Ficlet: (Im)perfection
A little ficlet inspired by this amazing piece of art by Marie (she who likes to draw). Title is also stolen from her.
Title: (Im)perfection
Words: 603
Rating: PG
Warnings: mentioning of wounds
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Disclaimer: Sadly the characters are not mine and no money is made (that would be sooo cool!)
John enters his room and drops his towel on the floor. He doesn’t bother with the light since the moon is full tonight and illuminates his room well enough.
As usual he has left the bathroom wearing a shirt, which he now pulls over his head and drops on top of his towel. He walks over to his wardrobe and looks at himself in the mirror.
The moonlight makes the white scar tissue on his shoulder shine and John sighs deeply. How he hates that thing.
It is the reason he will never have someone as beautiful as Sherlock, because just thinking about the possibility of Sherlock undressing him, seeing the scar and recoiling in disgust makes John sick.
He thinks back to the evening a few weeks ago, when he had been standing in the kitchen, attempting to find a clean place between all the experiments for his tea, and Sherlock had suddenly leaned over and kissed him. His heart had been beating in his throat and for a few minutes he had been completely and utterly happy.
Then Sherlock’s hand had found a way under his shirt and John had shrunk back. He had stammered something along the lines of he was sorry, it wasn’t Sherlock’s fault and this was just not what John wanted out of their relationship. Then he had fled the room.
To his astonishment Sherlock did not bring it up again.
He is jolted from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. His eyes widen and he just stares at the figure leaning in the door frame.
Something in Sherlock’s gaze squelches the impulse to either grab a shirt or ask him to get the hell out.
For a few minutes they just stand there and look at each other. Then Sherlock grabs his shirt and pulls it off, exposing his pale torso. He lifts his hand and runs it along the scar that cuts across his ribs, still fresh and angry-red. John knows that scar, he was there when the man plunged his knife into Sherlock’s chest, he pressed his hands onto it, trying to stop the blood gushing out and he re-dressed it while it healed.
John can see what Sherlock is doing - of course, he is not stupid - but on a deeper level he still feels ugly and deformed through his scar, while Sherlock’s scar just makes him look bold and highlights the fact that the rest of him is truly beautiful.
Sherlock steps closer, eyes wide and John can see that he, who usually hides behind a perfectly controlled mask, is not hiding anything right now.
John can clearly see tenderness, want, the aching pain of need, love and desire, all mixed together in Sherlock’s captivating gaze.
Sherlock slowly, very slowly bends his neck and presses his lips to John’s shoulder, placing tender, open-mouthed kisses all over his scarred flesh, his hungry eyes - gleaming in the moonlight like cat’s eyes - never leaving John’s.
Finally Sherlock starts to speak, his words ghosting over John’s skin.
“John, you are beautiful. Why do you hide from me? There is nothing ugly about this scar. It is proof that you are brave and loyal and a fighter and above all it brought you to me. The John before might have been unscarred, but he was not mine. Though you might feel imperfect because of it, with it you are perfect to me.”
And that, really, is all that counts, isn’t it?
John exhales deeply and lets all the doubts and fears fall away. He smiles at Sherlock and then he leans in and softly kisses him.
.