Prompting Part XXXV

[sherlockbbc_fic]

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Comments

FILL 6b/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

But this wasn't fake. It was going to happen. Tonight.

Mary treated it like some sort of group bonding session. Well, she was more of a free spirit. No inhibition. This sort of thing was new to him, but not to her? Maybe it wasn't that unusual, having two people you loved. And he did love them both, truly. And, want them, both. Not an entirely new feeling, but one he'd never chosen to act on. Maybe it was all right, this infatuation with a man he thought incapable of truly loving him back. Maybe just a physical relationship could work? He'd almost talked himself into a confident stance, when the doubt resurfaced. What if he ended up paying more attention to Sherlock than to Mary? What if Sherlock liked Mary more than him? What would he be exposing to possible scrutiny? God, it would have been so much simpler had Sherlock said no.

OP

[(Anonymous)]

It always makes me so frustrated when John is so wrong about Sherlock's feelings. Open your eyes, John! I can't wait for him to find out the truth.

Re: OP

[(Anonymous)]

Authoranon
Hey there OP! You’re yelling at John...that makes me gloriously happy! Should have next part up tonight or tomorrow. (Trying to decide if I want to do Mary's POV or not ). Thanks so much!

FILL 7/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

After he was finished berating himself, Sherlock took a deep breath. John and Mary will be arriving shortly for a Sex Visit. What is the ettquette here? It's you. They're not expecting any sort of etiquette if it's you. What would they be expecting? Supplies. He had a condom...just one... in case he should ever need it. He'd buy a box. A medium sized box. Rifle through it a bit, throw a couple away so it looks like I didn't just ... pop down to the store this afternoon and... buy them. Lubricant. Need that. The rather expensive handcream he used on the rare occasions when he decided to service his erections directly, rather than ignore them as an unfortunate biological distraction, wouldn't be sufficient. He dropped into his chair. Hours to prepare. Wine...should I get some wine? I think I'll get some wine. He chuckled darkly. Condoms, lubricant and wine. Good thing I don't give a toss what the clerk thinks; everyone knows what I'm up to with that at checkout. Then, I should, clean the flat? He peered into his bedroom, which was sparse enough to always appear clean. Need clean towels though...could get messy. Might need that. Tesco first. Condoms. Lubricant. Wine. Now.

****

Supplies purchased, flat reasonably clean, but not too clean. He tossed a stack of papers on the floor for good measure. Now Sherlock was browsing though the internet, getting a sense of what they might chose to do. It wasn't particularly helpful, and there were only so many possible combinations...limits to what could go where. Watching random people having sex was not very inspiring. Watching John have sex? Considerably more so. Oh. Was that what he was meant to do...was that Mary's angle? That clicked alarmingly well... he would be witness to a demonstration of what they had found in each other. What he wasn't privy to. A demonstration of possession. He felt vaguely ill. In his eagerness to be as close to John as possible, he had neglected to notice the obvious.

Well. Motivation had always been his weak point. He had never cared why a perpetrator committed a crime. Could be any number of reasons, or no reason at all. So long as the criminal was apprehended, the puzzle solved, he had done what he had set out to accomplish. He was not entirely skilled at determining his own motivations either. What exactly did he want from this experience? John. More of John. To see John. To hear John. He felt a warm rush through his body just thinking of what John would sound like; he hadn't felt anything remotely close to that during the previous hour spent navigating pornography websites. If he couldn't touch John, couldn't be touched by John, it was still something to treasure. He would watch John's face, study every intricate detail. I'll get to see John's face when he... Sherlock was flooding his mind with images of John. Incomplete visual impressions based on mental measurements of his clothed body. His Vitruvian Man. The jumpers and button-downs were deceiving; he had already catalogued the musculature underneath. Now he would be seeing it, in... an hour's time.

