sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

Skip to Main Content

Entry tags:

Prompting Part XXXV

THE MEME NEEDS ARCHIVISTS!

GUIDELINES

Anon posting is not required, but most definitely allowed. If you think you recognise an anon, keep it to yourself and don’t out them. IP tracking is off, and will remain that way.

Multiple fills are encouraged, and all kinds of fills are accepted! Fic, art, vids, cosplay, interpretive dance — whatever. Go wild! :D

Don’t reprompt until TWO parts after the last posting of the prompt.

RPF (real person fic, i.e. fic involving the actors themselves) is not supported at this meme.

Concrit is welcome, but kinkshaming, hijacking, and flaming are not tolerated.

THE FILLED PROMPTS POST
When you fill a prompt, please use the appropriate Filled Prompts Post to archive your fill (there are instructions on the actual post).

If the part you wanted isn't up yet, just wait and one of the archivists will get to it, but please, once it is up, make sure you post your fills there according to the guidelines. DO NOT skip out on doing this because it seems like too much effort. If you want your fill to make it to the Delicious archive, that’s the way to do it.

Do not be afraid to ask questions about how it works if you are confused! The mods will be happy to explain.

WARNINGS/OFFENSIVE WORDING IN PROMPTS
Please consider warning for prompts that may trigger people (and also for fills, because some people read in flat view) and phrasing prompts in a manner that strives to be respectful.

Things which you might want to consider warning for include: Rape/Non-Con, Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Underage Relationships, among others.

That being said, this is a kink meme. As such, there will be prompts that could offend you in a number of different ways. Not every prompt will have a trigger warning, and not every prompt will rub you the right way. If you have an issue with a specific prompt, feel free to bring it up in a discussion that takes place off the meme. However, flaming will not be tolerated regardless of origin.

You are highly encouraged to scroll past any prompt that you dislike.

Remember: be civil, be friendly, but don’t be shy!

THINGS THAT MAKE BROWSING THE MEME EASIER FOR EVERYONE
Please nest your fills. Doing so will make it easier for archivists to save your fills to the Delicious archive. Using subject lines will also help people reading the meme in flatview keep track of what’s happening. Finally, titling your fills (even if it’s something silly) will be helpful to those tracking a lot of prompts or scrolling through the meme.

PROMPT FREEZES
Depending on the rate of activity, there may or may not be a prompt freeze when a part reaches 2000 and 4500 comments. However, there will be one when it reaches 7000. After the 7000 comments freeze, a new part will be posted, and all prompting should happen on the new part.

CONTACTING MODS
Your mods for this meme are

ellie_hell,

anonspock and

anonbach. If you have any questions, concerns, comments about anything at all on the meme feel free to send a PM or contact us via the Page-A-Mod post.

MEME LINKS
Pinboard Archive - Delicious Archive - Guide to the Archive
Filled Prompts Posts: Parts 1-23 - Parts 24+ - Spoiler Free
The Glorious FAQ - Page-A-Mod

Flat View of This Page - Newest Page in Flatview - Newest Page of the Meme

Love Post - Chatter Post - Searching Post
Concrit Post - Story Announcement Post - Orphan Post
Spoiler Free Prompt Post - Overflow Post

Links to previous prompting parts

OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES

sherlock_rant: A place to rant about or discuss anything with few to no restrictions.

sherlock_rpf: This is a kinkmeme for RPF about the show.

sherlockcrit: A multi-fandom betaing/concrit community, with a focus on BBC Sherlock.

sherlockbbc: A community dedicated to the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.
Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

NOTICE: All links on the meme are now being screened because of spambot issues. When you submit a comment containing a link, it will be marked as spam. Please don't worry, the mods will unscreen it as soon as they can.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Main Content
Archive of Our Own betaAO3 logo - the letters A O 3 combined with arms raised in celebration, symbolizing the joy of fannish creation in the Archive User NavigationHi, Iwantthatcoat! Post Log Out

Site NavigationFandoms Browse Search About Search Works
Work Search: tip: austen words:10000-50000 sort:title
Chapter was successfully updated.

