The Slow Dance of Infinite Stars, JohnSherlock, 2/?
Title: The Slow Dance of Infinite Stars,
Summary: John goes off to find a fallen star for Sarah Sawyer. What he finds is Sherlock Holmes.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, some John/Sarah
Rating: R-NC-17
Notes: Stardust, but Sherlock
Disclaimer: Nothing that is publicly recognisable belongs to me. Those pleasures are the pleasures of Neil Gaiman, the BBC, Steven Moffatt & Mark Gattiss and, originally, Mr Conan Doyle.
Part Two
“You are not what I was expecting,” John said.
A splat of mud landed on his chest. John looked down at it, the sloppy brownness reminding him of a time when he’d slid, belly first, down a hill to impress Mary Morstan. He’d been eleven. She’d not been impressed.
“That seems to be a common theme,” the star replied, grumpily and John sighed, taking a step towards it. Another splat of mud landed on his chest but John moved faster than the star did and was kneeling by its side before it could gather more mud for another shot. “What are you doing?” The star demanded, sliding back from John’s outstretched hand.
“You need to come with me.”
The star scoffed.
“I need do no such thing.” John reached out again, sliding the dirty lump of candle into his pocket before reaching out to his outstretched wrist for the chain wrapped around it. “Don’t think you’re putting that chain on me, nymph. With your shoulder hurt as it is, I could easily knock you down.”
John hesitated for a moment then let out a laugh as he shook his head and noted the way that the star’s body moved to protect its left leg and ribs.
“Then why don’t you?”
There was a tense moment where John wasn’t sure he’d guessed the star’s injuries properly but the star fell backwards with a dramatic flop and sighed.
“You are much more observant than any of the others I’ve ever come into contact with.” The star turned its head and looked at John, and John noted the way that its eyes looked like galaxies trapped around a black hole - a black hole that he felt he was being sucked into. “My brother would be most impressed.”
“Your brother?” John queried, sitting back on his haunches. This star wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon without John’s assistance so he felt he could afford a few minutes of sitting down.
The star sighed dramatically and John was almost sure he could hear the eye-roll that accompanied the sigh.
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate any further and, after a few long moments of silence, John shook his head in bemusement and slid the chain off his wrist. It glimmered in the moonlight, the same way the star glittered in the shadows. It was mesmerising. “I already told you, you are not going to put that on me.”
“Sorry but I am,” John said as he reached out across the shifting darkness between them and grasped for the edge of the black cloak that covered the star. It was surprisingly thick and rough against John’s palm. He shifted his hand about, ignoring the squirming of the body across from him and finally found a wrist (it was cold but John, for some reason, thought it would have been colder). The star struggled, using whatever energy he had left to try to pull away and John almost felt bad. Almost. “I need to take you back across the wall with me.”
“The Wall?” The star asked, startled and John used the momentary distraction to wrap the end of the chain around the wrist and then wrapped the other end around his own. John looked up to the stars face again, noting the scowl that graced its forehead. “Hm. Perhaps I’ve over-estimated you.”
John huffed and stood up, tugging on the chain. There was a brief slackening where John was sure it would just slip off his wrist but it tightened up and tensed between the two of them.
“What do you mean?”
The star narrowed its eyes again, glancing up and down John’s body.
“You’re not from Faerie, despite having Faerie blood.” John made to agree but the star continued. “A strange accent, though one I’ve heard before. Edinburgh, with a touch of London. Your mother is Scottish but your father English - he worked away a lot while you were younger and you failed to pick up his accent but there are traces which suggest that he either spent more time around you during your young adolescence, or you’ve spent some time in your other Capital City but you’ve recently returned... for summer, no doubt, given that the Winter Solstice in Faerie is only a few weeks away.”
John gaped.
“How did you...?”
“Though why you’ve come to Faerie, that’s the real interest. You’ve come to collect a star, no doubt not realising what - or indeed, who - stars actually are and you have no doubt failed to realise what will happen if you try and take me across the Wall. But why would you want to collect a star?” There was a pause and John wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply so he kept quiet, staring (mouth open) at the star as its Milky-Way eyes glanced over John again. “Ah. Romance.” It - he? - sighed and John would swear he saw a pout on the full - so full - lips. “Dull.”
