[Fic] Surprises
Title: Surprises
Author: cynical_prude
Rating: PG
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Word Count: ~900
Pairing & Characters: Sherlock/John, Mrs. Hudson
Warnings: None that I know of.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.
Summary: Two men, a bed, and a couple of pleasant surprises.
Crossposted at my DW here and at AO3 here.
+ + +
The calm silence of the night was broken by an unceremonious thud.
Prone on the cold floor, John only managed a groan. He shivered once when he felt the chills in his bone, and sat up, rubbing his forehead.
"Are you alright?"
"Mmm." The doctor immediately blinked, realising the presence of a second person in his room at three thirty in the morning.
The intruder pulled John's blanket over his shoulder and closed his eyes.
For a moment John was unsure on how to react. Should he act all flustered at this ungodly hour and risk waking up the entire neighbourhood and Mrs. Hudson (who would be pursuing the issue of two grown men in John's bed for months to come), or should he remain calm and collected, as he had been trained to do in unpredictable situations all the while he was serving with the army?
"Sherlock!" he hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"
The answer came, sleepy and muffled, "Sleeping. Obviously."
"Yes, but why here!?" That was slightly louder than John had intended.
"Hole in my bed. Corrosive acid." Sherlock's eyebrow twitched slightly.
John's head was throbbing by now, whether from the collision with the floor or out of his thinning patience with his flatmate's current unexpected conduct, it was difficult to say. Even for a doctor.
"I suppose it's no use asking what were you doing with the acid on your bed, is there?" mumbled John. Performing an experiment involving corrosive acids on a bed was obviously not as bizarre as, oh, having a severed head in the fridge, right next to their foodstuff. By Sherlock's standards, that is.
"Kitchen table's holding another project." Sherlock shivered, burrowing deeper into his - John's - blanket.
"Why are you in my bed?" John hissed again, insisting on a proper answer. "I thought you'd prefer the sofa downstairs?"
"Sofa's stacked with books. No other place to sleep." Sherlock turned around, his back now towards John. "Go to sleep. There's still some space."
"I fell out of the bed! And you're telling me you're not part of the reason why there is less space than usual?"
"I won't kick."
John sighed. Resolved to face whatever fate had in store for him, he returned to the unoccupied portion of the bed. He still needed his sleep, what with an early shift at the surgery in the coming morning.
Maybe it was his fault, one way or another. Once John had accidentally locked himself out of his room, only to realise that he had left some important documents pertaining to his patients inside. Mrs. Hudson was out, and John was muttering abuse at his door when a bored Sherlock came and offered a solution.
A solution that, however unconventional, did the trick at the time. Sherlock shot a hole in the door using John's gun.
John glared at the hole in frustration. Mrs. Hudson was furious at first that Sherlock had damaged another property of hers, and John had promised her that they would get it fixed or replaced. Sherlock would be paying, of course.
Except that they were too caught up with cases. Mrs. Hudson eventually said she'd handle it and put everything on Sherlock's rent, but she herself was busy with...whatever it was she occupied herself with.
John was so deep in thoughts, that he was startled when Sherlock suddenly draped an arm around him.
That was another unexpected development. John gulped. "Uhm, Sherlock?" he said tentatively. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure you won't fall again." Still speaking in that sleepy tone, Sherlock pulled the doctor closer, and John was certain he was blushing crimson. It was fortunate that he was not facing his companion, or else Sherlock would have noticed how embarrassed John was.
"Err, yes...but..."
"But?"
"This is not normal."
"Is it disagreeable?"
John processed his options. The way his heart seemed to pound on his chest was exhilarating, and if he was brutally honest with himself, there was a small part of him that was actually enjoying their current state. He liked his flatmate, yes, not simply in a platonic way, and maybe - just maybe - based on what they had got themselves into at the moment, Sherlock felt the same way. "No, not at all..."
"Good."
"Right." John coughed. "Good night, then."
Sherlock was closer now, John could feel the other man's breath against his nape. The consulting detective gave him a peck just above his collarbone. Almost naturally, John turned and claimed those lips that he had been dying to taste for so long.
----
Epilogue
I need a new mattress -- SH
Not your housekeeper, dear.
But _you_ poured my acid on it. Deliberately. -- SH
That was because you still hadn't got the door fixed. Do you still need the bed though? You and Dr. Watson are already sharing his.
Please, Mrs. Hudson, we really, really need to get the door fixed. It's really important. -- JW
Already persuading Dr. Watson to talk me into it, are you, Sherlock? So soon?
Mrs. Hudson chuckled to herself as she waited for the reply. She could imagine the taller man scrunching his face in frustration, all the while pacing around in the living room while the doctor looked on, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.
She intended to see how long the two could last with the hole in the door, or if they would just drop everything and get the door fixed, just to guarantee them the privacy they would need for their amorous undertakings from the rest of Baker Street.
