Advantages
Title: Advantages
Pairing: Sherlock/John unrequited, Sherlock/Lestrade unrequited (not so much unrequited as just never pursued)
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: Pg ish.
Warnings: not much
Summary: "The advantage, he supposes, to being married to your work, is that work doesn’t really give a damn if you occasionally cheat a bit."
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Not very interesting, just a lot of Sherlock staring at people.
The advantage, he supposes, to being married to your work, is that work doesn’t really give a damn if you occasionally cheat a bit. He would never consider a relationship, or, until recently being presented with little choice, a friendship. But when presented with short John Watson standing on tip-toe to reach the top shelf, he can afford to let his mind be just a bit unfaithful for a moment, as long as he’s not on a case. Usually, watching short John Watsons doing endearing things, and occasionally brilliant and always intensely loyal john Watsons chasing down their suspect is about the limit of his affairs.
Today, he finds himself presented with a new mistress, one he really wholeheartedly never expected to get into bed with. A shirtless, bed-headed, sweat pants wearing, Detective Inspector Lestrade. He had come to bother Lestrade in person that morning, because he’d figured out the case he had been looking into most recently, and Lestrade wouldn’t answer his phone. Well, actually, neither Lestrade, Donovan or John were answering their phones, or else he would have let one of the other two fetch the Detective Inspector.
For the first time in quite a long while, he was glad he had been forced to more effort than necessary. The case was over, and here was presented a delightful little romp his mind could go on, just for a minute or two, while he explained his findings to the sleepy Lestrade, who seemed a bit too lethargic even to set up the coffee maker correctly, but still seemed to follow Sherlock’s explanation. Watching the sleepy man attempt to separate the coffee filter three times, Sherlock stepped forwards, elbowing the shirtless, tanned, and warm Inspector out of the way, setting up the machine with efficiency and impatience.
Lestrade just watched him, interrupted by a yawn, before following Sherlock into the living-room to continue the grand reveal, so rudely interrupted by the mundanities of life. A Detective Inspector Lestrade sitting on a sofa, knees drawn up, bare toes curling around the edge of the cushion, yawning, and rubbing an eye proved just why Sherlock didn’t pursue such mental derailments-he was hard pressed to not stop mid-sentence, and stare.
A mind for detail was quite a disadvantage in these types of situations. Everything from how neatly Lestrade’s toenails were trimmed, to the little tufts of hair sticking straight out from his head, to the little bit of pudge on the otherwise muscular frame, to the faint scar on his shoulder showing on the bare, tanned skin. Sherlock was there, for that one.
The little tufts of grey starting to come through the brown at the sides of the hair, the crows feet-no, laugh lines-at the corners of the eyes. The sleepy, but still attentive-and somehow...very warm-brown eyes, beneath fairly distinctive, rounded brow ridges, a short, soft crease between them, and above the sightly rounded cheeks, which were in turn above the well defined contours of the corners of the mouth, all of it surrounding a nose that fit the whole face quite perfectly.
Yes, it was a very good thing that Sherlock was married to his work.
Pairing: Sherlock/John unrequited, Sherlock/Lestrade unrequited (not so much unrequited as just never pursued)
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: Pg ish.
Warnings: not much
Summary: "The advantage, he supposes, to being married to your work, is that work doesn’t really give a damn if you occasionally cheat a bit."
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: Not very interesting, just a lot of Sherlock staring at people.
The advantage, he supposes, to being married to your work, is that work doesn’t really give a damn if you occasionally cheat a bit. He would never consider a relationship, or, until recently being presented with little choice, a friendship. But when presented with short John Watson standing on tip-toe to reach the top shelf, he can afford to let his mind be just a bit unfaithful for a moment, as long as he’s not on a case. Usually, watching short John Watsons doing endearing things, and occasionally brilliant and always intensely loyal john Watsons chasing down their suspect is about the limit of his affairs.
Today, he finds himself presented with a new mistress, one he really wholeheartedly never expected to get into bed with. A shirtless, bed-headed, sweat pants wearing, Detective Inspector Lestrade. He had come to bother Lestrade in person that morning, because he’d figured out the case he had been looking into most recently, and Lestrade wouldn’t answer his phone. Well, actually, neither Lestrade, Donovan or John were answering their phones, or else he would have let one of the other two fetch the Detective Inspector.
For the first time in quite a long while, he was glad he had been forced to more effort than necessary. The case was over, and here was presented a delightful little romp his mind could go on, just for a minute or two, while he explained his findings to the sleepy Lestrade, who seemed a bit too lethargic even to set up the coffee maker correctly, but still seemed to follow Sherlock’s explanation. Watching the sleepy man attempt to separate the coffee filter three times, Sherlock stepped forwards, elbowing the shirtless, tanned, and warm Inspector out of the way, setting up the machine with efficiency and impatience.
Lestrade just watched him, interrupted by a yawn, before following Sherlock into the living-room to continue the grand reveal, so rudely interrupted by the mundanities of life. A Detective Inspector Lestrade sitting on a sofa, knees drawn up, bare toes curling around the edge of the cushion, yawning, and rubbing an eye proved just why Sherlock didn’t pursue such mental derailments-he was hard pressed to not stop mid-sentence, and stare.
A mind for detail was quite a disadvantage in these types of situations. Everything from how neatly Lestrade’s toenails were trimmed, to the little tufts of hair sticking straight out from his head, to the little bit of pudge on the otherwise muscular frame, to the faint scar on his shoulder showing on the bare, tanned skin. Sherlock was there, for that one.
The little tufts of grey starting to come through the brown at the sides of the hair, the crows feet-no, laugh lines-at the corners of the eyes. The sleepy, but still attentive-and somehow...very warm-brown eyes, beneath fairly distinctive, rounded brow ridges, a short, soft crease between them, and above the sightly rounded cheeks, which were in turn above the well defined contours of the corners of the mouth, all of it surrounding a nose that fit the whole face quite perfectly.
Yes, it was a very good thing that Sherlock was married to his work.