Fic: Vanilla Twilight
Title: Vanilla Twilight
Author: Melissa (adashofcyanide)
For: wwtdd11 (hi!!)
Prompt: Stargazing by the campfire
Rating PG
Word Count: 2387
Author Notes: Okay i really do hope you don't hate this, i tried really hard. Also, Merry Christmas and End Of The World!
“No.”
“Sherlock.”
“No.”
“Sherlock.”
“No.”
Thump. A paperback slammed into the back of Sherlock’s head with sharp precision. Sometimes Sherlock cursed John’s army days, even though most of the time they were extremely useful. Still that rather hurt, Sherlock guessed he had been lucky, at least it wasn’t a hard cover...or the ICD.
Without turning around he shot an arm back and picked up the book. The Great Gatsby, it definitely could have been worse. Sherlock could practically feel John’s annoyance growing from where the doctor was sitting on his armchair across him. He still wasn’t good at reading most people’s feelings (not that he cared), but with John it was different, everything was different with him.
Sherlock had gotten quite good at reading John’s expressions since they met, it was just the way his brain worked. He learnt people and catalogued their reactions, most of the information was deleted later, but he never did that with John. In fact, he enjoyed learning about John even more so over the three months two weeks and five days since the start of their relationship.
The way his eyebrows shot up when he was baffled or the change in his posture when Sherlock was doing something socially unacceptable, the way he flexed his fingers once when he was angry at someone or how he whistled those mornings when he was in an exceptionally good mood. The difference between the fake, polite laugh he used when he had to listen to an old lady was narrating a moment of her life she considered interesting or whimsical and the deep laughter after chasing a criminal or running from the cops or that one time Ms. Hudson hit him in the head with a roller pin. He had memorized the way John’s fingers felt against his skin and they way the doctor’s chapped lips felt against his own and somehow he still wanted more.
“Sherlock Holmes” Ah, John was losing his patience or what was left of it after a whole afternoon trying to reason with Sherlock. “Could you stop behaving like a child for five minutes? at least turn around”
Grudgingly, the detective did as he was told. Mostly, because he certainly was not in the mood to be attacked with books. Again.
“I said no, John.” Sherlock repeated for the untemph time. “That case is a four and I’m being generous. I won’t get out of the flat for anything less than a seven, hell i wouldn’t even leave our bed for less than a five.”
And for the untemph time that evening, John let out an irritated sigh. Neither of them was willing to relent in this particular issue, both of them too stubborn to let go without a fight.
“Sherlock, he’s my friend asking for help, so we’ve got to help him. Regardless of your rating on this case.” Explain John in the same way you explain something to a little kid.
“But why? You haven’t seen the man since you came back from Afghanistan” Replied Sherlock, rolling his eyes. Honestly, John would be much better if he wasn’t so keen on following boring social conventions.
“Because he saved my life back there and that’s what there is to it.”
John didn’t plan on using that card, but he was getting tired and if that was the only thing that maybe could convince Sherlock, then so be it. Mark was the first bloke in the army he befriended, he started to trust him the day he learnt that Mark had his back at all times when John was about to get shot while he was sewing a fellow soldier, the bullet would have gone right through his skull if Mark hadn’t tackled him to the ground and quickly shot the enemy so John could keep working.
There was a moment of tense silence, in which they stared at each other. John wasn’t lying, that Sherlock knew perfectly. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh in between his clenched teeth.
“Fine.” He owed one to that Mark guy, in the same way he owed Mike Stamford one. Without them Sherlock wouldn’t have met John. “I don’t have any case this week, anyway.” He said.
John smiled, obviously satisfied with his victory. It was not everyday that he got Sherlock to do what he wanted. “Good. I’ll let him know we’ll look into it.”
The case was simple enough. Apparently, a new private had been found dead near his military base, but there were no signs of external wounds of any kind and the autopsy did not reveal much, except that the young private Marsh was a very healthy man with a long life ahead.
Two hours had passed since they arrived at the base and Sherlock took a look at the corpse when the detective announced that private Marsh died as a result of an extremely and unusually strong allergic reaction.
The air in the base seemed to become less tense as the mistery surrounding Marsh’s death were cleared. Everyone had been fearing some sort of treason or rebellion and the Marsh family could rest, now knowing that their son, brother, nephew had not been murdered, but the victim of a tragic accident. To show their gratefulness, Mark invited Sherlock and John to a camping trip.
Sherlock was about to say how much of a bad idea he considered going camping to the same spot where a soldier died just days ago, but John was quicker and accepted the offer, smiling at the murderous look Sherlock sent his way.
