Warning-Smut-alert. There is some M/M smut lurking at the end of this chapter. I think you'll know when it's starting. Please skip the end of the chapter if smut is not your cup of tea. :D
A/N I wrote the text messages in bold type. You could probably tell anyway, but I figured I lay it out on the line. And the chapter kind of grew really, really long. Which is good, because I have a trip this week and the next up date will probably be a few days late. So... on with the show! Or the chapter! Or whatever!
Chapter 42
The New Blog Of John H. Watson
Day 7 of my Internment
Okay. This is my new blog, which still can't be posted on the Internet but I guess everyone here can hack into it anyway (the blog I mean, not the Internet).
Ground Rules. I don't want any more weirdness like from the last blog. Any weirdness will be deleted, and BJ showed me how to do too.
I also can't think of anything to write today.
Just a brief thank you to whoever left me some new gym shorts and tee shirts and especially the hoodies although I don't think it was really necessary to buy neon orange and yellow hoodies. It's not like I'm a flight risk or something. However, the hoodies are nice and warm, so again thanks.
Comments
Hey John, love your new short shorts and tight tees. An Anonymous Admirer.
Okay, I forgot how to delete the comments but as soon as I figure it out AAA's ridiculous message is out of hear. JOhn
I meant here. John
Hey, BJ, could you please come over later and help me delete these comments? They're weird already. JW
Day 8 of my Internment
Note to Chris: Chris, I finished Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy so you can come get it whenever you want. Anyway, good book. I think my life has been affected by the Infinite Improbability Drive. HA HA.
So thanks, Oscar, for lending me (and now Chris) the book.
Okay, so the guns have been enumerated. We've got about a third of them cleaned and up to spec. That means there's a lot more to go. I expect to see BJ and Clancy and Chris after their watch is over. I have the ammo stored properly and in alphabetical order. DO NOT mess it up again.
*Notices*
a) Tonight we're doing a Daniel Craig/James Bond Marathon. It begins at 1800 hours sharp. Greg is bringing the pizza, and I'm making the salad and Paula made some biscuits. I tried to help her, but she says I'm shite at baking. Actually, I made some very nice biscuits when I was younger, if you must know. There'll be lots of junk food like crisps and popcorn and peanuts and stuff like that.
b) Construction of the official Batcave Gun Range (BGR) begins at 0700 hrs tomorrow morning. I hope the Commandant appreciates the new name for the bunker, as in it's now affectionately known as the Batcave instead of the Stalag or the gulag. I also hope the Commandant notes that he signed off on all the relevant documents authorizing demolition and construction of the new Range.
Quick aside. [Who thinks we should get a Bat-mobile? I do. I'll get up a petition in favor of a Batmobile and pass it around and then we'll give it to the Commandant.]
c) The sparring schedule is up in the gym. So are the standings. Oscar is in first place. Derek is in second and Paula is in third. Congrats you three!
I am in second to the last place in the hand–to-hand competition but that is probably due to my bum leg or maybe I'm also out of practice. Not that I was ever that great at it. It definitely has nothing to do with my height, contrary to the frankly offensive comments I have been hearing. It just so happens that being of average height, I have a lower center of gravity and that works in my favor except when I have a bum leg. Chris agrees with me about the center of gravity thing and she is in sixth place.
And just remember, when we get to use props in the next round, I'll have a crutch. What will you have BJ? A pack of stinky cigarettes? Good luck using smelly old cigarettes as a weapon mate, cause long-term carcinogenic damage doesn't count. JW
That is all. :) jhW
I hope you like the emoticon Chris, cause you're the one who asked for one :P JWH
Comments
I thought it was Star Wars Marathon tonight. GL
That was voted down in favor of Bond. We'll still do Star Wars, just not tonight. You are still coming? JhW
Oh yeah. I got the night off, and I ordered the pizza and will also bring beer. See you soon, mate. GL
John, you said, and I quote, "I can turn anything into a weapon." So tomorrow you can turn BJ's smokes into a weapon. CC
I did not say that. And what's CC stand for? JHW
Yes you did. So be ready to prove it. Also, CC=Classy Clancy. You should have a nickname too, John. CC
No, I did not say that I can turn anything into a weapon, but I'm willing to shove BJ's pack of cigarettes down your throat if it'll make you happy. I suppose that qualifies, yeah? And I don't want a nickname. I've had them before, and I think they're stupid. JHW
That's because your nickname was probably something like Hobbit or Munchkin. CC
HAHA. Very original. Not. JhW
Stop teasing John about his height. His height is perfect. BTW, how's your back and your leg, John? Just a Friend
To 'Just a Friend': I know who you are, and I think I can handle CC's ribbing, so do not get all mother hen on me. Also, you didn't hurt me. I'm fine. You didn't throw me that hard and anyway it was mostly my own fault, and the bruising isn't all that bad. JHw
To CC: I'm not entirely sure CC is even a real nickname, because you gave it to your self. A real nickname is chosen by your comrades. JHW
We now have seven votes in favor of Hobbit for your nickname, John. BJ
We are putting a petition together in favor of John's new nickname (Hobbit). See me if you want to sign it. CC
We'll be sure to get the paperwork in triplicate. BJ
Comments Closed
Sherlock sat in the dark, musty garret of the empty, ramshackle house, while the denizens of the crack house across the street were flushed out of the building by Henderson's team of Yarders.
Henderson was one of Sherlock's least favorite detectives, which was saying a lot since they were all idiots. Henderson was unimaginative and slow and cheating on his wife and his mistress with another girlfriend in Brighton. DULL.
The man was worse than an idiot. However, he and his team had just enough wits between them to clear out the crack house for Sherlock, who had phoned in the anonymous tip.
The consulting detective lay in wait for the drug dealer who ran the operation. Sherlock knew that Roscoe would be hiding in the secret room under the stairs, and he was counting on Roscoe being clever enough to evade Henderson. He was certain that once the police departed, the slimy dealer would slither out from under his rock or in this case from under the stairs, and then hopefully, Roscoe would head straight to his boss.
This was Sherlock's new plan. He would expose a low-level criminal and then follow them up their chain of command, thus leading him to Moriarty. This was his best idea yet, but now he had to force himself to contain his excitement and impatience until the Yarders completed their job. DULL.
