Fic: Sherlock Holmes and the Meaning of D-3
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG
Length: ~1,250 words
Category: mild humor, recently established relationship
Summary: Sherlock needs order on his hard drive, if nowhere else.
Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa when I arrived home, still in his dressing gown, but the pajamas were different so he'd showered and changed.
"Ambitious day?" I asked as I crossed the room.
Lowering his hands from their customary place beneath his chin, Sherlock gave me a warm look. "Exceedingly."
"Glad to hear it," I said, leaning down to kiss him. I'd intended a quick kiss, but Sherlock's lips were sweet and welcoming, and I lingered.
"D-3," Sherlock said. I frowned, but before I could ask what he meant, he added, "You had a good day."
"I did." I always made a cuppa when I got home from the surgery, and my feet carried me away from Sherlock and into the kitchen as if on automatic pilot.
Rolling onto his stomach, Sherlock watched me over the arm of the sofa as I filled the kettle. "I could tell from the kiss."
I shot him a quick smile before turning to put the kettle on. Deducing a lover's mood from their kiss was an ordinary feat. People did it everyday. I wasn't about to tell Sherlock that.
"Even though it was a good day, you're happy to be home, with me. You're looking forward to spending time together this evening and having sex." Sherlock said it as though it was a grand deduction. It wasn't. We'd been having sex for three days, of course I was hoping for more tonight.
Leaving the kettle to boil, I returned to the sofa. Sherlock sat up, curling his legs under him and creating room for me beside him. He smiled at me, a tiny upturn of his lips that turned his attractive face beautiful. One didn't need to be a consulting detective to deduce the intent behind the smile, and I leaned toward him.
Sherlock's kisses were marvelous things, as sensual and lazy as Sherlock when he hadn't a case on, had nothing better to do than lay of the sofa in the sun and let his mind wander. Unfortunately, his mind often seemed to wander from annoyance to irritation with side trips to petulance. Fortunately, the kiss took an entirely different route, and I was content to wander wherever Sherlock wished, returning his kiss with a sensuality I hadn't known I possessed until Sherlock.
"I'm not the only one hoping for sex later," I murmured when Sherlock at last drew back, but instead of smiling he frowned. "Sherlock?"
He drew back even further and I reached out to stop him going any farther, my hand on his forearm. "I thought I had it all worked it out, but now I'm not so sure," he said.
"All of what worked out?"
"Classification system. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to classify kisses?"
"You've been classifying kisses." I was stating the obvious, but sometimes sanity required it. "Why?"
"To make deductions easier, obviously."
"Oh, well, obviously," I said, more than a little put out at the realization that Sherlock was classifying our kisses in order to... deduce something, what I had no idea. "Exactly what is it you hope to deduce with this classification system of yours?"
"I should have thought that was obvious."
"Humor me."
"Your mood," Sherlock said. "When you arrived home, that was kiss D-3, not blatantly sexual, but containing a promise of future sex. You kissed me in a similar manner Sunday morning, and while the kiss itself didn't lead to sex, sixty-four minutes later you removed my shirt. Thus, I was safe in concluding that you were hoping to have sex later."
"There were probably a hundred other things that could have given you the same information."
"Probably," he agreed sulkily. "But the kisses were a challenge."
"How so?"
"At first I thought I would only need a simple numbering system, but there were soon too many for that to be effective. I needed categories."
"Categories," I agreed and pressed my lips together to hide my amusement. Judging from Sherlock's glare, I failed.
"I then thought to group them by physical characteristics, the presence of tongue, for example."
I nodded as though this were a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
"That didn't work either, as the categories were unbalanced with the non-tongue category much larger than the with-tongue category. Not to mention the sheer number of kisses that started in one category only to end in the other."
"I see," I said. Horrifyingly, I almost did.
"Then I thought perhaps kisses exchanged during sex versus kisses exchanged outside of sex would do, but, once again, there were too many kisses that crossed categories, such as D-3. In the end, I settled on five categories: kisses exchanged during sex; non-sexual kisses; post-coital kisses; kisses which while not blatantly sexual contain the promise of future sex--"
"Category D."
Sherlock nodded.
"What's the final category?"
