever he was doing, often reading or working on an experiment, or he would have a brief conversation with his friend or they would eat something John had brought with him. He would kiss him later. Or not even until they were in bed with Molly. But once in a while he'd allow his obsessive behavior to drive him wild as to where to kiss John when he came in, and how to hold him, or what to do with him.
John had been allowing Sherlock to touch and hold him gently without asking for permission, and it was still quite a novelty for Sherlock. While he still wasn't allowed to kiss the doctor's mouth, discovering John in this way was delightful for Sherlock, and he hardly wanted things to progress, he was having so much fun with this interim arrangement. It was so sweet to put his arms around John and purr in his ear, biting his earlobe. He'd done that once or twice, and then, quickly let him go, resuming his chores in the kitchen, or picking up his abandoned research or reading. A number of times John had come home and he'd pretended not to hear him, and continued looking into the microscope for up to two hours. Then he'd walked to him, unhurriedly, and leaned over the doctor as he sat at the desk at his laptop, and bitten his neck. Or between the eyes, leaning down over him, forcing his head back. Chastely, on the cheek. Once he'd merely licked his handsome, ridiculously English nose.
It all had to do with the moment he looked at him, Sherlock realized. It had to do with John and what he was feeling, what he'd been doing, how he'd felt in the moment he'd come in the door. This is what Sherlock would react to that would make him choose. The nose had been a day when John had been particularly angry about the something in the shops. Between the eyes had been a particularly lovely smile the doctor had come up with for him, just upon entering the flat. There was no use in narrowing it down, after all, he'd have to see John come in the flat to know.
no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching no permission required for gentle holding and touching where the hell is he?
The door downstairs made it's customary slam, and Sherlock heard John's step on the stair. He chucked the journal containing the paper on krill and stepped over the coffee table to stand near the door, not too close, but close enough to note the doctor's mood, feeling, aura, when he came in the flat.
Here he comes no permission required for gentle holding and touching
The door opened.
"Hey, I-." John stopped and looked at Sherlock. "Oh. You've been obsessing again. The last half hour or so, about where to kiss me, haven't you?"
Sherlock held perfectly still, flummoxed as to what to do next.
"H- how do you know that?"
"We sleep with you, Sherlock, we know things about you, Molly and I."
"Just because we sleep -."
"Never mind, come on. Kiss me somewhere. It's all right, come on, you'll do fine." John chuckled and put down his Tesco bags. "So, what's it to be, then, hmm?" He approached his friend who remained, standing like a frightened rabbit.
"Here?" John pointed at his neck. "Here again?" He pointed at the spot between his eyes. "Just don't for fuck's sake lick my nose again, yeah?" John stood before Sherlock, who was still dumfounded as to what to do.
"Hey, ok?" John got closer, and chuckled, then, impossibly, miraculously, he put his arms around Sherlock, and hugged him. This was completely unexpected, but Sherlock couldn't help but lean into the embrace. Then John was suddenly, and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. What on earth? thought Sherlock, but his imagination running wild with this new behavior of John's, was quickly quelled when the doctor pressed his lips to Sherlock's chest and blew a loud, sloppy wet raspberry onto his skin. John brought the shirt back together, not bothering about the buttons, and patted the spot on his chest.
"There you go. I got you first. Ahaha. I win." John winked at his friend, and took the Tesco bags off to the kitchen.
"You – you do not win!" Sherlock shouted indignantly. "It wasn't a contest, it's, it's, it's -."
"What? What is it, Sherlock? Ahaha. I win today then. Tomorrow it ceases to be a contest, but it's a contest today, and I win. Now let me make us some tea, and don't be a sore loser."
"Oh my god," Sherlock turned to go sulk somewhere, but realized he still hadn't taken advantage of his no permission required for gentle holding and touching clause and wasn't to be deterred. He entered the kitchen.
"Ahaha, you've decided, then, what's it going to -."
Sherlock put his arms around John from behind and held him, caressing his neck with his lips. John was quiet, and held still, was relaxed, even, Sherlock could feel that he was. Encouraged, Sherlock continued to run his mouth over John's neck, nipping at his skin a little. John leaned against him. Oh, god, he's letting me, thought Sherlock. John had been more relaxed with him lately, but Sherlock still couldn't get over the novelty of it continued to be greedy for the contact. He held the doctor quietly for a moment and John spoke in a hoarse whisper, suddenly painfully intimate.