“Dull? How is that dull? Sarah Sawyer said she would do anything I wanted if I brought her back the star we saw falling out of the sky.”
The eyes were back on him again, though the interest that had sparked the shimmering star-like quality of them seemed to have dimmed and John drew his lips into a tight line.
“Dull. Boring. Tedious. Predictable.”
John didn’t say anything but started tugging on the chain and the star jolted forward a little, then hissed in pain. John dropped to his knees instantly, his hands reaching out of their own accord to the grimacing star.
“Don’t touch me.”
John’s hands withdrew. He stared at the star for a long moment and considered - for a short fraction of a second - untying the chain and leaving the star. But his friend the hairy creature had said it had been years since there’d been another falling star and John doubted he’d get away with breaking into Dynamic Earth.
“Is it your leg?”
The eyes were on him again, scathing and intent.
“Well observed. Perhaps I haven’t overestimated you after all.”
“Shut up.” That seemed to startle the star for a moment and John tried to hide his smirk. “Let me look at it.”
The star scoffed.
“What would be the point in that? You’re a nymph, not a witch.”
John scoffed at that, his hackles bristling.
“I’m not a nympho!”
The star rolled its eyes again. John was getting fed up with the sight of that.
“I said ‘nymph’, not ‘nympho’. Idiot.”
John blew out his breath in a quick rush and saw the curls of his stars’ (his star? Really?) hair flutter against its forehead before settling back again. The star glared.
“I want to be a doctor.”
“But you’re not one yet, are you?”
John glared.
“Is it broken?” He asked instead, managing to find some semblance of patience. He pictured Sarah (he pictured Sarah spread out against the desk in his dad’s study, nipple sticking out over the top of her pulled down bra, pants askew and John - he cleared his throat) and hoped (knew, really) that it would be worth it, in the end.
The star hesitated a moment, glancing at the chain linking it to John then down to where John assumed its leg was and then back up to John’s face.
“Yes. I do believe that it is.”
John nodded and looked around.
“I’ll make a splint.”
--
“The medical board won’t be giving you a medical license any time soon,” the star murmured as john finished tying the splint in place (his jumper was holey anyway, the thick wool the only thing strong enough to hold the splint together but John still sighed at the loss).
“I’m eighteen, I haven’t even started first year yet.”
“And nor are you likely to this year, unless you happen to be able to fly as well as make splints out of rather hideous jumpers and tree branches. It itches, by the way.”
“Do you want me to make it hurt instead?” John bit back, his tone the most acerbic he’d managed all night. The star looked quelled for a moment before a defiant look crossed over its features again. “I don’t care what you’re going to say. Get up and come with me.”
The star huffed and looked ready to stay put but when John stood up and began walking away, it had no choice but to try to stand. John heard it grunting behind him, the sound of mud sloshing wetly underfoot and he turned back, his anger draining somewhat. He reached out a hand and the star took it then snatched his own back quickly, glaring up at John.
“I can manage on my own.”
John snorted.
“Sure you can.”
He turned away, listening to the sounds of motion behind him, the quiet hisses of pain and the eventual (inevitable) splash as the star fell back to the muddy ground. John turned then, looked down at the star then quickly turned away again exclaiming,
“You’re naked!”
There was a long silence and then another sigh.
“No. I have my cloak.”
“You’re naked beneath that!”
“You’re naked beneath your clothes, too.” John couldn’t reply to that and the silence stretched out between the two of them. “If we really must move, then I will require assistance. It appears I may have cracked a few ribs in the fall, as well.”
John sighed.
“If you cover up your bottom half, I’ll bind your ribs, too.”
He was met with silence.
--
“You’re uncomfortable.”