Actions

Add Chapter Edit Edit Tags Delete Work Entire Work ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Chapter Index Bookmark Comments Share Download
Work Header

Rating:
Explicit
Archive Warning:
Rape/Non-Con
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Sherlock (TV)
Relationship:
Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Characters:
Sherlock HolmesJohn WatsonMary MorstanMycroft Holmes
Additional Tags:
SlaverySexual SlaveryPost-ReichenbachFuck Or Diebut not quite a fuck or dieclose enoughHiatusJohn WhumpSherlock Whumpeverybody gets the whump!Oral Sexobsessive compulsive-type behaviorSelf-Harmattempts at sapiosexuality
Language: English Stats:Published:2014-11-09Updated:2015-02-17Words:21978Chapters:21/22Comments:209Kudos:291Bookmarks:65Hits:6950
(Restricted) 138
Iwantthatcoat

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter Delete Chapter
Chapter 21

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sherlock tried to raise his head, but felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, and let it fall back down to the pillow. He was staring at the ceiling, and becoming increasingly aware of the sounds of the shower. Of John in the shower. Sherlock pictured John's hands lathering up the hair on his chest, the darker hair across his stomach...bracing himself against the shower wall, leaning on one arm, soaping himself up with the remaining lather while water beaded across his tanned body. Spent as he was, Sherlock was surprised to find the imagery still somewhat effective.

No. John wanted privacy. Wanted to leave... for just a moment. John didn't deserve a deductive voyeur, in reality or even within the confines of Sherlock's own fantasy. Not that he would actually mind, though, Sherlock reasoned. He frowned. There probably wasn't anything John actually would mind. But, in any case, Sherlock had quite a lot to think about, and he knew the best opportunity for analysis would correspond with solitude.

He glanced down at his own body, and felt... almost, cold. Almost... empty. Relaxed, reasonably content, loved and cared for, but... something in him just wanted, longed, to... to what?

God, he loved John. More than he'd ever been capable of loving anyone in his life. It certainly wasn't doubt about that, this unknown element. And as hesitant as he had been, it was good to have taken this step. It was a high unlike any other. He smirked. And he knew highs. Only he didn't seek them out anymore, preferring mental epiphanies to physical ones.

And here was its companion. Its corresponding low. It wasn't a bad crash, really. It wasn't even truly a crash at all. More of a contrast. A stark contrast. Disorienting.

And he had been right, of course. It was too much, too soon. But, John... John wouldn't have understood that. It would have hurt him. Next time... Next time. He smiled at that. Next time, John won't need to prove himself, and it won't need to be quite as intense. He'd have to figure out what constituted a reasonable wait between carnal acts. John shouldn't have to wait too long.

John would be back soon, and they would rest together. He pictured it-- his limbs wrapped up in John. It would be perfect. For all his lack of urgent sexuality, he still enjoyed tactile sensation. Fine fabrics, the warmth of a fireplace, even the soft velvet of that godawful overly-ornate fleurs-de-lis wallpaper.

The shower stopped, the door creaked, and there he was-- towel wrapped around his waist, and, yes, beads of water still glistening in the hollows of his neck, with skin rosy from the combination of a recent orgasm and a hot shower.

Oh crap. So much for the cut and paste. Well, it's going on my AO3 anyway. sorry!!

I have no idea if im doing this correctly, i'm a complete noob but i am desperate for more premature ejaculation, coming in pants, cant hold it stories. Sherlock x male characters, not fussy who!

John smiled, perfectly at ease. "I honestly expected you to be asleep. You looked pretty knackered."

"I am pretty knackered."

John took off his towel and used it to quickly dry his hair before tossing it onto the bed and climbing in next to Sherlock. "Have you just been sitting here waiting for me?"

"Waiting and thinking."

"About?"

Sherlock turned toward John. This is when you should lie. When you should simply say, 'thinking about how amazing that was,' and give a goofy grin and close your eyes and snuggle into his shoulder. Certainly Sherlock was adept at lying. Instead, he found himself saying, "Cocaine."

Thankfully, he had enough sense to amend the statement quickly. "Not about using, John. Just, the highs. Horrible pillow talk. Sorry."

John processed. "No, don't be. It's... addictive? How you feel?" There was an easiness in his features that spoke of understanding. This was something John seemed to relate to. Sherlock found himself wishing he could simply nod and agree. This was an addiction for John, at least right now. Maybe that would change. Maybe it never would. He decided he could handle it either way.

"More about the highs, the lows. The balance."

"Oh. To be honest, not exactly what I was hoping to hear." John still smiled.

Sherlock did, too. "Well, to be honest as well, not exactly what I was meaning to say. After the most amazing sexual experience possible."

"Well. I wanted you to get your money's worth."

"Please. Don't."

John looked perplexed. "Don't what?"