A shower. If he was to be a participant in any way, rather than mere observer, he would need to be clean. That would be proper etiquette. Though he found himself wishing John wouldn't be. More John, less soap. He stripped and stepped into the shower. Fascinating, how quickly his body reacted to that thought. He smirked. This would have been helpful information when Janine intruded on his shower as he was transitioning out of his Shezza persona. More efficient than the rather elaborate and unrealistic fantasy of John opening the washroom door had been.

Whilst washing, he debated what he would wear. Getting fully dressed seemed a tad bizarre when the ultimate purpose was to disrobe. He felt the shampoo run down his back as he rinsed out his hair. He would want a comfortable shirt. His soft cotton vest, striped pajama bottoms and his blue silk dressing gown. He toweled himself off, dressed and sat in his chair, unsure what to do next. He brushed his teeth, then rinsed thoroughly until there was no toothpaste residue. He trimmed his toenails. He let the wine breathe. He let himself breathe. He waited.

OP

[(Anonymous)]

Aw, poor Sherlock, he's so nervous *hugs him*

Re: OP

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you so much for your comments, OP! Yeah...maybe he knows what's coming ;)

Re: FILL 7/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

I just found this and I'm hooked!

Re: FILL 7/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

Authoranon
Hi there Nonnie! Glad to have you on board ;) Thanks!

FILL 8a/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock sprang to his feet. When he opened it, a rather elegantly dressed Mary and a somewhat plainer, but still polished, John stood in the doorway. Mary looked at Sherlock's attire and laughed.

John spoke, grinning. "Why bother to dress, right?"

"Why indeed?"

"I'm surprised you didn't answer the door naked."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "I thought we might want alcoholic beverages first, and I didn't want to stick to the leather sofa." It was, in fact, the only furniture on which to sit in the room. Both chairs were gone. "Wine?" He sat and poured a glass, offering it to Mary first.

"Yes. Thank you."

"John?"

"Absolutely. Yes. Thanks."

They remained standing, and drank in silence for a moment before Mary broke it. "You've got the right idea, Sherlock. Small talk seems pointless. Shall we?"

He made an 'after you' gesture with his hands. John guided Mary towards Sherlock's bedroom, while Sherlock walked a few paces behind. John and Mary sat on the edge of the bed. Sherlock had brought his chair into the bedroom just for the occasion, and sat, wine glass in hand, trying to look completely at ease with his self-appointed role as observer.

"Unzip me?"

Sherlock watched as John unzipped her dress and ran his fingers repeatedly across her skin, displaying his uncertainty: a need to seek out familiar sensations in the midst of the unfamiliar.

"Take your shirt off, John," Sherlock gave a firm command, voice deep. John let out a suppressed breath, surprised by the sudden shift in the dynamics. Ah, better, John? This is good. This can work. John followed Sherlock's direction without hesitation.

"Now remove Mary's clothing. All of it." Soon, Mary was entirely nude, sitting quietly, arms resting in her lap, smiling. Sherlock gave her only a passing glance. "Keep the trousers, John. Pleasure her as you see fit, but only give. You will receive later."

FILL 8b/?"Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

John guided Mary backwards until she was resting comfortably and gave her a gentle kiss, which she returned with greater intensity. Sherlock leaned forward. He was meant to watch, and he would.

There was never a moment when both of John's hands weren't on her body, starting with his right hand on her shoulder while his left traced along her cheek down to her neck. He would touch first, then kiss, then lick, increasing in intensity as her skin grew more sensitive to his touch. He began tracing light patterns across her breasts, till she drew him in, guiding his mouth to her nipples, demanding more. John happily obliged. He watched John find every individual spot which made her shudder. It was a definite pattern, hands, mouth, tongue. Clearly, it was what worked for her. She responded with increased breathing and her skin had a light sheen. She glanced over at Sherlock, who met her eyes briefly, and threw her head back into the pillows with a breathy sigh. John hadn't changed anything to bring on increased sensations, and Sherlock concluded that she enjoyed being watched. He turned his focus back to John.