And so, Sherlock found himself in the middle of the forest, being practically eaten alive by mosquitoes, sitting on the ground while two other burly men tried to lit a fire and John assembled their tent with the ease of those who have had practice.
Mark and the two other guys, whose names Sherlock hadn’t bothered to learn, were regarded John with the sort of cheerful camaraderie of people who get each other, they reminded of football teams in movies, joking and clapping each other on the back. They were friendly enough with Sherlock, although they were obviously weirded out by the detective who had started picking up bugs from a tree and studying them under his portatile magnifying glass.
“So, how are the wives? don’t they fuss over your adventures chasing criminals?” Asked Mark.
They were sitting around the campfire the guys managed to make, drinking beer and chatting amicably. Sherlock and John stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure of how to respond to that. John cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Not that he was ashamed of his relationship with Sherlock, he just wasn’t used to talk about it. Those who were important to them (and Mycroft) knew and that was that.
“Well, I don’t, uh, neither of us has a...”
“Oh, so you’re single then?” Interrupted Mark, trying to be helpful.
John shook his head. “No, you see, Sherlock’s my, uh, boyfriend, partner, whatever.”
There was a moment of tense silence and John couldn’t really blame the guys. Not when all of them talked about women on the bunks and John even received a few calls from his steady girlfriend (the last one to break up with him and the guys wouldn’t stop teasing him).
“So, you’re gay now?” One of the guys, Adam, asked looking quite confused.
“Not really. We are each other’s exceptions.” Explained John.
At that the three men looked even more baffled. Sherlock tried not to laugh, really, he did, for about thirty seconds, until he gave up and let out a laugh at the perplexed faces. He knew this would happen eventually. He never expected anyone to understand, although Ms. Hudson was close to it and so long ago when Lestrade gave them the same look, he decided to laugh at the world thickness rather than getting himself worked up over it. John stepped on his foot and grinded hard, which was completely unnecessary, a simple ‘shut up’ would have done it.
The men sent glares in Sherlock’s direction, but James sort of shrugged and mumbled something like ‘well then’ and that was that. The topic of conversation changed to John’s work and Sherlock cases and James favorite football team and Adam’s wife and basically everything Mark had done since he returned.
As the fire started to burn out, the men retreated to their tents. It was around two in the morning when John woke up next to...well, nothing. Sherlock was not there, for a few panicky seconds John remembered The Fall and the empty flat and something heavy settled in his stomach, he shook his head to clear the images and dragged himself out of the tent.
Sherlock was outside, sitting besides the campfire that now was mostly ember and smoke, poking at it with a stick. John shoulders slumped at the sight and he felt something decompressing in his chest.
“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Muttered Sherlock without looking back.
“You didn’t.” Replied John taking a few steps forward and sitting besides the detective.
John didn’t bothered asking if Sherlock couldn’t sleep since the answer was quite obvious. Instead, he put his arm around Sherlock and arranged them until he had his head on John’s lap while the doctor ran his fingers through his curls. Sherlock didn’t complain or say anything at all, just allowed himself to be moved. It wouldn’t make him sleepy, nothing could when insomnia striked, but it slowed down the frantic rhythm of his thoughts to a soft hum.
They were quiet for a while, John kept petting his hair, humming a tune Sherlock didn’t recognize while Sherlock tapped the ground with his fingers. He knew that it might have gone completely unnoticed, but he was actually spelling in morse code. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. Sherlock wondered if John was paying attention to it.
“It’s a beautiful night” As cheesy and overused the phrase was, John just couldn’t help himself.
He forgot the way the sky looks when there are no city lights around to make the stars shy away. The sky looked like a canvas painted navy and covered with glitter or maybe diamonds until the only way to describe was shimmering. Sherlock moved his gaze a few centimeters up to face the sky, he had never been especially interested by it and that night was no exception. But apparently John had other plans in sight.
“Look,” He said and pointed with the hand that wasn’t in Sherlock’s hair towards a group of three stars that formed a straight line. “That’s Orion Belt’s”
In his time on the army he had learnt the names and shapes of many different constellations, just in case and because the sky there was even clearer.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “John, I have no interest on constellations whatsoever, I can admit that they are quite a sight, but it’s useless knowledge. ”
“Of course it’s not useless knowledge” Replied John sternly. “I don’t know why are you so reluctant to learn about it. I mean, you’ve studied 274 different kinds of tobacco ash.”
“Because I have no practical use for it!”