"Kisses that start out as non-sexual but become sexual," Sherlock answered almost absently, shifting so that his legs were now bent in front of him, his feet on the couch. Sherlock had nice feet, long and elegant like the rest of him. I shook my head. I'd never noticed a lover's feet before. Clearly, being with Sherlock was making me more observant.
Or giving me new kinks.
"It sounds as if you have it all worked out now," I said to distract myself from all thoughts of feet.
Wrapping his arms around his shins, Sherlock rested his chin on top of his knee. "I thought so. But now it's all bollocksed up again."
"How so?"
"The system was intended to predict you, John, your needs, your desires, your moods. But when I kissed you just now, you picked up on my intent. My intent created your intent."
"Yes, and?"
"And? And how am I supposed to predict what you want if you're responding to me?"
"But that's what kisses -- and sex -- are all about. Responding to your lover, letting their desire or need kindle your own."
"Do you realize the implications of what you're saying?" Sherlock asked, lifting his chin, his entire face showing how appalled he was at whatever I had implied. "If you're right, then each kiss may be unique, which by definition makes it unclassifiable. This works," Sherlock pointed at his head, "because I am able to classify information, to make it available for later retrieval. Do you have any idea how much harder it is to remember something that isn't classifiable?"
"You remember every one of our kisses?"
"Of course."
It had only been three, almost four days, but we'd crammed a lot of kisses into those few days, more than I could remember. Even if my untrained mind couldn't retain them, I found myself liking the idea that Sherlock had. "Perhaps you simply need a better classification system," I suggested.
Sherlock's expression turned thoughtful. "One with more than two dimensions. A matrix might do it."
"See," I said, sliding a hand up Sherlock's arm. "Problem solved."
"You should turn off the kettle."
"Why?"
"Because that is look number 237, and the last time you gave me look 237, we were naked ten minutes later."
I went to turn off the kettle.
Later, when we were lying in bed, both of us too content to get up and turn the kettle back on, Sherlock informed me we'd managed to get naked in seven minutes and 43 seconds this time.
I decided I needed to teach him the joys of undressing slowly. Then I kissed him. After all, we wouldn't want the post-coital category to be smaller than the others. That wouldn't do at all.
Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG
Length: ~1,250 words
Category: mild humor, recently established relationship
Summary: Sherlock needs order on his hard drive, if nowhere else.
Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa when I arrived home, still in his dressing gown, but the pajamas were different so he'd showered and changed.
"Ambitious day?" I asked as I crossed the room.
Lowering his hands from their customary place beneath his chin, Sherlock gave me a warm look. "Exceedingly."
"Glad to hear it," I said, leaning down to kiss him. I'd intended a quick kiss, but Sherlock's lips were sweet and welcoming, and I lingered.
"D-3," Sherlock said. I frowned, but before I could ask what he meant, he added, "You had a good day."
"I did." I always made a cuppa when I got home from the surgery, and my feet carried me away from Sherlock and into the kitchen as if on automatic pilot.
Rolling onto his stomach, Sherlock watched me over the arm of the sofa as I filled the kettle. "I could tell from the kiss."
I shot him a quick smile before turning to put the kettle on. Deducing a lover's mood from their kiss was an ordinary feat. People did it everyday. I wasn't about to tell Sherlock that.
"Even though it was a good day, you're happy to be home, with me. You're looking forward to spending time together this evening and having sex." Sherlock said it as though it was a grand deduction. It wasn't. We'd been having sex for three days, of course I was hoping for more tonight.
Leaving the kettle to boil, I returned to the sofa. Sherlock sat up, curling his legs under him and creating room for me beside him. He smiled at me, a tiny upturn of his lips that turned his attractive face beautiful. One didn't need to be a consulting detective to deduce the intent behind the smile, and I leaned toward him.
Sherlock's kisses were marvelous things, as sensual and lazy as Sherlock when he hadn't a case on, had nothing better to do than lay of the sofa in the sun and let his mind wander. Unfortunately, his mind often seemed to wander from annoyance to irritation with side trips to petulance. Fortunately, the kiss took an entirely different route, and I was content to wander wherever Sherlock wished, returning his kiss with a sensuality I hadn't known I possessed until Sherlock.