John, hard in his trousers, reveling in giving her waves of pleasure. He loves her. This is John Watson in love. It was not merely erotic, it was also simply beautiful. Sliding his mouth down her body, relishing in every groan, every sigh, every wriggle, every bit of her. Then he parted her thighs and all Sherlock could see was the back of John's head with Mary's legs on either side, and he knew there was nothing else in John's world at that moment. Up to then, it had been a somewhat educational exploration of technique. But that, that was what Sherlock wanted, more than anything. Not even the physical sensation of John's mouth on his body, though his cock would definitely argue that point. What he wanted was to be the only thing in John's world. John hadn't looked at him, even briefly.

Mary groaned and grabbed at John's head, and Sherlock was certain he had pushed his tongue inside her. John wrapped both arms around her thighs and pulled his whole self forward, burying his face within her body. She gasped, flailed her hands for a moment before grabbing onto his shoulders and crying out "Oh God, John! Yes! Yes! Yes!" as John released her legs and ran his hands from as far up as he could reach down the length of her body. A sharp cry, then stillness punctuated by nothing but rapid breathing, then a second, longer cry before she collapsed back into a heap on the pillows. She attempted to catch her breath.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I certainly appreciate your method of starting things off." John looked a bit startled, as if he had already forgotten Sherlock was there. He probably had.

"No reason why the multiorgasmic one amongst us shouldn't get a head start," Sherlock smiled, trying to add a bit more warmth. "And John is clearly more confident and at ease, having provided his wife with sexual satisfaction."

John looked at Mary stretched out on the bed, flushed, gorgeous. "Told you he'd be good at figuring out what people need. I think we should reward him, don't you?"

John turned to Sherlock, who had suddenly became rather interested in his wine glass. "I agree." John's eyes were determined, focused. Sherlock stepped toward the bed tentatively, leaving his robe on the chair.

OP

[(Anonymous)]

Agh, how can you leave me hanging here, authoranon? *hits F5 repeatedly* I'm so glad you're filling this and waiting (im)patiently for more!

Re: OP

[(Anonymous)]

Because I'm evil! ( nah...I'm trying to go fast, honest!) I'm glad you're enjoying it...Sherlock and John coming up. By the end if the week...hopefully sooner. This next one is the breakdown, so it will take me a bit longer to get it right.

Re: OP

[(Anonymous)]

Next chapter is up, but it didn't come up as an alert on my email...hope I didn't nest it incorrectly.
In any case, the suspense part is over. An entirely different type of evilness from me is in it's place ;)

FILL 9/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

[I'm not entirely sure how to tag this part but it certainly requires one. I'm going with 'serious consent issues'...only because dub con and non con both don't feel quite accurate in this instance (In my experience in reading fic, dub con tends to be an OK-by-the-end type of thing, and I don't want to give that impression), or perhaps withdrawn consent, but...well..you get the picture. Very not good.]

"Your turn," she said simply. They switched places. "Go on, John." Mary whispered in his ear, just barely loud enough for Sherlock to make out the words, as she brushed past him, "Anything you want to do, love. It's just some fun. It's all fine." John licked his lips.

Sherlock stared at John's lips. John licked his lips fairly frequently, and for all Sherlock's skill at reading body language, he was never quite able to determine conclusively if it was arousal or nerves. Maybe this time they were the same thing? John's body was definitely showing signs of arousal. Continued arousal, he reminded himself.Not caused by you. But now, John looked... predatory. Not nerves.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was quite nervous. John read it easily and his face softened. "You okay with this, Sherlock?" He nodded, still watching John's face. "Good. Good. I can't believe you're here. Right beneath my fingertips." John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he closed his eyes, tilting his head up while John traced down his face. John brushed his fingertips against his cheekbone and along his jaw, with hands far softer than Sherlock had expected. Skilled hands. Sherlock relaxed. True to form, John kept one hand on his face while laying the other on his chest. All three of them watched as John's hand rose and fell rapidly. John opened his mouth as if to say something, and closed it again. He moved his hand gently across the broad expanse of Sherlock's chest, still covered by the worn cotton shirt. John was placing full-mouthed kisses, just short of a bite, on his neck; Breaking pattern, this is new, different and, Sherlock barely had time to register John had broken his touch-kiss-lick pattern before he was distracted by a guttural noise that could only have come from his own throat. John's fingers had found his right nipple, running them in a circular motion, then the sensation of hands down his stomach sweeping upward centimeters from his waistband. John gave a long, slow lick from his clavicle up to his ear.