He looked askance at the two agents who had joined his stake out as per his agreement. Both agents seemed reasonably competent. John had approved them. More importantly, they had passed Sherlock's interrogation. Indeed all Mycroft's current agents seemed trustworthy-even the ox seemed relatively honest, much to Sherlock's disappointment.
The flashing lights of the panda cars bothered his eyes. He motioned for the woman to take his place for a while, watching for when Roscoe made his move.
She nodded and knelt down in front of the window, as Sherlock straightened painfully, stretching his long limbs and aching back. Taking out his phone, he checked his e-mails and then hacked into Mycroft's secret lair.
The detective read through John's inane but mostly harmless blog posts. The alpha posturing of John and his friends was of course, idiotic. The teasing and threats were childish at best. And Oscar was clearly still a problem, although at least John did not seem interested in the ox. Still, Sherlock would have to personally speak with the persistent agent and warn him off…'just a friend'? Really? The ox was an obnoxious waste of oxygen.
Not to mention that the hulking idiot seemed to have somehow hurt John, and that was unforgivable. Speaking to the ox would not be enough. Sherlock would have to think of something more damaging.
Come to think of it, there was another worrisome problem, who the hell was stalking John and watching him in his short shorts? And John still didn't think that he was a gay hunk magnet? John was either blind or an idiot. Clearly almost everyone was attracted to John Watson. Sherlock almost felt sorry for the criminal mastermind who lost his heart to John. Almost. Moriarty still had to be captured or killed, that went without saying. .
The World's Only Consulting Detective pulled out a cigarette and then wondered if John really thought that cigarettes smelled bad. John had complained about the health hazards of cigarettes before. Maybe John actually found the smell of cigarettes distasteful. That would mean that the smell of Sherlock was distasteful to the former soldier. It was worrisome.
The consulting detective cocked his neck to the side to get out the kinks. Out of principle, he refused the cup of tea that the male agent tried to hand him (Devon? Or was it Dale? Or Dave? Oh who cared? DULL.)
The annoying agent whispered, "Doc's orders, sir."
Sherlock tsked loudly; this compromise with John Watson was getting out of hand. Now the little soldier was bossing him around by proxy. He prepared to turn his back on Devon/Dale/Dave/Dull. Then he remembered that Oscar the ox was just waiting for Sherlock to slip up. Would refusal of tea constitute a slip up?
The consulting detective slid his cigarette back in his pocket and snatched up the cup, spilling some of the hot tea. He drank it spitefully, even as it warmed his thin frame.
He checked on the progress of the police. Naturally, there was no perceptible progress. This stake out would probably last the better part of the night.
Meanwhile John was watching his stupid movies with his friends. Lestrade was undoubtedly there and maybe even that Oscar. Even now, one or both of them could be hitting on his John.
Perhaps this might be a good time to check on John, thought the consulting detective, just to make sure that John wasn't pining.
John. How is your stupid movie? I suppose it's better than nothing, but you probably would prefer to be here. The attic is cold and damp and there are spiders. I'm sure you do not mind spiders. It's a bit dull waiting for the Yarders to finish their tedious work. Still, I am sure it is more interesting than James Boone. Is he that American woodsman that wears a dead animal on his head? Obviously, some of Mycroft's minions are at the stakeout with me. I do not care for them, but I am tolerating their presence: as per our compromise. You should be avoiding the ox and anyone else who is hitting on you: as per our compromise. I expect to be on the move soon, tracking the dealer to his boss. It will be very exciting and I regret that you are missing all of this. Because we are so busy, I may not be able to text you again for a day or so.
Also, I drank the bloody tea for you. All of it. SH
Unfortunately, I am not on the move yet. It is taking you a long time to respond. It has been nearly fifty minutes. I could become busy any minute now and then you will not be able to contact me. I do not wish for you to pine, so you should respond as soon as convenient. The police are taking forever to empty the drug den and gather evidence. I hope the dealer I want doesn't die of starvation before they finish. It would ruin my plan. SH
I suppose your movie must be a very interesting, since you can't stop watching it to answer your texts. I have been waiting quite a while now. SH
Is there a problem? Why aren't you answering? It has been 2 hours and 47 minutes. SH
John. 3 hours and 6 minutes. SH
John? SH
Are you angry? SH
Will you just respond so that I know you are alive? SH
So, Lestrade, I suppose you are watching those stupid James Boone movies? SH
Yes. Why? GL
I'm at a stake out. SH
Yeah, I was at the briefing. How's it going? Any sign of Roscoe? GL
Not yet. It's taking your Yarders forever to secure the site. It's ridiculous. And it's boring. SH
Yeah, well Henderson is slow, but he's very thorough. Just try to be patient. GL
Who is watching the James Boone movie with you? SH
Hey, Sherlock! Greg says mabee you were texint me. Mypone was on silent and I dint hear it vibreate. Orfeel itI guess. I don't now. Its weird I cnat feel my fingers either and making lots of mistakes. Yeah, I'd rather be on strake out with you. But I don't loke spiders somuchj. LOL BJ and Oscar say I should typeLOL instead of HAha form now on. Areyo with Derek and Mel? Sorry for the mistkes but Greg make me drink to mush beer again. and did Isay I cant feel fingers. Its reallywierd :) Jhw
Did youlike the :) ? But this is howi really feeelwithout you :( JWw
OMGImisssed all these tsxts form you. Soory. I cant feel my face :( JJW
How much did you drink, John? SH
Just !. Jw
Imean Just 1. Jhw
I had onebeer. JHq
How can you get drunk on one beer? SH
I dont now? I dnpt care but I miss hyou bunches and b unches. Is sxting still out/? Lts sext! Can we sext. Hw do we start? ;P JHw
Greg, I think something is wrong with John. I think he's been drugged. SH
Greg? SH
John? SH
Greg, I am going to text your partner if you do not answer at once. SH
It's all good. Nothing to worry about. GL
I require an immediate explanation, Greg. SH
What is taking so long, Lestrade? SH
Okay, calm down. I just talked to Oscar. It's all very funny really, and John will be fine in the morning. GL
Greg wantsmeto text you again, and say Imfine. Im fine. JWH
Oh andand greg says no to sextingtoo. Hes nofun at partys. Okay so explinatinon. Sooscar sipped me a micky andits not my fault. Is nots Oscars fult either I think. well maybe a little it is his faunt I mean. Sctually it is his faoult :# (I made thatup. its anangry face) yor idiot
ifeel funny and want to comebewith you. Can I cometo yourstake out? :( Yi
whch yi means your idiot :)) LOL
I am going to kill the ox. Tell him to start running because I'm on my way now. SH
Hold on, Sherlock. It was all a big mistake. It's really funny if you think about it. And Oscar feels very bad about it too.