"That was the worst experience of my life. Please don't treat it so lightly. I know mocking the situation feels better somehow... but, please, stop."

The silence seemed inordinately long.

John looked down at the sheet, focussing in on the discarded towel which was dampening the pillow. "You're... serious."

Sherlock spoke rapidly, waving his hands. "Yes, yes, of course I'm serious. If I was going to Iie, I would have lied right from the start-- about the cocaine-- don't you think?" He looked directly at John and defiantly held his posturing, until John finally met his eyes.

"More likely you wouldn't lie about the cocaine, then wish that you had, and then you'd lie about the next thing that came along."

Sherlock grinned.

"See, that's the look. The look you gave me during the Culverton Smith case when you'd been a lying little shit and had me damn near convinced that we'd caught the disease from that fucking ivory box and were both going to die... just before you decided it was worth your while to let me in on the secret. Not so glad that I'm getting more memories back now, huh?" John winked.

Sherlock's face was at its hardest, its most resolute. "Never. And I'm not lying this time, John."

"Why so serious? There is nothing to be done about it. I'm half a world away from them, and safe. It's over. Well, I mean, damage done, yes, but when you think about it, wanting to have a lot of sex is infinitely better once you consider the other possible outcomes-- especially when there's someone you don't mind having a lot of sex with, right?"

Sherlock got out of bed. For some reason, it didn't feel right to be lying there talking about this.

John sighed. "Well, it makes sense that you're not lying. You'd lie to get someone to do what you wanted without taking all that time and effort to explain. Or to trap someone else in their own lie. And if you were lying to get me to do something for you, you probably would be kissing my arse, not telling me I was pants at something and making me feel worse. That sounds more like... honest truth." John squared his shoulders. "I can do better. Just talk to me. Tell me."

Sherlock had been reaching for his dressing gown, but turned back toward John, abruptly. "John, God no. No, you didn't do a thing wrong. You were... beyond perfect."

"Right. That's why you felt so terrible. Perfect sex does that every time."

"I'm not talking about now, John. I've never felt anything that intense, I mean, on a scale of one to ten I'd give it a thirteen. And I was comparing it to... well... I wasn't talking about now. I was talking about when we first..."

"When you bought me." John stated plainly.

Sherlock heard the simple acknowledgement in John's voice, but it didn't stop his own stammer. "Yes. When I-- I bought you."

"I still do have a learning curve. Different people like different things. So, in all honesty, bravado aside, I'm not surprised that it paled by comparison. I didn't even know it was you."

"And I was hoping you never would. That by the time you'd recovered, you would have forgotten all of that." Sherlock felt it again. The utter despair of the moment when his only solace was in the painfully mixed blessing that John was too traumatised to know who he was. He froze in place, then willed himself back out of the memory. Lingering there was self-indulgent. He wrapped the gown around himself, facing away from the bed. "Or, barring that, at least forgotten my part in it."

"Why would I want to forget that you saved me? It doesn't make me turn into some damsel in distress. It's not like I'm starring in some porno where you rescue the girl from some deranged captors and then you get to have sex with her yourself as your reward."

"Isn't it," he scoffed.

"No. No, it isn't. Because it's you." John tapped the bed next to him to encourage him to sit back down. Sherlock merely turned to face him and drew a bit nearer. "And you could go your whole life without this if you wanted to." There was urgent look now. A pleading for understanding. "You think I don't know that? I do forget it sometimes. It seems so damn unnatural to me." John looked down for a moment, then pulled his gaze back up. "Sorry, but it does."

Sherlock just nodded quietly.

"But this wasn't for you. This was for me. And for you to think otherwise at any stage of this whole miserable experience is absolutely absurd. That you did anything to me I didn't want you to? Ridiculous."

"You weren't in your right mind. Then."

"Or now. Exactly. I'd say that you can't possibly know how much this means to me. Except you can. And," John's voice cracked helplessly as tears began to stream down his face. "And you do."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and let him sob. It was the first time he had done so throughout this whole ordeal. He saw every bit of what John was. The bravest, strongest man he had ever known, huddled in his arms. No less brave or strong for all of it... somehow even more so. And Sherlock joined him, bending his head down against John's neck. The two of them, crying, tangled in each other. I've got you, he thought. I've got you.

***Epilogue***

When the bell perched on top of the door jingled, Mycroft looked up from his salad in time to see Sherlock hold the door open for John, and smiled. Sherlock sat down directly opposite in the booth, returning the smile with a grimace. John slid in beside him.