"God, I wanna make you feel so good." John's hand slid down again, this time grazing along the front of his pajama bottoms. "Can I take these off?" Sherlock's hips shifted forward in response.

"Please."

FILL 9b/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

[ooops..looks like the warning part actually goes with 9b. Didn't realize I would have to split the chapter...so...serious consent issues/dub con/non con]


John wasted no time pulling them off and wrapping his hand around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock raised himself up, just to see John's hand wrapped around him, and fell back onto the pillows. "John."

John began to stroke him slowly, taking his time, with a sort of reverence. It felt like a trance, a dream, this hazy state. Sherlock's eyes drifted closed. All warmth, then rapidly building tension as his body rocked forward into John's hand, arcing. He smiled, wishing for John's pattern with Mary, to feel his mouth on his skin, following his hands.

"I know what you need, Sherlock." But it wasn't John's voice. And it was no longer John's hands. His eyes shot open as he looked down to see Mary, her red fingernails moving along his shaft. John had moved to his side. Sherlock lay back down and closed his eyes a bit too tightly. He felt Mary take him in her mouth. A gasp from John, and Sherlock turned to focus his gaze as John palmed himself. Sherlock felt the heat spiral within him. John's here. John's watching. John's aroused, watching me.

John crawled next to Sherlock and began to kiss his stomach; pools of heat formed wherever his lips touched Sherlock's skin. Lava...radiating upward to catch up to John's kisses, as John made his way up Sherlock's body, pushing back his shirt...and as Mary took him in deeply, the shirt had rode up just enough to reveal an angry, red scar. John froze, then shifted backward...reeling as much from the physical evidence as from his not having anticipated seeing it. The vivid contrast to Sherlock's pale skin: incongruous. This should not be there, never should have been there, had had no purpose. His mouth a thin line, John shut his eyes and tried to regain his composure quickly... as Sherlock... thought of Mary. Thought of her mouth on him. Thought of her teeth. Sherlock felt Mary's grip, red nails around the base of his cock, and thought of claws, digging into his skin No. No. I ...breathe, come on... this is nothing. This is physical sensation and it would...it would feel the same no matter who was causing it...

John read the tightness in his face, touched the scar gently. Sherlock wanted to say that it was all right. That it was in the past, he had said all was forgiven and John should feel fine about his choice. About having chosen her. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. Now John was kissing his scar, fighting the tears, and losing the battle. He felt a drop fall on his skin. JohnJohnJohnJohnJohn. Sherlock groaned, and John rushed to his face, to claim his mouth in a deep kiss, and for a moment, it felt glorious. But then it was Mary he smelled, and Mary he... tasted on John's tongue. And it was Mary who grabbed at his arse and pushed him deeper into her, and Mary who now trapped him at two opposite points and was pulling an orgasm out of his body... reaching in and yanking it out and John was gone and ....not...he would not... breathe.... not.here.not.here.not.here.

He shuddered, jolting violently when he came.

Re: FILL 9b/? "Three" (Threesome fail) OP

[(Anonymous)]

Poor Sherlock D: I can't wait fod John to make it better.

Re: FILL 9b/? "Three" (Threesome fail) OP

[(Anonymous)]

Love that you are still faithfully following, OP! Thank you! He will.

Re: FILL 9b/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

Not OP, but loving this probably just as much as them! (^_~) I especially like the tender connection between John and Sherlock, and then the shock when Mary interferes. I can't wait to see where this story is going!