I guess John was in a lot of pain today, and Oscar snuck a couple of pain pills into John's sports drink because John was too damn stubborn to take his medicine. You know how stubborn John is. So none of the rest of us knew about the pill. Oscar is on duty and wasn't here to stop John from drinking the beer. So the beer and the pill combo kinda made John a bit tipsy. And then
Greg? SH
John? SH
GREG! SH
YOUR agent poisoned John and then YOUR partner gave him beer. Do something! Now! SH
You can relax now, Sherlock. John is fine.
Regrettably, John did fall off of a table. Luckily, Oscar caught him. Unfortunately, Gregory's phone was damaged in the fracas, and he cannot answer your texts. You will be pleased to note that John is happily stretched out on the leather settee, and has an ice pack over his black eye. I have been assured that he feels no pain. Truthfully, your little doctor seems to be in very good spirits and is currently singing a song, purportedly for you. It's revolting in the extreme. Anonymous
Black eye? SH
Never mind. Oscar saved the day and is helping to keep John…under control. Anonymous
No. Get the ox away from John, now. SH
John, are you so impaired that you can't answer you texts? SH
Did you get Oscar away from John? MH
I meant SH. I meant, did you get Oscar away from John? SH
Okay. So I'm using John's phone now, which was lost but we found it of course. It fell between the cushions. BTW, this is Greg. Anyway, I'm not sure if John is ready to text right now, he's pretty wasted. And just so you know, Oscar has been a perfect gentleman, but I sent him back to his watch duty, so you can stop fussing now. John's eye will be fine in a few days. Did you know that John likes to sing. I think he's doing an Elton John Medley just for you. GL
HEYSGERLOCK! Grg says I need totxt you agin. I dint need saving. I was fintill they made me fall. I justtt wanted som crisps. I missssuyou. :( YI
alsp I wished you catchedme instead of Oacar. Hes a goodhugger tho not as good as yiou. YI
"…Mister Holmes? Mister Holmes!" said Devon/Dale/Dave. "I said, Roscoe is on the move. We gotta go now, if you want to tail him, that is."
"Yes, Yes, by all means lets go, Devon," snapped Sherlock, shoving his phone into his deep coat pocket.
"Derek, sir. My name's Derek."
"Whatever. Names are not important right now," huffed the World's Only Consulting Detective. "Nothing is more important right now than tracking this drug dealer."
"I'll be with you momentarily. I have a vital message to send," added Sherlock as he descended the stairs. His fingers flew as he texted his vital message.
Dear Idiot. I reciprocate your sentiments. Now go to bed. SH
Go to bed ALONE. SH
Anonymous, make sure that John gets to bed. ALONE. SH
The New Blog Of John H. Watson
Day 9
Demolition is rescheduled until tomorrow.
Everything that involves me is rescheduled until tomorrow.
Comments
I'm really sorry, John. OM
John, I didn't think a couple of pills would hurt you. OM
The problem is you didn't think. You are irresponsible and a danger to the community. Stay away from John, or I will not be responsible for my actions. Shezza
That's a hell of a shiner, Johnny. CC
Don't call me Johnny. JHW
John, please accept my apology. It will never happen again. OM
You're damn right it won't. JHW
Friends? OM
Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? No, you cannot be friends with John after you poisoned him. He should be pressing charges. I shall be happy to press charges for him. And it will be my pleasure to give you a corresponding black eye in any case. Shezza
Bring it on, Shezza. It's about time we handled this man-to-man. OM
Hi, Shezza. Good to hear from you. Yeah, I'm feeling loads better, thanks for asking. Just a bit of a headache now…in case you were wondering. (yes, that is sarcasm)
Oh and by the way: a) I'm not pressing charges. b) you can't press charges for me. c) I think I can handle giving a black eye to anyone who needs one, so cut out the threats. JHW
As for you OM, I'm warning you, if you plan on being my friend, do not touch Shezza. If you need to meet with anyone 'man-to-man', I'm right here. I will cheerfully wipe your eye anytime, anyplace, with or without crutches. John H. Watson Captain RAMC Ret.
Beginning tomorrow. JhW
Until then, I think I'll go have a lie down. JHW
John, can we just talk. OM
No. Shezza
I can answer for my self for fucks sake. JWH
I meant JHW
And NO, I don't want to talk to you right now. JHW
OM, your knocking on my door is making my headache worse, and I don't want to talk to you, which is why I'm not coming to the door. Please go away. JHW
I'm really sorry about everything. I'd still want to be friends. OM
Fine. We can be friends tomorrow, when I don't have a headache from pills I didn't want in the first place. That's assuming we don't have to meet 'man-to-man' And if you knock on that bloody door again, I'll let Shezza hit you. JW
YES! Shezza
Comments Closed
Sherlock stood in the pouring rain with Lestrade and some junior-agent-wanna-be, called Pierce or Pepe or something. Sherlock wasn't certain if the young man could even shave yet.
The rain was coming down so hard that they had to cup their hands over each other's ears to speak at all, so mostly they stood and watched Tremaine, as he paced in the graveyard. At least he was as wet as Sherlock, maybe even wetter.
Finally, a car pulled up. A woman leaned out and handed the high-level drug boss a satchel. Then the car drove off, the entire exchange took less than a minute.
"Follow that car," yelled Sherlock, jumping over a tombstone. He ran through the cemetery, leaping over flowers, memorials and grave markers. He caught sight of the car's red tail lights as it left through the gates. Sherlock braced his hands on his knees, panting for breath as the woman got away.
Lestrade pulled up alongside the gasping consulting detective. "Get in the damned car, Sherlock," yelled the detective inspector.
They sped out of the cemetery and headed back towards London.
