Showering with Sherlock
A/N --->Insert Moriarty voice here "I'm so changeable!" I really have no idea where to go with a real-life self-centered crack fic. So no part 2 after all. I will promise a proper smutty Sherlock fic instead, since I've now lost my virginity to this fandom, so to speak.
Ok, this is utter crack, as you may have noted from the camp title. And the first Sherlock I've ever attempted, which is why it's good that it's crack, as I'd fail at canon. I blame this and three glasses of wine for everything.
Crack-y first person narrative ensues, beware.
***
I yelped and instinctively snatched the towel off the curtain rod, wrapping it around me in haste. Thoughts of the movie "Psycho" ran through my mind as I backed against the wall, staring through the shower curtain at the outline of the man who had just spoken.
"Wha..what?!" I managed to squeak out.
The stranger gave an irritated sigh. "You seem to have sucked up all the available hot water for the entire building. I repeat, I would very much like to get the last few dregs, if you could bear to part with them. Why some women spend so long in here is a mystery to me. Hmmm."
There was something in that "hmmm", a shift in tone from annoyance to curiosity that jolted me out of my fear. Something familiar, that deep timbered voice...
"Sherlock? From 221B? Why the fuck are you, no, how the fuck are you even in my flat much less here?!"
He cut me off off with a derisive cluck, "Explained. Already."
My towel was thoroughly soaked as I ventured back into the water to drag the curtain aside and peer carefully out.
There he was, Sherlock Holmes, 221B, his dressing gown clinging to his lean frame, unruly black hair in more of a mess than I'd ever seen it...and ice-gray eyes staring into mine.
I felt chilled despite the heat of the steam and water surrounding me. A brief "ha!" sounded in my head as I realized the always-above-conversation-Holmes suddenly needed something from me.
"This is highly inappropriate. I could make a phone call and have you thrown out of here right now."
"If you did that you'd have to get out of the shower. Judging by the state of your hair that would be at best inconvenient."
I pulled my ridiculously shampoo faux-hawked hair down and tried to sort it into some sort of style while still retaining a grip on the towel.
"That aside," he continued, "I'd still get a shower while you called, so be my guest."
Tea first, I told myself. Always tea and then shower. My brain was clearly not functioning at full capacity.
"Well, I'm not leaving." I stated, feeling a bit foolish as this was, after all, not just my shower, but my flat. Also, I was in a soaking wet towel with nowhere really to go.
Another long suffering sigh. "That's fine, I'll not be long, I'm sure we can arrange a brief exchange of toiletries."
There was a slithering of silk being dropped to the floor. Sherlock stepped gracefully into my shower as if he did this every day, leaving me suddenly feeling the intruder. I instinctively averted my eyes for all of two seconds before the sensible "what the fuck, this guy is in my shower" thoughts returned.
I tried to glare defiantly at him but dear God the man was beautiful. He seemed completely unaware that I was even there, leaning his head back into the spray, stretching long, pale arms up to run through his hair...any moment now he was going to casually ask me to hand him the shampoo...
"Shampoo." Sherlock held out one hand, eyes still closed, clearly luxuriating in my hot water.
Un-fucking-believable, I thought, whether at his demand or at the sight I was drinking in I could not say.
"Why did you say 'hmmm'?" I asked.
He cracked open one eye. "Why are you wearing a wet towel?"
I ground my teeth together and tossed the towel out; it landed on the floor with a sodden plop. Brilliant. Now I was wet, and cold, and naked. No idea what that had accomplished.
I wrapped my arms around myself self-consciously and shivered. "No shampoo."
"What?" It was clear that Sherlock Holmes was not used to having to ask that question.
"Explained. Already," I tossed back at him, somewhat out-of-context but hey, I hadn't had my tea.
He stared thoughtfully at me while I tried my best not let my mind and eyes wander all over his wet, slippery spectral form...nah, fuck it, my shower, I reminded myself. I let my eyes wander. Let them linger until I was neither cold nor self-conscious anymore.
"I see," he said. "You're expressing your displeasure at my appropriation of your shower by being uncooperative."
"Well, yeah, insane enough that I let you in here, don't think I'm going to rub you down with sacred oils or anything." My mind melted at the the thought of rubbing this man down with any kind of oils...I had some vegetable oil for baking out in the kitchen...no, not the point, focus.
He leaned in close, pressing his warm torso against my arm as he went for the shampoo behind me. "You're ice cold," he murmured in passing. "Here, a little help will get us both out of here faster." He pressed the shampoo bottle into my numb hands and turned his back to me, arching himself into the spray of the water and giving me a glorious view of his backside.
