Fic: Sherlock/John - The All We Are
Title: The All We Are
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Beta: devikun
Summary: A look in a typical week in Sherlock and John’s life, as close to typical as it gets. (established relationship)
Monday
Sherlock was curled on the couch in his dressing gown with a large book open in his lap when John came down the stairs that morning.
He was still in the same position when John was ready to leave. Curious as he was, John crept up to catch a glimpse of the title.
He couldn’t. It was up-side down. John frowned, glancing at Sherlock. The taller man caught his eyes.
“I’m polishing my reading skills,” he said as a way of explaining. Why Sherlock felt the need to polish his reading up-side down was a mystery to John at the moment. He didn’t want to find out either.
“Okay, do your thing. I’m leaving.” John leant down and kissed Sherlock on the lips, slightly off centre and with no tongue, but a kiss nonetheless.
Sherlock’s lips twitched. “Okay, John.”
Tuesday
When John returned around 6pm after work, the door to their flat was slightly ajar and there was no sign of Sherlock in the living room.
He hovered in the doorway of the living room. It was eerily silent until Sherlock’s voice called, “John, in the kitchen.”
Immediately John followed the voice and was shocked to say the least to find Sherlock chained (yes, with actual chains) to the chair. “What the -”
“Just untie me. It is bloody frustrating to not be able to move.” Sherlock shifted, trying to steer the chair closer to a very dumbfounded John but he didn't have much luck. Sherlock sighed. “John, you will find a key in one of the drawers in the living room.”
That set John in motion and he walked straight up to the table and yanked the top drawer open and found lots of keys in it. “Which one?”
“The one with an eagle on the handle.”
John rummaged through the drawer until he noticed it on the far right side of the drawer. “Got it.”
“Perfect. Now, get me out of these silly things.”
“Maybe, yes, but you almost gave a heart attack,” John commented, unlocking the chains.
“Wasn’t my intention.” Sherlock rubbed his wrists as he was freed, and then turned to John - who just stood there, shifting from foot to foot, holding the chains in one hand and the key in the other - and kissed him.
That silenced John for a minute or so until the questions came.
Wednesday
John woke tangled with Sherlock under the sheets. It was such a rare occasion that he savoured the feel of Sherlock asleep and curled against him, warm and breathing. And safe. Whenever Sherlock went away alone John never knew what state he’d come back, never mind that he was always so high of adrenaline that a couple of times they ended up fucking right there against the wall in the living room.
John shifted only slightly to move his arm from under him because it was tingling from being squashed for too long. As a result Sherlock moved his head, eyes opening halfway to peer at him.
“John?” Sherlock’s voice was all sleep rough and deep, and John surged forward to claim his lips in a close mouthed kiss.
“Sleep,” he muttered, puffing his breath close to Sherlock’s ear and surprisingly Sherlock did exactly as told, which brought to John’s attention the fact that the sleepless nights he had had during the past month had finally caught up with him.
Thursday
The next morning John made tea while Sherlock experimented with something green and possibly alive in a small glass, pouring a liquid that definitely wasn’t water from the smell of it on the green stuff.
John just shook his head as he passed and sat down in his favourite armchair and fetched the morning newspaper from the table next to it.
He was still curled in the armchair, reading the last pages of the newspaper when Sherlock came out of the kitchen, faintly smelling of smoke.
The rare grin that split his face though said everything John needed to know.
“C’mere.” John tugged him in by the front of his shirt for a quick kiss, which Sherlock returned with interest.
Friday
On Friday they got a case - well, technically Sherlock got a case and John simply tagged along. But it ended almost as quickly as it started.
Lestrade awaited them outside the flat and his knowledge didn’t provide any more than the obvious, which were - a gunshot wound, dead for approximately ten hours and nobody had heard anything out of the ordinary.
“A carefully planned murder, how interesting,” Sherlock murmured as he crouched on the kitchen floor by the dead body. Looking around John noticed the partly made tea, the lonely plate on the dinner table, and so did Sherlock.
“You’re to look for somebody whom the victim obviously knew very well; clearly the murderer is also shorter and owns a cat, unless the victim had a cat?” Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock got up and quickly surveyed the room. “It’s very possible that she was in rush since she hasn’t wasted any time. Check if any of his relatives or friends have left the country in last ten hours.”
Sherlock strode out of the kitchen. Lestrade and John followed.
“Where are you going?” Lestrade asked.
“My job here is done. The case is just as good as finished. John?” Sherlock swept out of the flat altogether with just a glance at John, who quickly followed.
“Right.” Lestarde murmured in their wake.
Saturday
John woke up to the sound of the violin coming from downstairs. He groaned into his pillow and turned onto his back. He liked it when Sherlock played; if only he didn’t do that three hours too early for John to fully appreciate it.
Though knowing Sherlock he most likely wouldn’t get any sleep. John got up and padded down to the living room. There he stopped in the doorway and leaned against the doorjamb, watching Sherlock.
Sherlock was standing between the couch and the table, facing the city through the windows. His eyes were closed like they often were when he played and he wore his dressing grown.
The music reached really high notes until it stopped completely. A few beats of complete silence followed until Sherlock dropped his hands and turned to John, announcing, “I’m bored.”
For that John needed a lot of tea or maybe even coffee.
Sunday
John was curled on the couch after the dinner with a book in his hands when Sherlock returned from wherever he had been. The satisfied curl of his lips indicated that he had been called away for another case.
As Sherlock hung his coat, John noticed his palm was badly bruised.
“What happened?”
“Had a criminal to chase who was fond of abandoned buildings.”
“Ah,” was all that John said in answer. Frankly he was happy enough that Sherlock was back safe that the details didn’t matter to him all that much.
“Yes, well, he wasn’t one of the brightest,” Sherlock commented absently as he sat down beside John.
He took the book out of John’s hands and carefully put it on the table. Without much preamble he leaned over and kissed John squarely on lips. John entangled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, answering the kiss with as much as he had got. Sherlock leaned over him and they ended up half-sitting on the couch, the armrest digging in the middle of John’s back and Sherlock’s right hand down John’s pants.
They ended up rutting against each other until their orgasms hit and kissing leisurely in the afterglow.
It was overall a wonderful day, in a domestic sort of way, which was a rare thing on its own. Maybe, it had something to do with the fact it was Sunday. You know, nothing much went on.
Not that John cared. He had Sherlock and Sherlock had him. And next week they’d have a whole lot of criminals to chase, hopefully.