Prompt 35: Fuse
"You COCK Sherlock Holmes!" John yelled from the other side of the carriage. Sherlock chuckled from his place on the floor "You say such sweet things to me John, tell me, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He knew he was off the hook when John's furious face gave way to relentless laughter. He blinked up at him, and John squirmed internally at the look he was giving him, as if he'd just seen him for the first time, as if he wanted to be ravished presently, across the seats John if you please. John blushed at the thought and turned to see torch beams heading in their direction. "And you called the police." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sherlock Holmes was alive and as annoying as ever and John couldn't have been more pleased to have the arsehole back.
Sherlock couldn't believe it. John's fuse was unlimited it seemed, and the fondness in his smile... he was too good and Sherlock had been blind, he'd observed but not seen and now he looked, it was more obvious than a slice of cake on Mycroft's waist. He could never have done anything to deserve this man, but by some twist of fate they'd been thrust together and slowly, like a diamond forming, he'd fallen for him with every part of himself. Sure, he'd known objectively that John must be attractive, the constant stream of women on his tail seemed to suggest that, but staring up at him now from the floor of the tube, Sherlock could see him, and his strong thighs made for the chase, and his hands that had saved and taken lives, for himself and Sherlock too, and his ruggedly handsome face, and the blonde hair that he wanted to see rumpled by his hand, and he wanted him. He flicked his eyes to the side at the line of seats... no Sherlock he admonished himself. John doesn't even know. The arrival of the police was a damper to that train of thought anyway, but he couldn't stop his mind from wondering what John looked like, truly looked like, beneath all those layers of hideously baggy (wonderfully John) jumpers. As it happened, he would find out sooner than he thought.
The next day, sitting writing a backlog of reports up in Lestrade's office on pain of having his scarf burned as John shoved him out the door (an empty threat but still) Sherlock could feel the tension in the room behind him rise quite suddenly, making the air thick and heavy, and he felt eyes shooting back to look at him. Ready for whatever sort of verbal barbs would be thrown at him he strode out into the office proper and over to the gang of officers gathered around Sally's desk. Pushing his way to the front, it was impossible to ignore the giggles and whispers that were directed towards him. He made it to the front of the crowd and very quickly understood all the giggles and blushed faces. In her hands, Donovan held a seven year old Men of the armed forces calendar, open for all to see at June. And, photographed with the heading "Mr June' was John. His eyes widened as he took in the full image, showing a youthful, golden John leaning across the bonnet of a humvee truck in only two items: his dogtags and a pair of skin tight camouflage underpants, surrounded by a thin backdrop of white sand, his body and the car the only colour breaking through. Sherlock nearly choked on his tongue when he focused on any one part, the cerulean pop of his eyes and casual smirk looked as if John was staring at you through the pages, his torso was a dream of washboard abs, and his single bent leg splayed open for emphasis of the crowning glory of the entire thing, the camouflage outline of an impressive cock that appeared to not even have reached it's full length. "Christ." he exhaled and for once Donovan had nothing to say, she simply nodded in agreement and stared at the photo in her arms.
"I can't believe he's hiding all that from the world, I mean, I'd give him a go and I don't swing that way!" Dimmock said in awe from his left and Sherlock felt his stomach clench. There was a chorus of agreements, "I mean I love my husband but... he's no Watson." "He was in the army too... dya think he likes to like, give orders in bed? because I am so up for that" "I wonder if he still has those pants? Maybe he wears them sometimes, underneath his clothes, and none of us would know!" Sherlock's head was buzzing with all of these new (intriguing) hypotheticals. He had never been in John's underwear drawer and John did their laundry so the pants could truly be in their flat, and as for any predilection for taking charge of a sexual partner... well didn't that just make his blood effervese.
Lestrade strolled in and did a double take, foregoing his customary greeting in favour of gaping at Mr June. "Bloody hell is that John?" he asked as the crowd parted to let him through. "It would appear so." Sherlock managed to speak without really thinking about it. He turned to Lestrade and frowned as the man licked his lips and stared at the seething mass of dilated pupils surrounding him. "We should... eh... we should probably not keep looking at this. John would be upset... probably." Sherlock said, but no one tore their attention away, if anything that was like turning up the heating and it felt as though some sort of orgy was likely to break out in the middle of the room. Eventually, however, a lightly flushed Lestrade dispersed the crowd and herded Sherlock back to the reports in his office.
Only a couple of minutes passed in relative quiet before Lestrade looked up at him. "Sorry but I don't get it." Sherlock smirked "That's not much of a change." Lestrade rolled his eyes and put the back of his pen between his teeth. "I mean, I know you say that you're married to your work or whatever, but I always kind of assumed... you and John... you know... because you look at him... and he kinda seems... but... no?" A beat of silence. Sherlock sighed through his teeth."Unfortunately not. I was just as... surprised as the rest by that calendar. He's very conservative at home, I've never even seen him shirtless, say nothing of trouserless." Sherlock frowned and continued writing.
Once he'd returned from his... time away... He'd become rather close to Lestrade as a friend - probably because he'd realised that loath though he'd been to admit it, the DI was rather important to him, and quite understanding of things that didn't involve the work. When it came to that he was still a bit of an imbecile. Still, it was... good... to have a confidant outside of John to talk to about topics that he couldn't with his best friend. Like, for example the fact that he wanted to shag him senseless. The fact that Lestrade had always had an inkling that that was the case helped too."Cor, I'd not turn my nose up myself. Those pants. I bloody hope they're some sort of magic ones because if not he'd just make the rest of us look bad!" Sherlock clicked his tongue and grinned "Speak for yourself Lestrade." They chuckled and Sherlock dodged the pen the pen that flew towards him. "Cheeky Git. I won't be able to get that out of my head for a while now, I tell you that for free." Sherlock hummed in agreement and checked his watch. If he hurried, he'd finish before dinner. A few hours later both men's ears pricked up at a stage whisper from sergeant Clarke informing her colleagues that John was on his way up, and saying something that sounded awfully similar to "wait till he sees." Oh dear. Sherlock scrambled to catch him before he made it to them.