John was extremely tempted to point out that there could not be a practical use for knowing the difference between hundreds of different ashes, but there was a huge probability that Sherlock would start a lecture about the importance of tobacco ash and how crucial it could be on a case.
“You can know your position on Earth based on the stars” Said John, settling for reasoning.
“I have every map of the United Kingdom memorized and I believe those are much more precise than a guess based on the stars.” Well, that wasn’t really fair.
“And what if you’re outside the UK?”
“Then I would get a map of wherever I’m at.” Answered Sherlock as it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it was.
“What if you’re stranded on a deserted island?”
“How did I got there in the first place?” Retorted Sherlock.
John let out a frustrated groan, the detective never lost his ability to be completely infuriating. “Just humor me, Sherlock.”
Sherlock laughed, actually laughed a full deep guffaw and propelled himself on his arms until he was mostly sitting with his face very close to John’s. He was still smiling, the kind of smile that spread all the way to his eyes and John would like to see more often, when he leaned in and kissed John.
The angle was strange, with the height difference reversed, but neither of them was about to complain. It wasn’t an especially passionate, movie-like kiss and yet it was just as good. The kind of kiss that sends a jolt of electricity down your body and butterflies rushing to your chest.
“Anything for you, my dear Watson” Sherlock said as they slowly broke the kiss, the smile still on his face. He let himself fall down into John’s lap again. “There, show me the wonders of the universe.” He prompted gesturing towards the sky with his whole arm in an over dramatic fashion.
John jabbed him on the side of his head using a finger, but started to point at Orion’s Belt once again. “And if you go down a bit, following the stars of Orion’s Belt you can see the bottom of his body, you see?” He said as he traced the shape with the tip of his fingers. Sherlock nodded. “And then if you go up from the Belt, those three stars form his upper body, and his left arm is holding a shield formed by those seven stars just there..”
And while John went on and on about Orion and then Cancer and Leo, while gesturing with one hand and tracing patterns on the naked skin on Sherlock’s hand with the other, he thought maybe, this is not so bad at all.
“And while we’re on the subject, you should really learn the names of the planets.” Suggested John, pausing his lecture momentarily.
“Definitely not, John.” Answered Sherlock. He had principles.
John looked at him, sort of shrugged and went back to talking about the stars, having decided that one victory was more than he could push his luck that night. Maybe on another occasion.
Author: Melissa (adashofcyanide)
For: wwtdd11 (hi!!)
Prompt: Stargazing by the campfire
Rating PG
Word Count: 2387
Author Notes: Okay i really do hope you don't hate this, i tried really hard. Also, Merry Christmas and End Of The World!
“No.”
“Sherlock.”
“No.”
“Sherlock.”
“No.”
Thump. A paperback slammed into the back of Sherlock’s head with sharp precision. Sometimes Sherlock cursed John’s army days, even though most of the time they were extremely useful. Still that rather hurt, Sherlock guessed he had been lucky, at least it wasn’t a hard cover...or the ICD.
Without turning around he shot an arm back and picked up the book. The Great Gatsby, it definitely could have been worse. Sherlock could practically feel John’s annoyance growing from where the doctor was sitting on his armchair across him. He still wasn’t good at reading most people’s feelings (not that he cared), but with John it was different, everything was different with him.
Sherlock had gotten quite good at reading John’s expressions since they met, it was just the way his brain worked. He learnt people and catalogued their reactions, most of the information was deleted later, but he never did that with John. In fact, he enjoyed learning about John even more so over the three months two weeks and five days since the start of their relationship.
The way his eyebrows shot up when he was baffled or the change in his posture when Sherlock was doing something socially unacceptable, the way he flexed his fingers once when he was angry at someone or how he whistled those mornings when he was in an exceptionally good mood. The difference between the fake, polite laugh he used when he had to listen to an old lady was narrating a moment of her life she considered interesting or whimsical and the deep laughter after chasing a criminal or running from the cops or that one time Ms. Hudson hit him in the head with a roller pin. He had memorized the way John’s fingers felt against his skin and they way the doctor’s chapped lips felt against his own and somehow he still wanted more.
“Sherlock Holmes” Ah, John was losing his patience or what was left of it after a whole afternoon trying to reason with Sherlock. “Could you stop behaving like a child for five minutes? at least turn around”
Grudgingly, the detective did as he was told. Mostly, because he certainly was not in the mood to be attacked with books. Again.
“I said no, John.” Sherlock repeated for the untemph time. “That case is a four and I’m being generous. I won’t get out of the flat for anything less than a seven, hell i wouldn’t even leave our bed for less than a five.”