"Why not our flat?"

"Because I am hungry, and because I prefer not to dine on Indian food delicately seasoned with the essence of human thumb."

John cracked a wry smile.

Sherlock didn't respond. He kept his eyes fixed on the small padded envelope sitting on top of a manilla folder on the table. John glanced at it briefly before turning his attention to the two brothers, who now appeared to be having yet another trademark conversation without words. He regarded the menu with exaggerated interest.

"You will both be pleased to hear that Aldebert Gruner is in custody. He had a small, red notebook on his person with several helpful notations. We were able to make quite a few additional arrests over the past few months."

Sherlock nodded. John gave Mycroft a quick glance before returning to the list of the day's specials. "Lunch is on you, then," John said.

"And just to catch up on old times, Sherlock, AGRA has a brand new member now." Mycroft tapped the file twice in rapid succession. "Goes by 'The Colonel'. He mentioned that you and he had a little heart-to-heart during your visit to Moldova." Sherlock nodded again, eyes still on the envelope. "If you were, in fact, such good friends, you will be pleased to know he came to work for us just in time. It seems a terrible accident befell his former place of employment... the very next day. Myriad ruined files, some of which he had been meticulously safe-keeping for years. The Colonel told me he was fortunate enough to have located a solitary backup copy which had been preserved for a few key items. He wanted me to give you this." Mycroft slid the package forward so it was directly in front of Sherlock, who only nodded once more in response.

Mycroft's phone buzzed and he looked particularly annoyed by the text. "Duty calls, I'm afraid. Looks like I'll have to owe you both a suitable meal at another time. Farewell. Good to see you, as always." He rose from the table and headed out to a waiting car.

"I believe I'm in the mood for thumb pag paneer, and it doesn't seem to be on here," said John.

"Always a favourite of mine," Sherlock replied. He slipped the package into his coat and they headed back up to 221B.

END

What series? Or is it completely AU?

John’s tongue swipes lazily over a nipple clamp, teasing the swollen skin, drawing away before another small shock makes both of them shudder. His fingers curl in Sherlock’s hair to pull his head back, his other hand closing in on Sherlock’s throat. There is a brief, aborted attempt to swallow against the pressure, but Sherlock’s open mouth, the thick rounded weight pressed against his tongue, make it impossible.

Despite the distractions of the body Sherlock’s mind registers all the sensations that make up the whole, the taste of dark rubber, the way the surface becomes harder as he bites down, the wet slipperiness of it at the corners of his mouth where he’s drooling unstoppably. The metal, cool at first, now warmed by his body, snug at the wrists and tight, constricting, above his balls, divorcing them from his body.

Another little jolt of electricity reminds him of their other purpose, the low throb sharpening to pain in the sensitive flesh where he is clamped and stretched with the conductive metal, and Sherlock sees the muscles in his biceps jump as he flexes and makes some meaningless sound, neither protest nor acceptance. Just noise, like an animal.

John’s response, if it is meant as a response, is to tighten his hold on Sherlock’s throat until he cannot breathe. He is between Sherlock’s legs, where he has been since they began, pressed against him, his eyes smouldering as he holds Sherlock down, silent, suffocating.

John could count the beats of his own heart to measure time, but he prefers to wait until he can see a change in Sherlock, until his chest starts to flutter and his eyes blink reflexively, trying to clear the spots that are clouding across his vision.

Every sensation is intense, distinct, until it feels as if his body must have separated out to experience and react to each independently. Muscles twitching without his consent.

Only the spiralling core of him still seems attached as the thick weight of John’s cock presses in and the tender spot the tip of the sound is curved into flares more brightly; that sensitive part of him, nerves already alight with shocks, seemingly trapped between the unyielding metal and the blunt force of John fucking him.

Breath is stolen from him again, and the thing around his balls seems to be tightening with each successive shock, growing in length, stretching him out and out. John is already pounding, forcing involuntary cries from him, smothered and muted, tears wet his lashes until they tangle when he blinks, and John loosens his hold enough to let him gasp, greedy for oxygen.

The sound has become obscene, intrusive, an aching throbbing thing inside him. He cannot realise this is because his orgasm is approaching, his erection hardening around the obstruction, his nerves lighting up, trying to force his pleasure through the pain. The shocks pulse through the length of him, a counterpoint to John’s steady fucking.

