My drabble from Last Drabble Writer Standing for Sherlock (BBC)

Sep 15, 2011 12:02


                                                     Death and Taxis

Once again they entered the dim light of the hall at 221 after sharing a Chinese, high on pink and success.

Comradery.

Laughter.

John was intriguing. Layer upon layer beneath  beige veneer.

He looked plain. Nondescript. Nonthreatening.

He looked obvious.

John was anything but.

Sherlock cut his laughter abruptly, moving, suddenly crowding John against the door. John stopped laughing too, but he didn’t tense. He even seemed to relax as Sherlock moved into him, as if he expected to share space with him.

Eyes open, expectant. Triumphant?

“That was your first time, was it?” Sherlock spoke into his ear, noting the way John shivered when his breath tickled the soft lobe.

“No. I was in Kandahar. I...”

“Yes?”

“I...quite a lot of people, actually. Shot, you know. Wartime.” He sighed. Pleasure? “Self defence.”

“Mmm.” He ran his nose against the quickening pulse at John’s throat, smelling him. “Not what I meant.”

John’s breath hitched and Sherlock pulled back to watch the dilation of John’s eyes mirror the dilation of his own. “Then what?”

Sherlock leaned in until they shared breath. “Not the first time that you killed, John.”

“No?”

“The first time you enjoyed it.”
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