Re: FILL 9b/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you, Nonnie! Next is Mary's reaction and a bit of Sherlock's Mindpalace. Hope to have up by the weekend. Thanks so much for the feedback and I'm so glad you like it!

FILL 10a/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

"Sherlock? ... Sherlock!"

John shifted from concern to fear. Sherlock was silent, non-responsive. They had been kissing, they'd both been enjoying every bit of it, when he had felt Sherlock pull away. Not physically pull away; they were still connected. Still feeling the warmth of bodies, the playfulness of tongues... until that stopped too and...

Mary disengaged herself from Sherlock and looked over to John.

"Oh. He's processing, eh? I'd store it for later too, if I could."

"Something's wrong."

"Oh, no, he's fine. Didn't you say he does this sort of thing all the time? Don't be so stressed. He's just processing things in that funny little brain of his."

John took Sherlock's pulse, which was rapid in spite of a total lack of body movement, and his breathing was quick, but steady. He considered pulling back his eyelids, but he didn't want to do anything too invasive, for fear of startling him. When in his Mind Palace, Sherlock was usually quite physically active, waving his arms around and discarding ideas with a flourish, though he had been far more understated lately. He didn't like to be observed in this mode (John always thought it must be embarrassing to him), and if anyone else was present, Sherlock would insist they leave the room. Only John was permitted to view this intimate display.

Just one other time he'd seen Sherlock motionless like this... when John had asked him to be his best man. At first it was kind of...well...cute, actually, the silence, and he joked about it being a little scary, and then, just as it was actually getting a little scary, Sherlock snapped out of it, blinking rapidly, clearly having processed something. John liked to think of it as rearranging furniture in there.

John had long ago developed a soldier's instinct for danger, and he recognized it before breaking off the kiss.

He turned toward Mary. "What...what did you do? I mean, what happened?"

"Seriously, John? What happened? You were right here. It was pretty clear he was wanting more, and I gave him more. Now I'm somehow in the wrong? What did I do?" Mary grinned. "I made him come. I made him come damn hard and damn fast and it felt so bloody good he's decided to record it for posterity, that's what I did! It's what he wanted. He'll snap out of it and he'll thank me."

John couldn't hold his contempt in check. "Thank you? Just like he thanked you for saving his life. Because you always manage to do the right thing, even when it's so terribly wrong, is that it?" John grabbed Sherlock's robe and abruptly shifted gears, placing it gently on top of him and tucking it around like a blanket. He grabbed his own shirt and began dressing himself.

John tried to read Mary's expression, head tilted at an angle, eyes squinting. She seemed... disappointed? Annoyed? He held her dress out to her.

"John. He forgave me. Why can't you? He must trust me, or else he certainly wouldn't be here with us now, would he?"

FILL 10b/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

John never questioned Sherlock's motives. Whatever he did was always for some complicated reason, just beyond the grasp of mere mortals such as himself. But the more he thought about this, the less sense it made. Sherlock had been completely open, receptive, not analyzing his every move. For Christ's sake, his were eyes closed most of the time. And it had been...it had been amazing. He had never seen Sherlock so vulnerable and trusting... well, before it all seemed to come crashing down upon them, as if he had suddenly had too much to process. Maybe he wasn't capable of intimacy after all, but not for the reason John originally thought. He wasn't too callous. He was.. too fragile? Sherlock? John shook his head in confusion.

Mary continued to speak contemptuously as she dressed herself, reaching behind to zip up the back. "I bet he's faking it. He's probably listening to how we argue and seeing where our weak points are... how he can tear us apart to get at you. As if what I offered wasn't good enough for him."

John furrowed his brow. "What you offered?"