And for the untemph time that evening, John let out an irritated sigh. Neither of them was willing to relent in this particular issue, both of them too stubborn to let go without a fight.
“Sherlock, he’s my friend asking for help, so we’ve got to help him. Regardless of your rating on this case.” Explain John in the same way you explain something to a little kid.
“But why? You haven’t seen the man since you came back from Afghanistan” Replied Sherlock, rolling his eyes. Honestly, John would be much better if he wasn’t so keen on following boring social conventions.
“Because he saved my life back there and that’s what there is to it.”
John didn’t plan on using that card, but he was getting tired and if that was the only thing that maybe could convince Sherlock, then so be it. Mark was the first bloke in the army he befriended, he started to trust him the day he learnt that Mark had his back at all times when John was about to get shot while he was sewing a fellow soldier, the bullet would have gone right through his skull if Mark hadn’t tackled him to the ground and quickly shot the enemy so John could keep working.
There was a moment of tense silence, in which they stared at each other. John wasn’t lying, that Sherlock knew perfectly. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh in between his clenched teeth.
“Fine.” He owed one to that Mark guy, in the same way he owed Mike Stamford one. Without them Sherlock wouldn’t have met John. “I don’t have any case this week, anyway.” He said.
John smiled, obviously satisfied with his victory. It was not everyday that he got Sherlock to do what he wanted. “Good. I’ll let him know we’ll look into it.”
The case was simple enough. Apparently, a new private had been found dead near his military base, but there were no signs of external wounds of any kind and the autopsy did not reveal much, except that the young private Marsh was a very healthy man with a long life ahead.
Two hours had passed since they arrived at the base and Sherlock took a look at the corpse when the detective announced that private Marsh died as a result of an extremely and unusually strong allergic reaction.
The air in the base seemed to become less tense as the mistery surrounding Marsh’s death were cleared. Everyone had been fearing some sort of treason or rebellion and the Marsh family could rest, now knowing that their son, brother, nephew had not been murdered, but the victim of a tragic accident. To show their gratefulness, Mark invited Sherlock and John to a camping trip.
Sherlock was about to say how much of a bad idea he considered going camping to the same spot where a soldier died just days ago, but John was quicker and accepted the offer, smiling at the murderous look Sherlock sent his way.
And so, Sherlock found himself in the middle of the forest, being practically eaten alive by mosquitoes, sitting on the ground while two other burly men tried to lit a fire and John assembled their tent with the ease of those who have had practice.
Mark and the two other guys, whose names Sherlock hadn’t bothered to learn, were regarded John with the sort of cheerful camaraderie of people who get each other, they reminded of football teams in movies, joking and clapping each other on the back. They were friendly enough with Sherlock, although they were obviously weirded out by the detective who had started picking up bugs from a tree and studying them under his portatile magnifying glass.
“So, how are the wives? don’t they fuss over your adventures chasing criminals?” Asked Mark.
They were sitting around the campfire the guys managed to make, drinking beer and chatting amicably. Sherlock and John stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure of how to respond to that. John cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Not that he was ashamed of his relationship with Sherlock, he just wasn’t used to talk about it. Those who were important to them (and Mycroft) knew and that was that.
“Well, I don’t, uh, neither of us has a...”
“Oh, so you’re single then?” Interrupted Mark, trying to be helpful.
John shook his head. “No, you see, Sherlock’s my, uh, boyfriend, partner, whatever.”
There was a moment of tense silence and John couldn’t really blame the guys. Not when all of them talked about women on the bunks and John even received a few calls from his steady girlfriend (the last one to break up with him and the guys wouldn’t stop teasing him).
“So, you’re gay now?” One of the guys, Adam, asked looking quite confused.
“Not really. We are each other’s exceptions.” Explained John.
At that the three men looked even more baffled. Sherlock tried not to laugh, really, he did, for about thirty seconds, until he gave up and let out a laugh at the perplexed faces. He knew this would happen eventually. He never expected anyone to understand, although Ms. Hudson was close to it and so long ago when Lestrade gave them the same look, he decided to laugh at the world thickness rather than getting himself worked up over it. John stepped on his foot and grinded hard, which was completely unnecessary, a simple ‘shut up’ would have done it.
The men sent glares in Sherlock’s direction, but James sort of shrugged and mumbled something like ‘well then’ and that was that. The topic of conversation changed to John’s work and Sherlock cases and James favorite football team and Adam’s wife and basically everything Mark had done since he returned.