"I suppose we don't want to pick up Tremaine yet?" asked Lestrade, wiping rain water off of his face even as he drove.
"No, of course not!" snapped the younger detective. "If we can't track that woman, we'll need to follow Tremaine all over again. Left, Lestrade! Turn left! She most likely turned left here!"
Lestrade turned the wheel sharply, water sprayed up as they flew through a puddle.
"We can only assume that she's the next rung on the ladder…" muttered Sherlock. "NO! NO! NO! Go straight."
"How do you know…you know what, never mind," said Lestrade, who was cold, wet, tired and lost. "What are you fiddling with there, Sherlock? Are you using Google maps?"
"I am endeavoring to text John," said the consulting detective.
"Now?" asked Lestrade
Sherlock ignored Lestrade's question and added, "and he isn't responding. Oh, let me guess, Oscar accidentally drugged John again."
"Oh, I don't think so. They're probably still busy training." volunteered Pierce/Pepe.
"Today was Night Ops Sim," said the young agent. " I can't believe I missed Night Ops Practice with Captain Watson to stand all day in the rain for nothing."
The young agent received a death glare from the consulting detective and wisely fell silent.
Text to Sherlock Holmes from Blocked Number
Hey Sherlock. I see you sent a couple of texts. Well actually, you sent 17. I was busy. We were doing Night Ops Sim. It was a bit like laser tag. I think you'd actually like it. JWH
Are you drugged again? SH
No why? JHW
You signed your text JWH instead of JHW. SH
No I didn't JHW
Oh, I did. SOrry. Myfingers always get muddled When I text. JHW
Anyway, I don't drink during a combat simulation. The SIM went off real well, in case you werewondering. Mycroft's teams are very capable, very ppfessional. JWH
I meant professional. It was fun, actually. JHW
A woman showed up tonight and gave Tremaine a package. We lost her in the rain. There was a very exciting chase. A real chase. Not a simulation. I'm sorry you had to miss it. You would have enjoyed it. It will be good when we can bring you out of the Bat Cavern. SH
Yeah. Right. JW
Well, it's too bad that she got away. I'm glad you're enjoying your work; it sounds much more fun and exciting than our practice. I'm glad you're being careful too. JW
BTW. Just in case HE calls Greg to complain, it wasn't my fault that the Commandant came out in the middle of the Night Ops Sim. I sent him a memo about the Sim. I hope that the Anthea-lady comes back soon. She was starting to pay attention to the memos b4 she went on holiday. Which was a big help. JW
Did you like the b4? It's text speak. Oscar tole me to use it. JW
How can you be friends with a man who drugged you? SH
Well, he's apologized and all. JW
Fine. What exactly happened to the Commandant? SH
I tagged him. JHw
Which means what? SH
I just lit him up. No biggie. JWH
But I think it startled him. He dropped the piece of cake that he was sneaking out of the mess hall. HJW
If you must know, he squealed when it happened. And then he yelled a lot. :) JW
He was really loud. JW
He threatened me with his cake fork. LOL :) JhW
But I'm not sure if he threatened me because he got startled, or because we turned out all the lights for the mission or because that was the last piece of cake and it got smooshed on the floor. And he stepped on it. LOLOLOL :) JHHHW
Sorry, I was laughing for real. :) JHW
Lestrade is surprisingly angry. I thought he'd find your anecdote amusing. Now he wants to stop the car just to text HIM. Your very young friend Pepe is laughing very hard. He is only 21 or 22 and much too young to date a mature adult. I think you should also know that he is straight and has a girlfriend too. SH
Wait, are you suggesting something, because if you are that's just dumb. And a bit disturbing. John
And wait, did you just call me old? :( John
Nonsense on both accounts. SH
Right. Please tell Greg I'm sorry for upsetting the Commandant, and it was just an accident anyway. JhW
Why bother, he'll get over it. I hurt my side again from laughing too much. It's your fault that it hurts. SH
Actually, it's the Commandant's fault. And who is this Pepe anyway? JW
The agent du jour. SH
Oh. His name is Phil, and I already knew that he had a girl friend, and why would I even care? JW
No reason. SH
Right. Well, we're going to start our debriefing re: The Night Ops Sim, so I have to go. We're having coffee, tea, sandwiches and homemade biscuits, Please be careful. John
Yes. You're not pining are you? SH
John? SH
John? SH
Sherlock, I can't text when I'm leading the debriefing. No, I'm not pining. JW
Really? Not at all? SH
Right. I am pining just a tiny bit. Please don't tell Greg or Pepe. YI
I meant Phil, not Pepe. Now I really have to go. YI
"Well, we lost that woman. I'm soaking wet. Mycroft is furious, and Phil here is pouting because he missed the Night Ops Sim with Captain Watson," complained the detective inspector. "And what the hell are you smirking for, Sherlock?"
"Hmmm," hummed Sherlock noncommitally. The smug consulting detective watched the rainy streets pass by. He tried to assume his usual dead pan look but failed; John Watson was pining for him.
The New Blog Of John H. Watson
Day 11 of my Internment
So the C4 trials went off really well. The Commandant actually read one of the memos this time, but unfortunately not the right one, I guess. Plus he didn't realize that I was serious when I said that we needed to let everyone experiment with the explosives. And he didn't tie the two together. I really thought it was quite obvious.
As we all know, it was in the best interest of efficiency to use the C4 to blow up the walls. That way we got the work done quickly, and we all got to practice using explosives at the same time. You know, taking out two birds in the same bush with only one round or something to that effect.
And I am sorry that the explosions made him spill his tea on his nice suit. I am sorry that he hit his head on his desk, although I don't quite know how that really happened. I am even sorry that the noise broke his concentration. But I did send out several memos in preparation. I even announced 'FIRE IN THE HOLE' over the loud speaker right before the first detonation. It's not my fault he didn't know what I meant. At least he knows for future reference. Perhaps we can all learn something from this incident.
I also think we should do something about those alarms. They are very loud, and I don't like them. I am going to pass another petition around to get the volume turned down. Not that the last petition got approved, which was too bad. A Batmobile would have been cool.
So the C4 was very effective. It did an excellent job bringing down the walls. Although the one charge was a little too strong and damaged the ceiling too. At least the resulting fire was very small.
