Fic: Mood Swings
Title: Mood Swings
Genre: John/Sherlock
Rating: Pg? IDK.
Length: 970 words
Spoilers: None
Synopsis: Sherlock's emotions always run high after solving a case
Author’s Notes: For this prompt on the kink meme
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.
“That’s it!”
John jumped slightly and looked up over his paper. Sherlock had been sat silently in his chair for so long; John had almost forgotten he was there.
“What?”
“Look, John!” He thrust something in his general direction and John stood up and took it from him.
“It’s the letter from Ms Coombes. So? I’ve read this a dozen times already.”
“Look at it! Really look!”
John sighed and pulled the piece of paper out of its envelope. “Ok, what am I missing?”
“Not the letter, John, the envelope! Look at the post mark!”
“Fourteenth of June. So?”
“So…think, John! When was the murder committed?”
“On the…oh.” He looked down at the envelope again. “So this was sent a week after the murder?”
“Precisely.”
“But that means-”
“That she’s innocent. Excellent, I knew it! I’ll inform Lestrade at once.” He pulled out his phone and rattled off a text, smirking.
“That was brilliant Sherlock. Absolutely brilliant!”
“Obviously.”
“Really, though. No-one else would have spotted that! It’s genius.”
Sherlock looked down at him, curiously. “Thank you, John.”
“No problem.” John smiled.
“Thank you, John.”
“It’s…fine?” The smile wavered and died. Sherlock was doing his intense staring thing again. John opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, when suddenly Sherlock swooped, meshing their mouths together and bringing up a hand to cup John’s face roughly.
John froze for a split second, then tried to push his friend away from him. “Sherlock, what are you doing? Get off me!”
Sherlock said nothing, merely forced their mouths together again in an almost bruising kiss, his hand moving to undo the buttons on John’s shirt and pushing them both onto the floor.
“Sherlock…stop it…Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? Sherlock!”
***
John lay panting on Sherlock’s bed. He could hear Sherlock breathing heavily next to him, could feel the other man’s sweat slicked skin against his own. He stayed looking resolutely ahead, not sure he wanted to look at him right now. He wasn’t sure what he’d see.
“You want to tell me what just happened?” He asked eventually, when it became clear Sherlock wasn’t going to break the silence.
“Hmm?”
“You did just force yourself on me.”
Sherlock snorted. “You hardly complained that much. I don’t recall forcing you off the floor or into my room, nor do I remember you putting up a great deal of resistance when I-”
“Sherlock.” John turned his head to look at him, then. Sherlock gave him a sidelong glance and sighed.
“I…what you have to understand, John,” he began hesitantly, “is that my emotions run very high after I’ve solved a case.”
“You’ve solved cases before. You’ve never done…we’ve never…bloody hell, Sherlock, I don’t even know what to say.”
“We shan’t speak of this again.” Sherlock said matter of factly.
“Shan’t speak of…Jesus, Sherlock! You can’t just…”
“To business! Pass me the letter.”
“What?”
“The letter, John!”
John sighed and reached out of bed, scooping up the letter from his trouser pocket and passing it over. “Well?”
“Be quiet.”
Sherlock’s eyes flicked all over the expensive stationary. John sat there, his skin rapidly cooling and feeling slightly stupid. He wondered if maybe he should get out of Sherlock’s bed now, take a shower and get dressed and forget this ever happened. He looked across at Sherlock.
“I’ll just-”
“Oh. Oh!” Sherlock dropped the letter and picked up his phone from the bedside table.
“Sherlock?”
“The writing, John, look at it! Oh, I’ve been so blind.”
“Come on then. Amaze me.”
“This letter was clearly written by someone right handed. Ms Coombes is left handed.”
“How do you…oh, never mind. So she didn’t write the letter?”
“No. I thought she seemed surprised when we turned up at her house, but dismissed it. Stupid. She wasn’t upset, she was scared.”
“Then who wrote it? Who was she afraid of?”
“The housekeeper, obviously.”
“Mr Milbridge? But…why would he send a letter pretending it was from his employer’s daughter?”
“Because it made us suspect her! If it wasn’t for the fact he messed up with the postage dates, we’d have continued to think it was her that killed her father. Oh, he’s good. Very good. He almost fooled me!”
“So…that must mean Milbridge killed him!”
“Precisely.”
“But…that’s brilliant! I don’t know how you do these things, I really don’t. You’ve solved it!”
“Yes.” Sherlock put down his phone and turned his head to look at John, a predatory gleam in his eye.
“Sherlock…?”
Sherlock rolled swiftly, positioning himself on top of John and gripping his hands above his head before he even realised what was going on. Then Sherlock’s lips were on his again, warm and insistent.
“Sherlock, not again, stop!”
“Really?” Sherlock pulled away and bit down gently on John’s collar bone, lapping gently with his tongue. “Why? You’re the one who stayed in my bed.”
“Yes, but I…Sherlock, seriously…”
“I did warn you.” Sherlock kissed him again, almost desperately.
John thought about fighting back, pushing Sherlock away from him and getting the hell out of this situation. He knew he’d be able to, he didn’t think Sherlock would continue this…whatever it was…if John fought to get away…he gasped as Sherlock ground their hips together.
“I…I suppose you did.” He said breathlessly. He felt Sherlock smirk against his mouth, and then made his move, swiping Sherlock’s leg from under him and rolling them so he was now pinning the bigger man to the bed. Sherlock blinked up at him, surprised.
“You can’t just throw yourself at someone and expect them to be ok with it.” he said firmly. Sherlock looked suddenly anxious.
“John-”
“In future,” John interrupted, his grip tightening on Sherlock’s wrists. He shifted so his face was only millimetres from Sherlock’s, “it’s polite to ask.”
Kissing Sherlock was definitely more fun when he was the one in control.