As the fire started to burn out, the men retreated to their tents. It was around two in the morning when John woke up next to...well, nothing. Sherlock was not there, for a few panicky seconds John remembered The Fall and the empty flat and something heavy settled in his stomach, he shook his head to clear the images and dragged himself out of the tent.
Sherlock was outside, sitting besides the campfire that now was mostly ember and smoke, poking at it with a stick. John shoulders slumped at the sight and he felt something decompressing in his chest.
“Didn’t mean to wake you up.” Muttered Sherlock without looking back.
“You didn’t.” Replied John taking a few steps forward and sitting besides the detective.
John didn’t bothered asking if Sherlock couldn’t sleep since the answer was quite obvious. Instead, he put his arm around Sherlock and arranged them until he had his head on John’s lap while the doctor ran his fingers through his curls. Sherlock didn’t complain or say anything at all, just allowed himself to be moved. It wouldn’t make him sleepy, nothing could when insomnia striked, but it slowed down the frantic rhythm of his thoughts to a soft hum.
They were quiet for a while, John kept petting his hair, humming a tune Sherlock didn’t recognize while Sherlock tapped the ground with his fingers. He knew that it might have gone completely unnoticed, but he was actually spelling in morse code. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. Sherlock wondered if John was paying attention to it.
“It’s a beautiful night” As cheesy and overused the phrase was, John just couldn’t help himself.
He forgot the way the sky looks when there are no city lights around to make the stars shy away. The sky looked like a canvas painted navy and covered with glitter or maybe diamonds until the only way to describe was shimmering. Sherlock moved his gaze a few centimeters up to face the sky, he had never been especially interested by it and that night was no exception. But apparently John had other plans in sight.
“Look,” He said and pointed with the hand that wasn’t in Sherlock’s hair towards a group of three stars that formed a straight line. “That’s Orion Belt’s”
In his time on the army he had learnt the names and shapes of many different constellations, just in case and because the sky there was even clearer.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “John, I have no interest on constellations whatsoever, I can admit that they are quite a sight, but it’s useless knowledge. ”
“Of course it’s not useless knowledge” Replied John sternly. “I don’t know why are you so reluctant to learn about it. I mean, you’ve studied 274 different kinds of tobacco ash.”
“Because I have no practical use for it!”
John was extremely tempted to point out that there could not be a practical use for knowing the difference between hundreds of different ashes, but there was a huge probability that Sherlock would start a lecture about the importance of tobacco ash and how crucial it could be on a case.
“You can know your position on Earth based on the stars” Said John, settling for reasoning.
“I have every map of the United Kingdom memorized and I believe those are much more precise than a guess based on the stars.” Well, that wasn’t really fair.
“And what if you’re outside the UK?”
“Then I would get a map of wherever I’m at.” Answered Sherlock as it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it was.
“What if you’re stranded on a deserted island?”
“How did I got there in the first place?” Retorted Sherlock.
John let out a frustrated groan, the detective never lost his ability to be completely infuriating. “Just humor me, Sherlock.”
Sherlock laughed, actually laughed a full deep guffaw and propelled himself on his arms until he was mostly sitting with his face very close to John’s. He was still smiling, the kind of smile that spread all the way to his eyes and John would like to see more often, when he leaned in and kissed John.
The angle was strange, with the height difference reversed, but neither of them was about to complain. It wasn’t an especially passionate, movie-like kiss and yet it was just as good. The kind of kiss that sends a jolt of electricity down your body and butterflies rushing to your chest.
“Anything for you, my dear Watson” Sherlock said as they slowly broke the kiss, the smile still on his face. He let himself fall down into John’s lap again. “There, show me the wonders of the universe.” He prompted gesturing towards the sky with his whole arm in an over dramatic fashion.
John jabbed him on the side of his head using a finger, but started to point at Orion’s Belt once again. “And if you go down a bit, following the stars of Orion’s Belt you can see the bottom of his body, you see?” He said as he traced the shape with the tip of his fingers. Sherlock nodded. “And then if you go up from the Belt, those three stars form his upper body, and his left arm is holding a shield formed by those seven stars just there..”
And while John went on and on about Orion and then Cancer and Leo, while gesturing with one hand and tracing patterns on the naked skin on Sherlock’s hand with the other, he thought maybe, this is not so bad at all.
“And while we’re on the subject, you should really learn the names of the planets.” Suggested John, pausing his lecture momentarily.
“Definitely not, John.” Answered Sherlock. He had principles.
John looked at him, sort of shrugged and went back to talking about the stars, having decided that one victory was more than he could push his luck that night. Maybe on another occasion.