John Watson was, by reputation and by his own only slightly shamefaced admission, an incorrigible flirt. He was also unusually attracted to powerful, dangerous people. There was his brief, illicit affair with Major Sholto in Afghanistan. There was the pass he made at the pretty redheaded woman while she was in the process of kidnapping him. Then there was Mycroft Holmes.
‘You don’t seem very frightening.’ John had said when they first met. That was a bald-faced lie. Which wasn’t to say he was frightened. Thrilled, perhaps, would be a better word; thrilled, excited, and a tiny bit aroused. His eyes danced as he verbally sparred with the mysterious man, thoroughly enjoying himself even in the midst of his genuine outrage at his having stolen John’s therapist’s notes. He was really, just a little tempted to take up the man’s offer. Not for the money, though he did need that, but just so he’d get to see this gorgeously dangerous man again. In the end, common decency won out. He wasn’t going to sell out his new flatmate to a powerful stranger just for the chance at getting a leg over with said powerful stranger. Still, that didn’t stop John from watching him as he strode away, eyes roaming over his tall, straight-backed figure and admiring his confident gait. When he was gone, John took a breath, collected himself, then turned around, getting back into the car.
*****
“I met a friend of yours.” John said to Sherlock later at dinner.
Sherlock blinked, only half-listening as he peered out the window. “A friend?” He murmured distractedly.
“Well. An enemy. Arch-enemy, he said.” John amended.
“Did he offer you money to spy on me?” Sherlock said, glancing at John.
“Yes.”
Sherlock’s gaze sharpened. “Did you take it?”
“No.”
The pressure of Sherlock’s stare lessened, and he resumed looking out the window. “Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through, next time.”
“But who is he?” John pressed.
“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met.” Sherlock murmured.
John shifted at the memory, arousal trickling down his spine. “Yeah.” He breathed. “I got that, actually.”
Sherlock’s head snapped around as he gave John a horrified look. “Oh, for god’s sake.” He gritted his teeth, turning back to the window and looking even more intently out at the rain-slick road. “That cab. It’s stopped.” Grateful for the distraction, he hopped up and dashed out of the restaurant, John hot on his heels.
((This is probably going to be a longish fill, slow burn type thing that might develop into a fully fleshed out Johncroft fic. Still, I'll count it as a fill because I was inspired by the prompt and it will have the stuff requested. Just a whole lot more besides. Unless anyone objects this story will be updated solely on Ao3 here (https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136180)))
I'd Like To Kiss You (Who Knew?)
‘You don’t seem very frightening.’ John had said when they first met. That was a bald-faced lie. Which wasn’t to say he was frightened. Thrilled, perhaps, would be a better word; thrilled, excited, and a tiny bit aroused. His eyes danced as he verbally sparred with the mysterious man, thoroughly enjoying himself even in the midst of his genuine outrage at his having stolen John’s therapist’s notes. He was really, just a little tempted to take up the man’s offer. Not for the money, though he did need that, but just so he’d get to see this gorgeously dangerous man again. In the end, common decency won out. He wasn’t going to sell out his new flatmate to a powerful stranger just for the chance at getting a leg over with said powerful stranger. Still, that didn’t stop John from watching him as he strode away, eyes roaming over his tall, straight-backed figure and admiring his confident gait. When he was gone, John took a breath, collected himself, then turned around, getting back into the car.
“I met a friend of yours.” John said to Sherlock later at dinner.
Sherlock blinked, only half-listening as he peered out the window. “A friend?” He murmured distractedly.
“Well. An enemy. Arch-enemy, he said.” John amended.
“Did he offer you money to spy on me?” Sherlock said, glancing at John.
“Yes.”
Sherlock’s gaze sharpened. “Did you take it?”
“No.”
The pressure of Sherlock’s stare lessened, and he resumed looking out the window. “Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through, next time.”
“But who is he?” John pressed.
“The most dangerous man you’ve ever met.” Sherlock murmured.
John shifted at the memory, arousal trickling down his spine. “Yeah.” He breathed. “I got that, actually.”
Sherlock’s head snapped around as he gave John a horrified look. “Oh, for god’s sake.” He gritted his teeth, turning back to the window and looking even more intently out at the rain-slick road. “That cab. It’s stopped.” Grateful for the distraction, he hopped up and dashed out of the restaurant, John hot on his heels.
((This is probably going to be a longish fill, slow burn type thing that might develop into a fully fleshed out Johncroft fic. Still, I'll count it as a fill because I was inspired by the prompt and it will have the stuff requested. Just a whole lot more besides. Unless anyone objects this story will be updated solely on Ao3 here (https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136180)))