John knew it wasn’t a question. His request that the star cover it’s nether regions had gone unheeded, the cloak serving as a blanket on the ground rather than as a device of modesty and John fought to keep his eyes above waist level. Which was difficult, given that he was binding the stars ribs.
“I did ask you to cover yourself up.”
“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re body has the same mechanisms as mine.” John didn’t say anything. “Doesn’t it?” The star prompted and John breathed out harshly, his breath unsettling the curls again. The star smirked. “Exactly.”
He worked in silence for a few more moments, tying off the last of make-shift bandages.
“Can you breathe?” The star breathed. “Is it too tight?” The star shook its head and when John looked up from his handiwork to the star’s face, his eyes were caught once again in the expanding black hole. John tried to turn away (maybe, maybe not) but his eyes were fixed on the shifting grey before him, his palm resting over the knot he’d just finished tying. His breath came out in white foggy puffs in front of him, translucent in the shimmering light of the star. He held his breath, his heart hammering against his chest almost painfully.
The star looked away and John sagged back, expanding the small inches of space between him and the star.
He cleared his throat and shifted and-
He was hard. Oh, God he was hard and...
He turned away.
“Get dressed. We’re going,” he ordered gruffly, his voice ridiculously hoarse.
The star paused and John turned slightly to grouch further when he saw that the star, too, was showing signs that it too was at least human in one respect.
--
“And how do you plan on getting us to Wall?” The star asked once it was ensconced back in its cloak and John had an arm around its waist (he really wished he’d kept some of the bits of wood as a crutch because really...). John fiddled in his pocket and pulled out the dirty lump of candle, wiping some of the mud away from the wick. “Ah.”
“Yes. If this doesn’t work, I’m going to drop you and kick your leg.”
There was a huff that John was sure was a laugh and then he looked at the candle, thought about lighting it and-
“Let’s go,” the star murmured and John gripped his arm tighter around its waist and took a step. Mountains, snow, wind; another step, mountain, snow wind; another step, a dirt track road, rain and wind; another step and...
The candle flickered, gasped for air and then petered out, the last of the wax melting across John’s hand.
“Good job, I feel we’re closer to Wall already.”
John sighed.
Summary: John goes off to find a fallen star for Sarah Sawyer. What he finds is Sherlock Holmes.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, some John/Sarah
Rating: R-NC-17
Notes: Stardust, but Sherlock
Disclaimer: Nothing that is publicly recognisable belongs to me. Those pleasures are the pleasures of Neil Gaiman, the BBC, Steven Moffatt & Mark Gattiss and, originally, Mr Conan Doyle.
Part Two
“You are not what I was expecting,” John said.
A splat of mud landed on his chest. John looked down at it, the sloppy brownness reminding him of a time when he’d slid, belly first, down a hill to impress Mary Morstan. He’d been eleven. She’d not been impressed.
“That seems to be a common theme,” the star replied, grumpily and John sighed, taking a step towards it. Another splat of mud landed on his chest but John moved faster than the star did and was kneeling by its side before it could gather more mud for another shot. “What are you doing?” The star demanded, sliding back from John’s outstretched hand.
“You need to come with me.”
The star scoffed.
“I need do no such thing.” John reached out again, sliding the dirty lump of candle into his pocket before reaching out to his outstretched wrist for the chain wrapped around it. “Don’t think you’re putting that chain on me, nymph. With your shoulder hurt as it is, I could easily knock you down.”
John hesitated for a moment then let out a laugh as he shook his head and noted the way that the star’s body moved to protect its left leg and ribs.
“Then why don’t you?”
There was a tense moment where John wasn’t sure he’d guessed the star’s injuries properly but the star fell backwards with a dramatic flop and sighed.
“You are much more observant than any of the others I’ve ever come into contact with.” The star turned its head and looked at John, and John noted the way that its eyes looked like galaxies trapped around a black hole - a black hole that he felt he was being sucked into. “My brother would be most impressed.”
“Your brother?” John queried, sitting back on his haunches. This star wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon without John’s assistance so he felt he could afford a few minutes of sitting down.
The star sighed dramatically and John was almost sure he could hear the eye-roll that accompanied the sigh.