It’s too much, he has lost the rhythm of it. Instead there is cacophony, nothing Sherlock can predict. Even the fingers closing on his throat again mean nothing to him until his chest heaves, empty, and he is burning with need, for air, for orgasm.

John lets him have the first because he must, and because Sherlock is truly desperate for it; the other he will have to wait for. John’s own pleasure is sharpening, pounding, blurring with speed and heat and the sight of Sherlock in that gag, in those tears, the sob as John chokes him again and finally comes, swearing like a trooper.

For long seconds John is sated. His clutching fingers grow lax, his body sways. Sweat drips from his fringe to Sherlock’s skin.

Sherlock is barely conscious of any of this, his own body still alight and trembling with the need to come. John’s touch on the sound, the slow withdrawal of it, is just more stimulation, too much, unbearable. The press of it back in is more of the same. As is the cupping and rolling of his stretched and purpling balls, the flick of John’s tongue against a nipple clamp, loosening it and bringing the blood rushing back to the deadened nerves until they shriek out pain.

Consciousness is returning though, he’s aware of the sound finally being laid aside, of John’s hand wrapping around him, the ball stretcher seeming to throb and squeeze more strongly with his pulse, with each pull of John’s hand. He bites down on the gag, panicking that John is going to rip his sanity out of him along with his orgasm, throbbing and excruciating and making him scream John’s name.

Then it’s over, and John strips him of the gag and cuffs and lays him on his side, and his sanity is still there, only dulled with exhaustion, and John is warm and lets Sherlock curl up around him, cradles Sherlock’s head on his shoulder, and waits for sleep.

Wow...that was amazing! I had no idea it would read like that. I just HJFUKTDRYDYRKDTYDGHD!

This is damn brilliant!

I still hope against all hopes someone fills this.. :C

I promise I will at least try! i just have to finish another story I'm working on first. But I really hope someone gets it done before I get around to it, because I really need to get my current series done first and I'd love to read multiple fills on this one in any case. This is so intriguing!

klasdf;sjkdfa;lk hello sorry I am here I got overwhelmed this week and had a health scare with my cat over the weekend I'll put up a good chunk by next weekend I aM SO SORRY ;_;

oh god the captcha is 'on the ball' and I am nOT

Hey, OP here- just saw this! Oh my goodness, it's absolutely fantastic- so weird to see an idea I've had for the past couple of years be written so wonderfully! Thank you!

A/N: Small, but...I'll have more. I recently remembered this, sorry for cliffhanger.

Jim’s eyes widened in shock and he reluctantly opened his mouth, letting Sherlock put it in his mouth. “Good boy.” Sherlock cooed, stroking his hair back. “Such a good boy for daddy.” With that, he rummaged around in his bag, grabbing a bottle of lube. He started to lube himself up, watching his cock get hard. That’s right, this me likes the power play part of this, he thought to himself.

“Now Daddy’s going to do something to you which you can like very much or you can hate it. Which would you prefer, Jimmy?” he purred, stroking a hand tenderly down Moriarty’s cheek. “Blink once for the first option, twice for the second.”

Jim doesn't blink and Sherlock sighs. He’d almost like the man to submit to him, to make the conscious choice of enjoying his rape- or not. But oh well. “Guess we’ll just have to make it hurt. Shame, daddy usually loves to give his good little boys pleasure.” He positions himself, rubbing the tip of his cock against Moriarty’s hole, enjoying the little whimper that escaped the criminal. Once he decided it was enough, he thrusted harshly inside. The cry that was ripped from the consultant’s throat was music to his ears.

Oh i wish I could fill this. I'm not that good though. -.-

You did such a wonderful job with this. Thank you for writing! (As I head off to go bookmark it on Ao3)
The captcha below says "exceedingly well read", but I think in this case "exceedingly well written" may be more appropriate ;)

Thank you for the interest and the encouragement! I think my fledgling fic woulda died on the vine if I didn't know someone else was interested in such things. Oddly enough, I found the fic that I was inspired by some 30 odd years ago ! ( and it was very different from how I remembered it...just the slave trade bit). Quite the experience all around....thanks!

Mycroft is celebrating with a glazed donut.

Glad you are back!

I am too. I hope to have something by Tuesday or Wednesday, but if not, i promise you won't have to wait a few months again.

Do you have to know about Constantine to fill this? Because its been a while since I've watched it.

(Mycroft says margin of error. I do pray he's wrong.)