"Hmmmm" was the best I could manage as I stepped forward into the warm mist...
Ok, this is utter crack, as you may have noted from the camp title. And the first Sherlock I've ever attempted, which is why it's good that it's crack, as I'd fail at canon. I blame this and three glasses of wine for everything.
Crack-y first person narrative ensues, beware.
***
I yelped and instinctively snatched the towel off the curtain rod, wrapping it around me in haste. Thoughts of the movie "Psycho" ran through my mind as I backed against the wall, staring through the shower curtain at the outline of the man who had just spoken.
"Wha..what?!" I managed to squeak out.
The stranger gave an irritated sigh. "You seem to have sucked up all the available hot water for the entire building. I repeat, I would very much like to get the last few dregs, if you could bear to part with them. Why some women spend so long in here is a mystery to me. Hmmm."
There was something in that "hmmm", a shift in tone from annoyance to curiosity that jolted me out of my fear. Something familiar, that deep timbered voice...
"Sherlock? From 221B? Why the fuck are you, no, how the fuck are you even in my flat much less here?!"
He cut me off off with a derisive cluck, "Explained. Already."
My towel was thoroughly soaked as I ventured back into the water to drag the curtain aside and peer carefully out.
There he was, Sherlock Holmes, 221B, his dressing gown clinging to his lean frame, unruly black hair in more of a mess than I'd ever seen it...and ice-gray eyes staring into mine.
I felt chilled despite the heat of the steam and water surrounding me. A brief "ha!" sounded in my head as I realized the always-above-conversation-Holmes suddenly needed something from me.
"This is highly inappropriate. I could make a phone call and have you thrown out of here right now."
"If you did that you'd have to get out of the shower. Judging by the state of your hair that would be at best inconvenient."
I pulled my ridiculously shampoo faux-hawked hair down and tried to sort it into some sort of style while still retaining a grip on the towel.
"That aside," he continued, "I'd still get a shower while you called, so be my guest."
Tea first, I told myself. Always tea and then shower. My brain was clearly not functioning at full capacity.
"Well, I'm not leaving." I stated, feeling a bit foolish as this was, after all, not just my shower, but my flat. Also, I was in a soaking wet towel with nowhere really to go.
Another long suffering sigh. "That's fine, I'll not be long, I'm sure we can arrange a brief exchange of toiletries."
There was a slithering of silk being dropped to the floor. Sherlock stepped gracefully into my shower as if he did this every day, leaving me suddenly feeling the intruder. I instinctively averted my eyes for all of two seconds before the sensible "what the fuck, this guy is in my shower" thoughts returned.
I tried to glare defiantly at him but dear God the man was beautiful. He seemed completely unaware that I was even there, leaning his head back into the spray, stretching long, pale arms up to run through his hair...any moment now he was going to casually ask me to hand him the shampoo...
"Shampoo." Sherlock held out one hand, eyes still closed, clearly luxuriating in my hot water.
Un-fucking-believable, I thought, whether at his demand or at the sight I was drinking in I could not say.
"Why did you say 'hmmm'?" I asked.
He cracked open one eye. "Why are you wearing a wet towel?"
I ground my teeth together and tossed the towel out; it landed on the floor with a sodden plop. Brilliant. Now I was wet, and cold, and naked. No idea what that had accomplished.
I wrapped my arms around myself self-consciously and shivered. "No shampoo."
"What?" It was clear that Sherlock Holmes was not used to having to ask that question.
"Explained. Already," I tossed back at him, somewhat out-of-context but hey, I hadn't had my tea.
He stared thoughtfully at me while I tried my best not let my mind and eyes wander all over his wet, slippery spectral form...nah, fuck it, my shower, I reminded myself. I let my eyes wander. Let them linger until I was neither cold nor self-conscious anymore.
"I see," he said. "You're expressing your displeasure at my appropriation of your shower by being uncooperative."
"Well, yeah, insane enough that I let you in here, don't think I'm going to rub you down with sacred oils or anything." My mind melted at the the thought of rubbing this man down with any kind of oils...I had some vegetable oil for baking out in the kitchen...no, not the point, focus.
He leaned in close, pressing his warm torso against my arm as he went for the shampoo behind me. "You're ice cold," he murmured in passing. "Here, a little help will get us both out of here faster." He pressed the shampoo bottle into my numb hands and turned his back to me, arching himself into the spray of the water and giving me a glorious view of his backside.
"Hmmmm" was the best I could manage as I stepped forward into the warm mist...