"You know I want to, don't you?" John asked.
"What?" Sherlock whispered back, not sure he could believe his ears, though he'd known all along what John was saying to be perfectly true. To hear him admit it, though, to hear him say the words was something quite new.
"I want -God this is going to sound - I want to - be able to give myself to you, you know that, I know you do."
"Well, yes."
"I'm just not ready. So - th- thanks for, ah - waiting for me."
"As you long as you want." Sherlock kissed his cheek and let him go. He leaned on the counter, next to where John was working. They stood in silence for a moment, as John put a tea tray together. Tea for three. Then Sherlock cleared his throat and adopted a more normal volume and tone when he spoke.
"What was that noisy thing you did on my skin?"
"I don't know, wet raspberry? Raspberry tart? Cuz it sounds like a fart? My American cousins called it a zorbot. Didn't your family have a name for it when you were small?"
"Ha."
"What? Didn't your mum or dad ever-."
"Please."
"Or Mycroft -?"
"Oh, please. Agh. Please don't evoke my childhood memories of Mycroft." He considered for a moment and continued. "I don't think my mother ever touched me when I was small."
John was quiet. He knew Sherlock rarely if ever exaggerated factual items, and for him to say that his mother never touched him as child was almost too hard to bear. These seemingly small insights into Sherlock's childhood were always shocking to John, and always made him reassess things about his friend. John often wondered about why Sherlock was with him and Molly in this highly unconventional arrangement. But with a childhood like the one Sherlock alluded to, what's actually normal? Safety and affection was what any child sought, needed. Plenty of that here, thought John, as he glanced at the clock, expecting Molly any time.
John left what he was doing with the tea things and faced his friend, unbuttoning another couple of Sherlock's buttons. He smiled up at the taller man who had questions in his eyes, and leaned his head to one side, waiting for the answers, a small smile playing at one side of his mouth. John again placed his lips to his friend's chest and blew several more raspberries of varying degrees of wetness, volume, duration and intonation, while holding Sherlock firmly around the waist. When he was done, John had produced a concerto that would have reduced any group of 3 to 13-year-olds to rubble. Sherlock finally chuckled.
"Ahaha. Good. There, that's your lesson on raspberries for the day." John returned to the tea.
"Interesting. But what's it for?"
"You laughed."
"I – what?"
"You laughed, it took a while, but you finally laughed, that's when I stopped."
"And?"
"That's what it's for."
Sherlock paused.
"Oh, I see. But that's ridiculous."
"That's correct." John had finished the tea and hoisted the tray. He looked up at his friend and thought You break my heart, sometimes, Sherlock you honestly do.
"Come on, tea. Oh, Molly's here. More raspberries for you!"
Sherlock and John kissed Molly as she hung up her coat and stowed her bag, and John explained to her that Sherlock didn't know about raspberries.
"I think Sherlock should have lots of raspberries and lots of kisses, tonight, Molly, what do you think?"
John looked to Molly and made eye contact. They silently agreed that every child should have lots of wet raspberries and kisses and that if they didn't it was a bit of a crime. Sherlock saw their silent exchange and smiled inwardly. He knew perfectly well that they were thinking of him, communicating about him, and that they pitied him somewhat for his pathetic childhood. He knew, too that they sometimes thought of him as still in a kind of childhood, emotionally. Perhaps I am. But he didn't mind because he knew that their motivation was purely based on how very much they cared for him. Thank god I don't have to verbalize any of this its so potentially nauseating god I love them I love them both so much.
Molly was delighted to give a more thorough wet raspberry demonstration and on various parts of the body where John hadn't ventured. Molly persisted with her demonstrations until Sherlock was chuckling and then laughing outright. When they were in bed, Molly continued blowing raspberries on anyone who came near her, and they laughed until they were exhausted, falling asleep in one another's arms like children.
Thanks, fellow travellers from all over the world for checking out today's new chapter, as well as past chapters.
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(Let me know what the Brit is for zorbot if you know for sure! I lived there for a while, but I don't know everything – please forgive a culturally impoverished American girl.)
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