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate any further and, after a few long moments of silence, John shook his head in bemusement and slid the chain off his wrist. It glimmered in the moonlight, the same way the star glittered in the shadows. It was mesmerising. “I already told you, you are not going to put that on me.”
“Sorry but I am,” John said as he reached out across the shifting darkness between them and grasped for the edge of the black cloak that covered the star. It was surprisingly thick and rough against John’s palm. He shifted his hand about, ignoring the squirming of the body across from him and finally found a wrist (it was cold but John, for some reason, thought it would have been colder). The star struggled, using whatever energy he had left to try to pull away and John almost felt bad. Almost. “I need to take you back across the wall with me.”
“The Wall?” The star asked, startled and John used the momentary distraction to wrap the end of the chain around the wrist and then wrapped the other end around his own. John looked up to the stars face again, noting the scowl that graced its forehead. “Hm. Perhaps I’ve over-estimated you.”
John huffed and stood up, tugging on the chain. There was a brief slackening where John was sure it would just slip off his wrist but it tightened up and tensed between the two of them.
“What do you mean?”
The star narrowed its eyes again, glancing up and down John’s body.
“You’re not from Faerie, despite having Faerie blood.” John made to agree but the star continued. “A strange accent, though one I’ve heard before. Edinburgh, with a touch of London. Your mother is Scottish but your father English - he worked away a lot while you were younger and you failed to pick up his accent but there are traces which suggest that he either spent more time around you during your young adolescence, or you’ve spent some time in your other Capital City but you’ve recently returned... for summer, no doubt, given that the Winter Solstice in Faerie is only a few weeks away.”
John gaped.
“How did you...?”
“Though why you’ve come to Faerie, that’s the real interest. You’ve come to collect a star, no doubt not realising what - or indeed, who - stars actually are and you have no doubt failed to realise what will happen if you try and take me across the Wall. But why would you want to collect a star?” There was a pause and John wasn’t sure if he was supposed to reply so he kept quiet, staring (mouth open) at the star as its Milky-Way eyes glanced over John again. “Ah. Romance.” It - he? - sighed and John would swear he saw a pout on the full - so full - lips. “Dull.”
“Dull? How is that dull? Sarah Sawyer said she would do anything I wanted if I brought her back the star we saw falling out of the sky.”
The eyes were back on him again, though the interest that had sparked the shimmering star-like quality of them seemed to have dimmed and John drew his lips into a tight line.
“Dull. Boring. Tedious. Predictable.”
John didn’t say anything but started tugging on the chain and the star jolted forward a little, then hissed in pain. John dropped to his knees instantly, his hands reaching out of their own accord to the grimacing star.
“Don’t touch me.”
John’s hands withdrew. He stared at the star for a long moment and considered - for a short fraction of a second - untying the chain and leaving the star. But his friend the hairy creature had said it had been years since there’d been another falling star and John doubted he’d get away with breaking into Dynamic Earth.
“Is it your leg?”
The eyes were on him again, scathing and intent.
“Well observed. Perhaps I haven’t overestimated you after all.”
“Shut up.” That seemed to startle the star for a moment and John tried to hide his smirk. “Let me look at it.”
The star scoffed.
“What would be the point in that? You’re a nymph, not a witch.”
John scoffed at that, his hackles bristling.
“I’m not a nympho!”
The star rolled its eyes again. John was getting fed up with the sight of that.
“I said ‘nymph’, not ‘nympho’. Idiot.”
John blew out his breath in a quick rush and saw the curls of his stars’ (his star? Really?) hair flutter against its forehead before settling back again. The star glared.
“I want to be a doctor.”
“But you’re not one yet, are you?”
John glared.
“Is it broken?” He asked instead, managing to find some semblance of patience. He pictured Sarah (he pictured Sarah spread out against the desk in his dad’s study, nipple sticking out over the top of her pulled down bra, pants askew and John - he cleared his throat) and hoped (knew, really) that it would be worth it, in the end.