Author: cynical_prude
Rating: PG
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Word Count: ~900
Pairing & Characters: Sherlock/John, Mrs. Hudson
Warnings: None that I know of.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.
Summary: Two men, a bed, and a couple of pleasant surprises.
Crossposted at my DW here and at AO3 here.
+ + +
The calm silence of the night was broken by an unceremonious thud.
Prone on the cold floor, John only managed a groan. He shivered once when he felt the chills in his bone, and sat up, rubbing his forehead.
"Are you alright?"
"Mmm." The doctor immediately blinked, realising the presence of a second person in his room at three thirty in the morning.
The intruder pulled John's blanket over his shoulder and closed his eyes.
For a moment John was unsure on how to react. Should he act all flustered at this ungodly hour and risk waking up the entire neighbourhood and Mrs. Hudson (who would be pursuing the issue of two grown men in John's bed for months to come), or should he remain calm and collected, as he had been trained to do in unpredictable situations all the while he was serving with the army?
"Sherlock!" he hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"
The answer came, sleepy and muffled, "Sleeping. Obviously."
"Yes, but why here!?" That was slightly louder than John had intended.
"Hole in my bed. Corrosive acid." Sherlock's eyebrow twitched slightly.
John's head was throbbing by now, whether from the collision with the floor or out of his thinning patience with his flatmate's current unexpected conduct, it was difficult to say. Even for a doctor.
"I suppose it's no use asking what were you doing with the acid on your bed, is there?" mumbled John. Performing an experiment involving corrosive acids on a bed was obviously not as bizarre as, oh, having a severed head in the fridge, right next to their foodstuff. By Sherlock's standards, that is.
"Kitchen table's holding another project." Sherlock shivered, burrowing deeper into his - John's - blanket.
"Why are you in my bed?" John hissed again, insisting on a proper answer. "I thought you'd prefer the sofa downstairs?"
"Sofa's stacked with books. No other place to sleep." Sherlock turned around, his back now towards John. "Go to sleep. There's still some space."
"I fell out of the bed! And you're telling me you're not part of the reason why there is less space than usual?"
"I won't kick."
John sighed. Resolved to face whatever fate had in store for him, he returned to the unoccupied portion of the bed. He still needed his sleep, what with an early shift at the surgery in the coming morning.
Maybe it was his fault, one way or another. Once John had accidentally locked himself out of his room, only to realise that he had left some important documents pertaining to his patients inside. Mrs. Hudson was out, and John was muttering abuse at his door when a bored Sherlock came and offered a solution.
A solution that, however unconventional, did the trick at the time. Sherlock shot a hole in the door using John's gun.
John glared at the hole in frustration. Mrs. Hudson was furious at first that Sherlock had damaged another property of hers, and John had promised her that they would get it fixed or replaced. Sherlock would be paying, of course.
Except that they were too caught up with cases. Mrs. Hudson eventually said she'd handle it and put everything on Sherlock's rent, but she herself was busy with...whatever it was she occupied herself with.
John was so deep in thoughts, that he was startled when Sherlock suddenly draped an arm around him.
That was another unexpected development. John gulped. "Uhm, Sherlock?" he said tentatively. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure you won't fall again." Still speaking in that sleepy tone, Sherlock pulled the doctor closer, and John was certain he was blushing crimson. It was fortunate that he was not facing his companion, or else Sherlock would have noticed how embarrassed John was.
"Err, yes...but..."
"But?"
"This is not normal."
"Is it disagreeable?"
John processed his options. The way his heart seemed to pound on his chest was exhilarating, and if he was brutally honest with himself, there was a small part of him that was actually enjoying their current state. He liked his flatmate, yes, not simply in a platonic way, and maybe - just maybe - based on what they had got themselves into at the moment, Sherlock felt the same way. "No, not at all..."
"Good."
"Right." John coughed. "Good night, then."
Sherlock was closer now, John could feel the other man's breath against his nape. The consulting detective gave him a peck just above his collarbone. Almost naturally, John turned and claimed those lips that he had been dying to taste for so long.
----
Epilogue
I need a new mattress -- SH
Not your housekeeper, dear.
But _you_ poured my acid on it. Deliberately. -- SH
That was because you still hadn't got the door fixed. Do you still need the bed though? You and Dr. Watson are already sharing his.
Please, Mrs. Hudson, we really, really need to get the door fixed. It's really important. -- JW
Already persuading Dr. Watson to talk me into it, are you, Sherlock? So soon?
Mrs. Hudson chuckled to herself as she waited for the reply. She could imagine the taller man scrunching his face in frustration, all the while pacing around in the living room while the doctor looked on, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.
She intended to see how long the two could last with the hole in the door, or if they would just drop everything and get the door fixed, just to guarantee them the privacy they would need for their amorous undertakings from the rest of Baker Street.