Sherlock continued unabated for another ten minutes, and John didn't even try to stop him. He just stayed where he was, petting at the nape of Sherlock's neck as he held him. When the last little huffs of breath finally eased up and evened out, John finally spoke.

“When was the last time you let yourself do that?”

Sherlock's head shook against John's neck.

“I never have. Well, I mean...as far as my attack is considered. There were more important things to worry about. And...” Sherlock said, but drifted off.

“You think it's weak.”

Sherlock didn't respond, but he felt his eyes well up again. Truly infuriating.

“I already told you, you're the toughest person I know. It isn't a terrible reflection on you to be upset. Giving up on pretending to be okay is the first step towards actually being okay,” John continued.

“Psychological drivel,” Sherlock replied with more heat than he intended. John didn't seem to mind, thank goodness. Rather than openly apologise, Sherlock kissed John's jaw. “You said you'd take care of me,” he said after a long pause. “That you're willing to do anything to help me.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You're...doing a good job so far,” Sherlock said, voice thick. “I don't think I've gotten nearly as far as you've suggested, but I appreciate the encouragement. I feel...trapped.”

“You've only been at this about a week, Sherlock. Don't set yourself up for failure with overzealous expectations. I know what you said before; you want to be normal, if you can't be perfect. I can't give you either of those things, but I can remind you the box isn't nearly as small as you think it is.”

And Jesus Christ, Sherlock wanted to believe him, but such an easily-spoken reassurance didn't help the suffocating feeling very much right now.

“Ten years from now I could still have flashbacks.”

“And ten years from now I will still be here, and I'll remind you how much further you'll have gotten by then. If I could take it away, I would, I swear to god I would. But I can only give you what I have, and that is me. You can use me however to get what you need, so you remember how brilliant you are and get on your feet again. That, god help me, is all I can do, but I'll do it as much as needed as long as needed until the day I die. You can do it, I believe that beyond any shadow of doubt.”

“I don't have to do it by myself anymore,” Sherlock said, repeating John's words from earlier. He'd certainly heard it the first time, but now that at least some of the self-doubt had been dealt with, the sentiment was starting to sink in better. The natural instinct Sherlock usually felt to buck assistance didn't surface – that was actually rather reassuring. But then, he was pretty tired of the entire facade, and John was beyond trustworthy with any and all sentimentality.

“Exactly. Does that help?” John asked, honestly afraid of the answer.

Sherlock rose up and pressed John into the mattress for a long, desperate kiss. As they pulled apart, Sherlock nodded as a hand involuntarily came up to cover his mouth, overwhelmed once more. Even though he was still afraid of everything hiding in his subconscious waiting for the slightest vulnerability, Sherlock could imagine John's proverbial hand holding his inside his psyche, leading him where Sherlock lost his way. Just that single tether washed so much of the anxiety away. What remained – and perhaps always might remain – could be conquered. John shushed at him and pet his temples while he struggled not to break into outright sobs again. Little hitching breaths broke up his words as he spoke again.

“Christ, now I...I let go....there's so much. So much, John.”

“It's all right. You just kept it all boxed up for a long time. You don't have to go over every little bit now.”

“Right. But I-I've been thinking since this all started, what...what I want you to know. And I d-don't want you to know what happened. I'll tell you what I want going forward, what I...I feel...but not what h-happened.”

“Okay,” John replied, his voice a bit higher than usual for trying to control his emotions. “The only problem I foresee with that is your medical file. D'you want Mycroft-”

“No, no, I explained some injuries already and...summarised. That isn't...it doesn't...it isn't the same thing. Is that alright?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

Getting that off his chest helped considerably. The heaviness began to ease so he could at least breathe better. He stared down at John, committing every last detail in his earnest gaze to memory. John all but bled empathy; if a look could remove all negative recollection from a soul, his would be it. Sherlock leant dangerously on an edge, bursting with sentiment, and yet still not quite there to speaking it. John saw it, too, and returned an understanding smile. This wasn't it; despite the openness and appreciation and promises, tonight was marred by the flashback, and it wasn't right. It wasn't perfect; John knew that.

“We've had a really long day,” he finally said, giving Sherlock permission to let it go. Sherlock slumped gratefully back onto John's chest. After running around the city all day and now....this, exhaustion was looming.

“Yes.”

At last, they finished undressing and slid under the blankets. They lingered for a bit, brushing away the dredges of the stress and sorrow with grateful caresses and aimless kisses before drifting to sleep, wrapped up in each other.

This continues to be real and raw and beautiful.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 289 of 292

«

»