Once the dust settled, we began scrubbing and cleaning. I think we did a great job. Oscar and Paula and I decided to set up the firing range even before we put up the new drywall.
We used the debris to make the backdrop plus all dirt and gravel that Greg smuggled in, plus all the cardboard and paper from the past week, plus some other stuff that was just lying around. Chris helped towards the end too.
We tested the range, and it'll work very well for small arms and some of the rifles. Christ is a great shot, BTW. We'll have to finish off the rough ends tomorrow and then add the dry wall, paint and add hooks and stuff. I expect to see volunteers at 0800 hrs. I think the folding tables are fine for now, but real shooting tables and gun rests would be nice in the future. Apparently everyone voted for me to repair the ceiling. Which is fine.
Does anyone know who put the Commandant's picture over Emperor Palpatine's face and then hung it up in the mess hall? It certainly wasn't me since I can't do that Photoshop thingy. He blamed me anyway for some reason. He said I was subversive. I called him Big Brother. He said I was a menace, and I said he was a Sith Lord. And he told me not to lisp and I laughed at that. He thought I was laughing at him and he left. I was laughing because he thought I had a lisp. My ribs are a bit sore from laughing too much.
Dinner is beans and toast because everyone is too sore and tired to cook.
We are holding off on Star Wars again cause Greg is busy tonight. The vote was in favor of watching the game tonight.
Comments
Speaking of petitions, the Hobbit petition was signed by everyone aside from OM and the Hobbit himself. Even the CO signed the petition. So you really should be signing your posts, Hobbit. BJ
F-ck off, BJ. JHW
John, are you sure you're okay? And BJ you aren't funny. OM
I'm fine, and I can handle BJ. JWH
Okay, forget BJ. Back to the explosion; you flew pretty far. I thought you were dead for a minute and so did Chris. OM
Right. Thanks for that OM. What part of 'keep this under your hat' didn't you understand? Can someone remind me how to delete the comments? Jwh
BJ, I could really use your help cause these comments aren't deleting once they're posted and I'm doing what you said to do. JOhn
Honestly, can't someone tell me how to delete these comments? I think the comments are weird and inappropriate and I'd like to delete them ASAP. John
You do realize that I'm waiting for an explanation. Shezza
Never mind BJ, you can show me how to delete them later. Jhw
The explanation is that we each set off a tiny amount of C4. It was for practice. The micro explosions also broke down the walls that we wanted demolished. So. Win-Win. Yeah? JHW
That was clear from your blog. The bit about you looking dead requires an explanation. Obviously. Shezza
GL said you got into a fight last night. He said you were arguing over ash? JW
Yes, because I know ash. Still waiting. Shezza
I'm guessing it was about tobacco ash. JHW
Obviously. Still waiting. Shezza
Did you get hurt? John
Lestrade and Darin were with me. So no, I did not get hurt. Except a nosebleed. It stopped, obviously. I did not at any time appear to be dead. And I'm still waiting. Shezza
You know, his name is Derek not Darin. JHW
Don't care. Still. Waiting. Shezza
OMG. I may have used a tiny bit more C4 than I should have. I am apparently shite at baking and at explosives. I was never all that great at Chemistry, I guess. I was much better in anatomy and physiology. I did real well in those subjects. Top of my class in both. That's part of the reason I became a surgeon. JHW
Oh and I'm fine now. Everyone is fine. How are you? John
So here's what happened. We were all setting small charges and taking out portions of the walls. John miscalculated. Some people miscalculate pill dosages and John miscalculates C4. John took out an entire wall and a chunk of ceiling. Luckily, the shockwave threw John back 7 or 8 feet (he was standing too close to the site too), so the ceiling didn't come down on him, which would have been bad because it was on fire. Also a heavy fan fell and that would have hurt if it landed on his head. So the flying part was all for the best, really. OM
It was also lucky that he was wearing protective gear. He was stunned but not concussed. At least that's what he said. He claims to be a doctor who knows the difference. Chris
Right now he's so stiff he can barely walk, and he won't take any pain meds. Not even the right dose of pain meds. And this is why he wants to have beans and toast for dinner. Of course I'm making us something else, probably chicken Parmesan, cause John is losing too much weight as it is. OM
And everyone else is probably hungry too. OM
Nice save, OM. NOT. Chris
On the plus side, Hobbit has agreed to never use C4 again, and he's going to sit out hand-to-hand practice for the next three days. Chris
Actually, we all voted on it first. Then we told Hobbit that he's forbidden to touch C4 ever again. He argued at first and threatened me with a pack of cigarettes, then he gave in and agreed not to touch C$ ever again. (Since he was able to threaten me with a pack of cigarettes, you can see that he wasn't seriously injured. See Hobbit, I'm fair and balanced when reporting the news.) And Hobbit is not allowed to go to the gym today AT ALL-not even to watch. (In case he was wrong about the concussion.) He is also not allowed to do hand-to-hand for four days, not three (again just in case he was concussed and just in case that rib was fractured, and not bruised). And we have it all in writing. CC
His burns are very mild, more like sunburn. At least he didn't tear open that cut on his arm and his leg is fine. Sort of. Derek
He did need some stitches on his forehead though. Just butterfly stitches so that's not too bad, right? Chris
Thanks for that guys. Really. And I only agreed to three days without hand-to-hand training. I do not have a concussion or a fractured rib. I do have the medical degree...remember? Also, I have a copy of the paperwork and it says 3 days. JHW
Three days beginning tomorrow. See the fine print. Derek
Dear Dr. Hobbit, think of this as payback for actually using a pack of cigarettes as a weapon on me. CC
Plan P, for using a pack of cigarettes as a weapon, was sort of fun to be honest. And it was surprisingly successful. I'm glad I thought of it. HOhn
I can't believe you set off C4 without me. Will you be doing any more C4 practice? Shezza
By unanimous decision, John will never be setting off C4 again. OM
On the other hand, the next time we practice with explosives without Hobbit, we'll send you a memo, Shezza. CC
Thank you, I look forward to that. Shezza
And John, we will discuss your propensity to damage yourself in the near future. Try not to kill yourself before then. Shezza
I hate all of you. John
Oh yeah and...