Mary humphed. "John, did you think I was joking when I said that I saw how he looks at you? And you at him, too. I mean, I am willing to share. It's fine. But he isn't fine with it. And that's really not fair, when he left you, for all that time, and I was there. Selfish. He left you, John, because being clever was more important than being there for you. You said it yourself. I will always be there for you." John's eyes were downcast and the corner of his mouth twitched. Mary glared at Sherlock, who hadn't moved the entire time, and spoke directly to him, convinced he could hear. "I will never leave."

John spoke through gritted teeth. "Mary. Go."

"What?" Mary walked toward Sherlock, and John stepped between them, preventing Mary from getting any closer to his catatonic friend-turned-lover.

"Go. I don't want you here when he comes out of this." John's hand clenched and released. "Go. I will meet you at home."

"Don't listen to him, John. He'll lie to you. He already has."

"Everyone has lied to me, Mary." John was seething, barely reining it in. "Every. Single. Person. But you know what? That doesn't even matter anymore, that they lied. What matters is who they are. Who they really are. Now, I will talk to you later. Go."

Mary's jaw dropped open in surprise. John met her eyes, challenging her to say something. Go ahead. I dare you. Mary turned and left. John listened to her heels click down the hallway, then nodded as he heard the door open and then fall back into place.

He turned back to Sherlock, running his hand along his arm gently, and sat down again. John fidgeted. He wanted to get a glass of water for Sherlock, maybe make tea, maybe take a shower (as if he could wash this away and somehow start fresh again) but he didn't want to leave Sherlock's side. What he wanted was to hold him tightly, but John wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. He decided it wasn't worth the risk, and moved Sherlock's chair closer to the side of the bed... close enough to observe any change in facial expression. If he had not been so distressed, he would have permitted himself a smile when he realized he had never sat in Sherlock's chair before.

OP

[(Anonymous)]

I love that John immediately knew that something was wrong. I can't wait to see what's going on in Sherlock's head!

Re: OP

[(Anonymous)]

Here ya go! Next chapter is another significant one, so might be a few...

FILL 11/? "Three" (Threesome fail)

[(Anonymous)]

Sherlock hadn't been to this part of his Mind Palace in ages. Technically, it wasn't within the Mind Palace at all, but a platform, high in a tree--a more fanciful person might call it a treehouse--that Sherlock and his father ( capable hands ) built when he was seven. It proved particularly useful when one wanted to get away from people. Not for its inaccessibility, which had regularly deterred Mycroft (his larger frame always a bit ungainly on the rickety ladder), but for the simple fact that the tree was taller than the house and made for a superb vantage point. You could see anyone approach from what seemed like miles away. From this crow's nest, you could just make out the sea, with the aid of a trusty wooden spyglass, of course.

Standing on the weathered, yet sturdy, planks, Sherlock heard a clicking noise in the distance and spotted an enemy ship sailing off toward the horizon.

Redbeard sat at the foot of the tree, keeping vigil for any other pirate foes who would dare approach.

Sherlock knew, with the certainty found in dreams, that he had finished his lunch just before climbing up here, but the scent of spoiled food lingered in the air, making him feel nauseated. A breeze out of the east brought fresher, cleaner air with it. The nausea dissipated.

Gradually, Sherlock became aware that he was still very hungry. An enticing aroma wafted up from below. Tea. Honey. Toast. Simple comfort food for his vaguely unsettled stomach. He climbed down the ladder and greeted his Setter with a full embrace, running his fingers through soft fur, as they reassured each other that all was well. Sherlock headed into the house.

Once through the door, the rooms transformed, an external representation of whatever was stored within. He followed the scent, past walls with peeling paint and deep cracks he had attempted to repair with plaster, past police tape, to the perfectly-preserved sitting room of 221B, where two chairs sat in front of the fireplace: tea, sugar, honey and toast on a tray beside his chair and a full breakfast and a cuppa with cream, no sugar, alongside the chair opposite. John's chair.

Re: FILL 11/? "Three" (Threesome fail) op

[(Anonymous)]

Aww. In a way this is adorable, but in context it's just heartbreaking.