"I'm not the only one hoping for sex later," I murmured when Sherlock at last drew back, but instead of smiling he frowned. "Sherlock?"
He drew back even further and I reached out to stop him going any farther, my hand on his forearm. "I thought I had it all worked it out, but now I'm not so sure," he said.
"All of what worked out?"
"Classification system. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to classify kisses?"
"You've been classifying kisses." I was stating the obvious, but sometimes sanity required it. "Why?"
"To make deductions easier, obviously."
"Oh, well, obviously," I said, more than a little put out at the realization that Sherlock was classifying our kisses in order to... deduce something, what I had no idea. "Exactly what is it you hope to deduce with this classification system of yours?"
"I should have thought that was obvious."
"Humor me."
"Your mood," Sherlock said. "When you arrived home, that was kiss D-3, not blatantly sexual, but containing a promise of future sex. You kissed me in a similar manner Sunday morning, and while the kiss itself didn't lead to sex, sixty-four minutes later you removed my shirt. Thus, I was safe in concluding that you were hoping to have sex later."
"There were probably a hundred other things that could have given you the same information."
"Probably," he agreed sulkily. "But the kisses were a challenge."
"How so?"
"At first I thought I would only need a simple numbering system, but there were soon too many for that to be effective. I needed categories."
"Categories," I agreed and pressed my lips together to hide my amusement. Judging from Sherlock's glare, I failed.
"I then thought to group them by physical characteristics, the presence of tongue, for example."
I nodded as though this were a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
"That didn't work either, as the categories were unbalanced with the non-tongue category much larger than the with-tongue category. Not to mention the sheer number of kisses that started in one category only to end in the other."
"I see," I said. Horrifyingly, I almost did.
"Then I thought perhaps kisses exchanged during sex versus kisses exchanged outside of sex would do, but, once again, there were too many kisses that crossed categories, such as D-3. In the end, I settled on five categories: kisses exchanged during sex; non-sexual kisses; post-coital kisses; kisses which while not blatantly sexual contain the promise of future sex--"
"Category D."
Sherlock nodded.
"What's the final category?"
"Kisses that start out as non-sexual but become sexual," Sherlock answered almost absently, shifting so that his legs were now bent in front of him, his feet on the couch. Sherlock had nice feet, long and elegant like the rest of him. I shook my head. I'd never noticed a lover's feet before. Clearly, being with Sherlock was making me more observant.
Or giving me new kinks.
"It sounds as if you have it all worked out now," I said to distract myself from all thoughts of feet.
Wrapping his arms around his shins, Sherlock rested his chin on top of his knee. "I thought so. But now it's all bollocksed up again."
"How so?"
"The system was intended to predict you, John, your needs, your desires, your moods. But when I kissed you just now, you picked up on my intent. My intent created your intent."
"Yes, and?"
"And? And how am I supposed to predict what you want if you're responding to me?"
"But that's what kisses -- and sex -- are all about. Responding to your lover, letting their desire or need kindle your own."
"Do you realize the implications of what you're saying?" Sherlock asked, lifting his chin, his entire face showing how appalled he was at whatever I had implied. "If you're right, then each kiss may be unique, which by definition makes it unclassifiable. This works," Sherlock pointed at his head, "because I am able to classify information, to make it available for later retrieval. Do you have any idea how much harder it is to remember something that isn't classifiable?"
"You remember every one of our kisses?"
"Of course."
It had only been three, almost four days, but we'd crammed a lot of kisses into those few days, more than I could remember. Even if my untrained mind couldn't retain them, I found myself liking the idea that Sherlock had. "Perhaps you simply need a better classification system," I suggested.
Sherlock's expression turned thoughtful. "One with more than two dimensions. A matrix might do it."
"See," I said, sliding a hand up Sherlock's arm. "Problem solved."
"You should turn off the kettle."
"Why?"
"Because that is look number 237, and the last time you gave me look 237, we were naked ten minutes later."
I went to turn off the kettle.
Later, when we were lying in bed, both of us too content to get up and turn the kettle back on, Sherlock informed me we'd managed to get naked in seven minutes and 43 seconds this time.
I decided I needed to teach him the joys of undressing slowly. Then I kissed him. After all, we wouldn't want the post-coital category to be smaller than the others. That wouldn't do at all.