Comments Closed
John walked back to his room, limping from his stiff back and his injured leg. But he had to push himself if he wanted to strengthen his leg, didn't he? The blond carried his crutches tucked under one arm, but as soon as John heard someone coming down the hall, he quickly put his crutches to use.
"All right, Hob...John?" said Clancy who was on duty.
"Hey Clancy," said John with narrowed eyes. He was not going to be called Hobbit by anyone.
"You finally done working out?" asked the taller blond.
"Yeah, I guess so," said John, thinking the word 'obviously'.
"Well, have a good night... John," said Clancy with a wink.
"G'night, Clancy." The former army doctor wondered at the wink; it was more than a bit odd.
He looked suspiciously at the overly tall minion. All of Mycroft's minions were abnormally tall except for Christine who was John's height. Clancy smirked again, before he rounded the corner.
Still scowling a bit over the smirking minion, John unlocked the door to his room. He reached for the light switch and nothing happened. Damn! What happened to the light? What was Clancy playing at?
Then the former army doctor heard a noise. There was a faint rustle of fabric against fabric and a soft, barely audible intake of breath. He raised his crutch defensively and braced for an attack.
"John, if I was an assassin, you'd already be dead," said the World's Only Consulting Detective.
"And what are you doing lurking in the damn dark?" asked John, lowering his weapon and sagging a bit with relief. "And why didn't you tell me you were here?"
"Dear lord, that recent explosion must have dulled your brain even further. I'm obviously in your room waiting to tell you that I'm here. And now that you're here…"
"You were meeting secretly with Mycroft. You two were plotting again, weren't you? Was Greg there too?" asked the suspicious blond. "Silence means yes, that's what you always say..."
"Actually, I say, 'Silence means assent', " corrected the genius. "And yes, we had a brief meeting, and then I came looking for you."
"And what was the meeting about?"
"I wanted Mycroft to investigate some overseas links to Moriarty. And Mycroft wanted to complain about you. He thinks you're dangerous."
"And?"
"And you are," said the consulting detective.
"Me? Dangerous?" scoffed the ex army doctor. "Compared to you and Mycroft, I'm Mother Teresa. I try to mitigate danger. I try..."
"I like dangerous," said Sherlock Holmes.
"Stop it!" demanded the doctor, trying to ignore the happy, warm feeling gathering in his chest.
"Stop what?"
"You're smirking. Even in the bloody dark, I can see that you're smirking."
"That's ridiculous, John," said the genius. "You obviously can't see anything. You are picking up on verbal cues and comparing them to past data which you've stored..."
"And why exactly are we in the dark?" interrupted John. "We're in the dark because you don't want me to see all the cuts and bruises you got yesterday from fighting with those smugglers after you ran ahead of your bodyguards."
"PJ told you," surmised the detective.
"His nickname is BJ. And yes he told me," said the doctor. "I'm going to turn a light on and see for myself…"
"I'd rather we go to bed," contradicted the taller man, his voice dropping impossibly low. "I was rather hoping that you'd finally take me tonight. I know you've been wanting to. I know I've been wanting you to."
John pursed his lips in the dark. He was being manipulated, again. And it was working, again. Damn, now all he could think about was six-foot of consulting detective stretched out naked on his bed and John on top and…
Sherlock sensed imminent victory. "Besides, John, if you turn on the lights, I'll see the results of your little C4 experiment, not to mention the recent and as yet still unexplained damage to your arm. So really, I think it would be for the best if we just left the lights off and proceeded with shagging."
"Fine. You win. We'll do it your way as usual," growled John, throwing his crutches to the floor. He stomped awkwardly toward the sound of that smooth, silky baritone.
"Over here, Captain," teased the rumbling voice in the dark, which had inexplicably moved off to the left.
'I'm not much in the mood for games, Sherlock. Not after you left me here to rot for another whole week…"
"But you have all your friends to keep you company, especially Gavin and Omar."
Waving a hand in front of him to prevent a collision, John turned toward Sherlock's deep voice, "I'm not even going to try to guess who you're talking about this time. And I refuse to play blind man's bluff in the middle of the night with an overgrown man-child!" John still took another step towards his tormentor.
"I thought you'd be happy to see me," said the detective his voice now mimicking hurt and again out of John's reach.
"Well, I can't see you in the bloody dark, now can I?" snapped the ex-soldier, turning yet again. "Will you stop dancing around!"
"I'm right here, John," breathed the tall detective from behind the shorter man's shoulder. He was so close that John felt his warm breath on his neck.
John silently cursed his lover's ability to move without a sound. Then he reached back and grabbed a fistful of shirt.
"Just come here, will you?" demanded the former captain. He turned, reaching up with his free hand to find Sherlock's shoulder, then the column of his neck and finally, his soft curls. John tugged on those curls, pulling the taller man down into an insistent kiss.
Long arms slid around the determined soldier. Sherlock enthusiastically returned the kiss, also running his hands up under the older man's tight tee-shirt.
John nibbled at his favorite pouty lip, then parted his lips while Sherlock's insistent tongue explored his mouth. John was all turned around in the dark and almost dizzy from kissing and from the feel of those manipulative hands. The ex-army doctor pulled back for a breath, clinging to his detective for support. This will never do, thought John, trying not to get lost in his lover…at least not until he had accomplished his objectives. John smirked to himself.
Then his lover tugged at him. The detective slowly walked backward, as their lips locked in another passionate kiss.
Somehow, even in the dark and while snogging each other senseless, Sherlock seemed to know exactly where he was going. It was almost irritating, but John had better things to do besides getting irritated with his detective's ridiculous ability to see in the dark.
John knew they had reached the bed when he felt his lover's lips curl up in a proud smile. John reached out to locate the mattress and gently pushed his boyfriend onto the bed. Then he resolutely climbed into his boyfriend's lap. That's when they both realized that they were wearing far too many clothes. A few grunts of pain and several muttered apologies from each man accompanied their clumsy attempts to remove each other's clothing, while trying to avoid their various injuries.
"Just how many cuts do you have, Sherlock?" demanded the ex-army doctor smoothing his hand gently over a plaster.
"Three, and only one even needed stitches," replied the detective as he ran his hand along his smaller companion's now bare ribs. "Are you positive you didn't crack any ribs the other day, this is clearly very sore."