Genre: John/Sherlock
Rating: Pg? IDK.
Length: 970 words
Spoilers: None
Synopsis: Sherlock's emotions always run high after solving a case
Author’s Notes: For this prompt on the kink meme
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.
“That’s it!”
John jumped slightly and looked up over his paper. Sherlock had been sat silently in his chair for so long; John had almost forgotten he was there.
“What?”
“Look, John!” He thrust something in his general direction and John stood up and took it from him.
“It’s the letter from Ms Coombes. So? I’ve read this a dozen times already.”
“Look at it! Really look!”
John sighed and pulled the piece of paper out of its envelope. “Ok, what am I missing?”
“Not the letter, John, the envelope! Look at the post mark!”
“Fourteenth of June. So?”
“So…think, John! When was the murder committed?”
“On the…oh.” He looked down at the envelope again. “So this was sent a week after the murder?”
“Precisely.”
“But that means-”
“That she’s innocent. Excellent, I knew it! I’ll inform Lestrade at once.” He pulled out his phone and rattled off a text, smirking.
“That was brilliant Sherlock. Absolutely brilliant!”
“Obviously.”
“Really, though. No-one else would have spotted that! It’s genius.”
Sherlock looked down at him, curiously. “Thank you, John.”
“No problem.” John smiled.
“Thank you, John.”
“It’s…fine?” The smile wavered and died. Sherlock was doing his intense staring thing again. John opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, when suddenly Sherlock swooped, meshing their mouths together and bringing up a hand to cup John’s face roughly.
John froze for a split second, then tried to push his friend away from him. “Sherlock, what are you doing? Get off me!”
Sherlock said nothing, merely forced their mouths together again in an almost bruising kiss, his hand moving to undo the buttons on John’s shirt and pushing them both onto the floor.
“Sherlock…stop it…Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? Sherlock!”
***
John lay panting on Sherlock’s bed. He could hear Sherlock breathing heavily next to him, could feel the other man’s sweat slicked skin against his own. He stayed looking resolutely ahead, not sure he wanted to look at him right now. He wasn’t sure what he’d see.
“You want to tell me what just happened?” He asked eventually, when it became clear Sherlock wasn’t going to break the silence.
“Hmm?”
“You did just force yourself on me.”
Sherlock snorted. “You hardly complained that much. I don’t recall forcing you off the floor or into my room, nor do I remember you putting up a great deal of resistance when I-”
“Sherlock.” John turned his head to look at him, then. Sherlock gave him a sidelong glance and sighed.
“I…what you have to understand, John,” he began hesitantly, “is that my emotions run very high after I’ve solved a case.”
“You’ve solved cases before. You’ve never done…we’ve never…bloody hell, Sherlock, I don’t even know what to say.”
“We shan’t speak of this again.” Sherlock said matter of factly.
“Shan’t speak of…Jesus, Sherlock! You can’t just…”
“To business! Pass me the letter.”
“What?”
“The letter, John!”
John sighed and reached out of bed, scooping up the letter from his trouser pocket and passing it over. “Well?”
“Be quiet.”
Sherlock’s eyes flicked all over the expensive stationary. John sat there, his skin rapidly cooling and feeling slightly stupid. He wondered if maybe he should get out of Sherlock’s bed now, take a shower and get dressed and forget this ever happened. He looked across at Sherlock.
“I’ll just-”
“Oh. Oh!” Sherlock dropped the letter and picked up his phone from the bedside table.
“Sherlock?”
“The writing, John, look at it! Oh, I’ve been so blind.”
“Come on then. Amaze me.”
“This letter was clearly written by someone right handed. Ms Coombes is left handed.”
“How do you…oh, never mind. So she didn’t write the letter?”
“No. I thought she seemed surprised when we turned up at her house, but dismissed it. Stupid. She wasn’t upset, she was scared.”
“Then who wrote it? Who was she afraid of?”
“The housekeeper, obviously.”
“Mr Milbridge? But…why would he send a letter pretending it was from his employer’s daughter?”
“Because it made us suspect her! If it wasn’t for the fact he messed up with the postage dates, we’d have continued to think it was her that killed her father. Oh, he’s good. Very good. He almost fooled me!”
“So…that must mean Milbridge killed him!”
“Precisely.”
“But…that’s brilliant! I don’t know how you do these things, I really don’t. You’ve solved it!”
“Yes.” Sherlock put down his phone and turned his head to look at John, a predatory gleam in his eye.
“Sherlock…?”
Sherlock rolled swiftly, positioning himself on top of John and gripping his hands above his head before he even realised what was going on. Then Sherlock’s lips were on his again, warm and insistent.
“Sherlock, not again, stop!”
“Really?” Sherlock pulled away and bit down gently on John’s collar bone, lapping gently with his tongue. “Why? You’re the one who stayed in my bed.”
“Yes, but I…Sherlock, seriously…”
“I did warn you.” Sherlock kissed him again, almost desperately.
John thought about fighting back, pushing Sherlock away from him and getting the hell out of this situation. He knew he’d be able to, he didn’t think Sherlock would continue this…whatever it was…if John fought to get away…he gasped as Sherlock ground their hips together.
“I…I suppose you did.” He said breathlessly. He felt Sherlock smirk against his mouth, and then made his move, swiping Sherlock’s leg from under him and rolling them so he was now pinning the bigger man to the bed. Sherlock blinked up at him, surprised.
“You can’t just throw yourself at someone and expect them to be ok with it.” he said firmly. Sherlock looked suddenly anxious.
“John-”
“In future,” John interrupted, his grip tightening on Sherlock’s wrists. He shifted so his face was only millimetres from Sherlock’s, “it’s polite to ask.”
Kissing Sherlock was definitely more fun when he was the one in control.