John had been more than happy to oust Sherlock from the flat that morning because he needed time to get his head together again and to be honest the detective's presence wasn't exactly conducive to rational thought at the moment. Aside from anything else, Sherlock would have seen through him instantly had he tried to sort through all of this with him around, so it seemed like a stroke of luck that Lestrade needed him to fill in a stack of reports. Before he did any soul searching he made himself a cup of tea, because tea, it's widely known, cures all ills.
Last night. That was really the place to start seeing as he'd been thinking about it ever since. He'd actually considered stepping into Sherlock's space and kissing the arrogant sod speechless, and while he'd been pretty sure about his sexuality until now, his mind, contrary to what he'd have expected, was totally on board with that plan. Still was in truth. He didn't have a problem with being gay or anything, but he really wasn't sure if that was what this was. It could have been the culmination of a stressful situation, an explosion of tension between the only two people there? He looked back over the past three years he'd known Sherlock, and the two he'd spent mourning him (he'd grown a mourn-stache for Let's sake) and quickly came to the realisation that perhaps his feelings for Sherlock had been growing all the time, he'd just kind of ignored them, and then of course there was the whole dead thing, so really, it wasn't exactly his fault that he'd not discovered them before.
Now that he knew though he had to do something. He was Captain John Watson, a man of action, and if the looks Sherlock gave him and had been giving him were any indication he definitely had a shot. "I'll tell him then. Best suit up for that." John said to himself and he hopped into the shower. Stepping into his bedroom wrapped in a towel he rifled through his drawers for his "Yes you fucking want me, lucky you" underwear and pulled them on, before giving himself a proud once over in the mirror. Despite what his attire suggested, he wasn't sagging or anything like that, quite the opposite. He was just as lean and toned as he had been when he'd been handed the camo-pants all those years ago, the only real differences from then were his bullet wound; a bright starburst of rose skin on his shoulder, and the number of tattoos he'd amassed. Sherlock wouldn't stand a chance.
Sherlock cursed as he ran straight into an intern, and watched as John walked purposefully in from the night, Sherlock tried to meet him half way and hope he didn't notice anything amiss but unfortunately for him John had improved his observational skills. "Er... Sherlock, why does half the Yard look like they want to eat me?" There was a wolf whistle from somewhere to the back and a scattering of laughter. Sherlock flushed as he imagined the reason and John turned to look at the officers and his eyebrows rose. Plastered across every computer screen was the photograph of Mr. June. John turned back to Sherlock with a teasing grin. "You've seen that then I take it?" Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded, not trusting his voice. John grinned lazily. "If that blush is anything to go by you liked what you saw... as did everyone else which is quite nice." He gestured to the room in general and there was a little cheer. Lestrade stepped out of his office and froze when he saw John, who shook his head, amused. "Right. I think the best way to clear the air so to speak is to- you won't arrest me will you?" John asked and Lestrade frowned slightly but shook his head apprehensively, and everyone looked confused. John toed off his shoes and socks in one go and pulled his shirt up and over his head, and stepped out of his trousers to reveal the pants and the room exploded with appreciative cheers and whistles.
"So." John addressed the room. "As you can see, that's not exactly an inaccurate representation of me, and it's just a coincidence that I picked these underpants tonight, but I'll just clarify that for you all." John inclined his head to the photo, not noticing the way Sherlock was shifting in his trousers, or Lestrade doing something similar. "The calendar was for charity so we could make sure the children who'd become orphans in Afghanistan could have a home after theirs were destroyed. I don't regret it, but I would appreciate it if you'd not keep it as your screensavers, because I was just doing my job - protecting those people who needed me in any way I could. I'm proud of how I look, but I don't want people to only see that, I want relationships that mean something. Which" he finally turned to Sherlock "was what I was here to talk about in the first place. So I'm going to get dressed now... thanks for uh... listening?" In the blink of an eye he was dressed (a seldom needed skill also left from his army days) and smiling softly at Sherlock who was still frozen on the spot.
"Basically Sherlock the thing is that I think I like you, in a "Let's go home and see what's under your clothes" way but also in a "I might be in love with you and it's making me a bit reckless to be honest"way too. Sorry I get rambley when I'm nervous, and it's dawning on me how odd that statement sounds because I just stripped off in front of an office full of people we know without batting an eye and now you're still just kind of standing there, so I'm going to go home but if you can move in the next ten seconds we could go together because I really would like to see what your skin tastes like, and I could explain the whole 'tattoo of your name across a skull on my arm' thing away from all of them. There are some things they don't get to see. Besides" John moved in, breathing hotly onto Sherlock's neck "You're the only one I want to see under the camouflage." Sherlock took a ragged breath and the look in his eyes was fire hot as he grabbed John's hand and yelled for a cab.
A/N Sorry but those are some of my favourite tropes (Pin up John, with tattoos, Papa Greg being proper friends with Sherlock, John being all body confident, Lestrade - and everyone else - getting hot and bothered by him...) just in case some of you couldn't read the last one you know? Also! I'm on Tumblr, and I'd love to hear/see any of you there, my URL is 'imakemyselflol' so if you do come along be sure to drop me a line! Ttyl ~S