"Yep… I'm sure. Just some bruising," said John, wincing in spite of himself. "But it might be good if you don't touch it so much?"
John gulped some air before diving back into snogging his companion. John wasn't sure which was more important kissing or breathing, but kissing seemed to be winning out. Oh well, didn't Sherlock once say that breathing is boring? He sprawled atop the younger man, kissing him desperately and foregoing the dull respiration. Sherlock's smooth, cool skin slid under John's chest, his arms and his legs and John's skin burned in response.
The ex-soldier didn't even try to stifle his pent-up longing. This could be their only time together for another whole week, and John Watson meant to make the most of it now.
Then he remembered Sherlock's request. Was it a request? Did Sherlock really mean it?
Panting heavily, the soldier sat up, straddling his lover's thighs and bracing his hands on the lean, muscular chest beneath him.
"John, what's wrong?" asked Sherlock. "You are in pain, aren't you? Tell me…"
"No. Nothing like that. Did you mean…" Now John was tongue-tied. He felt like an idiot. Apparently, he still didn't know the proper etiquette for gay sex. How exactly, wondered John, did one ask if one's lover really wanted to take it up the duff? He'd just assumed that Sherlock would always want to top. But maybe not?
"John?" asked Sherlock again.
Right, thought the marksman. Just man up and ask. Straightforward and to the point and once more into the breach…Fuck. Fuck, that was a bad turn of phrase, all things considered. And it was probably misquoted anyway…
"John Watson, tell me what is bothering you right now!" demanded the consulting detective, who couldn't decide if he was mostly worried about or mostly irritated with his clearly distracted lover.
Right, thought John. Do it. Ask him.
"Right. Sherlock?"
"Yes, John," sighed the World's Most Frustrated Consulting Detective.
"Sherlock…do you? I mean, have you ever…" stuttered John.
"Yes and yes," snapped the impatient detective. "So lets get on with it."
"I didn't even finish my question," said John, worrying at his lip.
Sherlock relented. John was after all still new to man on man sex. Perhaps he was even still uncomfortable with it. That was worrisome. Perhaps Christine and Paula were bigger threats than Oscar. Perhaps it was time for Sherlock to try being patient and supportive in order to reinforce John's homosexual activity. And to reinforce his exclusive bond with the consulting detective.
Sherlock reined in his impatience and began running soothing hands up and down his anxious lover's torso. "John, I asked you to take me, I wouldn't ask for it if I didn't want it. And of course I've bottomed before. Many..um, before. If you are unsure what to do next, I'll help…"
"No! God no. I just wanted to…to make sure..." continued the doctor. "And you promise to tell me if I'm doing something wrong, if I'm hurting you or you know..."
John's shyness and his patently over the top concern was annoying and yet also a bit heartwarming. Which was even more annoying since Sherlock Holmes didn't do heartwarming. Then again, Sherlock Holmes had recently found himself doing lots of things that were decidedly outside his comfort zone, and it was all because of John Watson.
The detective's musings were disrupted when John, having ensured that he was following the proper protocols, repositioned himself to kneel between Sherlock's long, muscular legs. His warm, calloused hands slid up and down Sherlock's inner thighs. Then he leaned down and began nuzzling the short, wiry hair at the root of Sherlock's arousal.
And it was good. It was very good. Perhaps John simply wasn't ready to top yet, decided the younger man. John was indeed new to this. And he was obviously a bit shy, which was cute…yes cute. And that should have been even more annoying, because Sherlock Holmes did not do cute. But Sherlock could not remain annoyed, especially when John was doing that thing with his tongue.
So cute it is.
As the heat built up inside, Sherlock was viscerally reminded that this was much more than just a shag for him, he was now smitten. He was in love, truly, deeply, fatuously in love, with his handsome and sometimes violent flat mate who was also devastatingly cute…and who had very talented, very naughty lips . Sherlock could teach John to top some other time. After all John was very comfortable and a natural at blow jobs. Why not just enjoy that heat surrounding him...Sherlock's hips tried to thrust forward but were held firmly in place by his soldier's hands.
Then his supposedly shy little soldier repositioned himself and made a surprise attack. Apparently, the fellatio was a feint or a diversion before the real advance began. John's fingers, which had somehow become appropriately lubed, began circling the skin around Sherlock's entrance and teasing the muscle and…
Sherlock's deep moan reverberated in John's chest, inflaming him and emboldening him. Still, this was uncharted territory. For the first push, John reverted to his basic medical training. It's not as though he hadn't done this before as a physician. Right? It's just another physical exam, he told himself.
But it really wasn't.
No, Doctor Watson quickly realized, this was nothing like a routine exam. The heat and pressure on his finger was … well, the feeling of having a finger inside his lover was...bloody wonderful? arousing? fucking brilliant?…God, John couldn't decide. He couldn't bloody think properly. God, he couldn't even breathe properly, and John Watson surely knew how to breathe, didn't he? Whatever, concentrate on your mission, Captain!
His finger stretched and explored. The ex-army doctor easily found that bundle of nerves, which forced his lover to arch up off of the bed with a gasp.
God yes. John Watson could make the World's Only Consulting Detective gasp and writhe. He could make Sherlock Holmes fall apart. He wanted to be the one that made Sherlock Holmes happy...and ecstatic.
John, tried to remember to breathe. In and out. The breathing helped keep him conscious, obviously. But it also helped to keep him in control of himself, so his mission would succeed. Just breathe. In and Out. His control was so fragile; John was already hard to the point of pain and he wanted, he needed...Never mind, just breath and insert another finger.
Grasping short hair in his fingers, Sherlock roughly pulled John's wicked mouth off his throbbing length. He wouldn't last another minute with that kind of stimulation, and he wanted his lover inside of him when he climaxed.
"For God's sake John, just do it!" demanded the imperious detective.
"You're not ready," soothed the maddeningly stubborn doctor.
"I am ready!" claimed the younger man, wriggling against John's fingers.
"Well I'm not!" snapped John. And you're not ready either, John thought, inserting another finger and stretching. "And you're not ready until I say you're ready. I'm the doctor, and I'm the captain, and I won't rush this and risk hurting you."