The star hesitated a moment, glancing at the chain linking it to John then down to where John assumed its leg was and then back up to John’s face.
“Yes. I do believe that it is.”
John nodded and looked around.
“I’ll make a splint.”
--
“The medical board won’t be giving you a medical license any time soon,” the star murmured as john finished tying the splint in place (his jumper was holey anyway, the thick wool the only thing strong enough to hold the splint together but John still sighed at the loss).
“I’m eighteen, I haven’t even started first year yet.”
“And nor are you likely to this year, unless you happen to be able to fly as well as make splints out of rather hideous jumpers and tree branches. It itches, by the way.”
“Do you want me to make it hurt instead?” John bit back, his tone the most acerbic he’d managed all night. The star looked quelled for a moment before a defiant look crossed over its features again. “I don’t care what you’re going to say. Get up and come with me.”
The star huffed and looked ready to stay put but when John stood up and began walking away, it had no choice but to try to stand. John heard it grunting behind him, the sound of mud sloshing wetly underfoot and he turned back, his anger draining somewhat. He reached out a hand and the star took it then snatched his own back quickly, glaring up at John.
“I can manage on my own.”
John snorted.
“Sure you can.”
He turned away, listening to the sounds of motion behind him, the quiet hisses of pain and the eventual (inevitable) splash as the star fell back to the muddy ground. John turned then, looked down at the star then quickly turned away again exclaiming,
“You’re naked!”
There was a long silence and then another sigh.
“No. I have my cloak.”
“You’re naked beneath that!”
“You’re naked beneath your clothes, too.” John couldn’t reply to that and the silence stretched out between the two of them. “If we really must move, then I will require assistance. It appears I may have cracked a few ribs in the fall, as well.”
John sighed.
“If you cover up your bottom half, I’ll bind your ribs, too.”
He was met with silence.
--
“You’re uncomfortable.”
John knew it wasn’t a question. His request that the star cover it’s nether regions had gone unheeded, the cloak serving as a blanket on the ground rather than as a device of modesty and John fought to keep his eyes above waist level. Which was difficult, given that he was binding the stars ribs.
“I did ask you to cover yourself up.”
“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re body has the same mechanisms as mine.” John didn’t say anything. “Doesn’t it?” The star prompted and John breathed out harshly, his breath unsettling the curls again. The star smirked. “Exactly.”
He worked in silence for a few more moments, tying off the last of make-shift bandages.
“Can you breathe?” The star breathed. “Is it too tight?” The star shook its head and when John looked up from his handiwork to the star’s face, his eyes were caught once again in the expanding black hole. John tried to turn away (maybe, maybe not) but his eyes were fixed on the shifting grey before him, his palm resting over the knot he’d just finished tying. His breath came out in white foggy puffs in front of him, translucent in the shimmering light of the star. He held his breath, his heart hammering against his chest almost painfully.
The star looked away and John sagged back, expanding the small inches of space between him and the star.
He cleared his throat and shifted and-
He was hard. Oh, God he was hard and...
He turned away.
“Get dressed. We’re going,” he ordered gruffly, his voice ridiculously hoarse.
The star paused and John turned slightly to grouch further when he saw that the star, too, was showing signs that it too was at least human in one respect.
--
“And how do you plan on getting us to Wall?” The star asked once it was ensconced back in its cloak and John had an arm around its waist (he really wished he’d kept some of the bits of wood as a crutch because really...). John fiddled in his pocket and pulled out the dirty lump of candle, wiping some of the mud away from the wick. “Ah.”
“Yes. If this doesn’t work, I’m going to drop you and kick your leg.”
There was a huff that John was sure was a laugh and then he looked at the candle, thought about lighting it and-
“Let’s go,” the star murmured and John gripped his arm tighter around its waist and took a step. Mountains, snow, wind; another step, mountain, snow wind; another step, a dirt track road, rain and wind; another step and...
The candle flickered, gasped for air and then petered out, the last of the wax melting across John’s hand.
“Good job, I feel we’re closer to Wall already.”
John sighed.