sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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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

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.

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