It felt good. It felt fantastic and brilliant, but Sherlock wanted all of John inside him. He tried to allow a few more moments of preparation, and it felt like centuries before he gasped, almost pleading, "John, please, just do it."
God yes! John Watson could make the World's Only Consulting Detective beg for him. Oh God, yes.
The former soldier dumped lube on himself, cringing at the cold. Then he dumped some more on just to be sure, but this did nothing to douse his ardor. He was way too keyed up to let a little cold lube distract him form the mission. John pulled his beloved's legs onto his shoulders, ignoring the warning twinges from his left arm. He took a deep breath and lined up and pushed.
John moved slowly; he was so very careful not to hurt Sherlock. In fact he had to move slowly, because he was very much afraid of a misfire. John refused to let that happen; he had to show Sherlock how much he loved him. He groaned and maintained control…barely. Breathe John Watson. Breathe in...and then out.
Sherlock was hot and tight; his deep moans only fed the flames racing along the doctor's nerves. It wasn't going to last. John wasn't going to last.
"Fuu..cck!" groaned John.
Enough. The time for patience was over, decided Sherlock. John was going to kill himself with his ridiculous self-control and anyway, Sherlock had to have John deep inside, now. He wanted John inside him and to be a part of him forever. His legs wrapped around his lover's back, and he raised his hips to thrust himself against his soldier. Skin against skin, he ground down, gasping at the same time as John fought to catch his breath.
John Watson was galvanized. He abandoned his slow, tender thrusts and began to drive in for Queen and Country.
"Yes," hissed Sherlock. "Yes, John. More. More. Yes, yes."
Cursing under his breath, John stroked his lover with one hand as his hips snapped in rapid fire.
Yes, this is what Sherlock wanted. This was it. John was merciless, hitting his sweet spot over and over. Yes! The fever inside the brunet spiraled higher and tighter.
'"Fuck, fuck. Oh bloody hell. Come for me love, come on," thought John. He thought that he was silent, until he heard the rough half-growled syllables ripping from his own throat. "Oh God, come for me…come…God, yees!"
Sherlock groaned as his coiled heat began to shatter; he bucked up into John's hand, moaning John's name. Sherlock yanked John's hips closer, driving him in deeper yet, and the younger man shuddered and broke apart in ecstasy. His world went white and silent as his hard drive crashed.
Sherlock gasped in pleasure. Within moments, his powerful mind rebooted efficiently. He heard John growl again and felt him trembling. Of course, John's left arm was tiring.
"Oh God, Sherlock...God," John half sobbed. "No, I ...I'm come..."
The soldiers thrusts were hard, fierce, erratic. Sherlock raised his arms to John's chest, and his soldier sucked in a desperate breath leaning into the touch, "No, oh no, I can't...no... NO NO SHERRRLOCKK!"
He drove in one last time and then John went silent, his hips spasming, and his heat spread deep inside Sherlock.
John's left arm shook and finally gave out. His lover's strong arms lowered him down. His heart burned with an insane determination to remain joined to Sherlock forever. He refused to pull out. He could never let go. John would never give this man up.
Groaning, he slipped out of his partner in spite of himself, and then he tried to bury his face into Sherlock's broad chest instead, murmuring barely coherent words of praise and devotion. John's good arm clutched Sherlock's arm in an almost painful grasp.
Sherlock was overcome as he felt the frenzied intensity of John's love in his muttered chants and crushing embrace. Sherlock was overwhelmed as John tried to burrow into him saying, "I love you, I love you...dear God, how I love you."
Sherlock was speechless. No one had ever loved him like this. No one else would ever love Sherlock the way John did. But he had no words for this. Instead, he hugged John so tight that the doctor gasped for air. Releasing his hold, his large, talented hands roamed over John's skin and scalp, scars and wounds. He silently loved John back, showing his devotion in soothing caresses and a comforting embrace. Slowly, his lover relaxed into his hold. The detective cradled John's head against his shoulder as the older man drifted to sleep.
A couple of hours later, Sherlock was still awake, still listening to John's steady breathing and still sensing John's heart beating just above his own. He kept John close, sprawled on top of Sherlock, with his blond head tucked safely under Sherlock's chin.
Sherlock stared out into the dark, marveling at how this man had changed him forever. This man had brought Sherlock love and happiness and all the sentiments he had once despised. He ran his fingertips through the hair of this precious man.
He was curious as to how this had come to be, but there was no scientific answer, and this irked the genius. All he knew was that somehow, John fit him. Despite their difference in size, or perhaps because of it, John fit Sherlock like one of his hand-tailored suits. And although their personalities were different, they were complementary. Like legendary soul mates or yin and yang. The detective frowned in displeasure at thinking something so…trite.
Of course it was all true, even if it was unbearably saccharine. This irritable, sometimes violent and sometimes incredibly affectionate soldier was his perfect mate. Sherlock would give John everything John would ever need from a partner, so that he would never leave.
An excellent plan, assuming they both survived the next few weeks. Well, obviously, John would survive. That was the whole point of all of Sherlock's schemes.
It was only a matter of time now. Sherlock knew that he and Lestrade had caused serious damage to Moriarty's organization. So it was inevitable that the spider would attack soon. And when he did, Sherlock Holmes would squash him like the nasty little arachnid that he was.
It was dangerous, obviously. It was possible that Sherlock would not survive the attack. The only thing Sherlock could guarantee was that if he fell, he would take Moriarty with him. But no matter what happened, John Watson would remain safe. End Stop.
A/N So there's a first time for everything, and this was the first time I was able to write a Top-John. I'm not sure if I like it, but at least the boys enjoyed it. And I hope it wasn't too over the top. (Sorry, I couldn't help myself) :P
Thank you to everyone who follows this fic. I am very grateful to everyone who has listed this fic as a favorite. I am so thrilled to think that people like this story enough to follow and favorite it. WOW!
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Your comments, critiques and suggestions have a great influence on me and motivate me to keep trying. Thank you for the recent reviews from: Wicked Winter, TheSherlockianGoddess, 107602, EJ12212012, dana-san, JC Black, Inimatedesires, Samuele8688, HelenaHermione, birdie7272 and Quiet Time.
Disclaimer: By now we all know that I don't own any rights to Sherlock, for which most people are probably grateful. :D