Contest of Wills - Part 2
Title: Contest of Wills
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Originally titled Noisy Neighbors.
John's bed was small so the two men were squished up against each other. John couldn't help but feel pleasantly drained, not quite I just had sex drained bit more of an I just spend the last half hour vigorously pretending to have sex with my definitely not interested flatmate drained.
Sherlock had John's laptop to occupy him this time instead of a book, but John was on the side of the bed that was against the wall. He had to turn on his side to make room for Sherlock to have the computer in his lap and the small size of the bed had them tangled together in such a way that (had this been anyone else) John would have labeled it cuddling.
It was... nice.
John himself wasn't usually much of a cuddler but here he was: his head on Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's arm reaching around him so he could reach the computer (which was propped up on his knees). The only issue John had was where to put his arm.
He didn't want to just put it across Sherlock because then this really would be cuddling and turning it into cuddling without asking first seemed rude somehow. On the other hand, his shoulder was beginning to ache from keeping it aligned with his body so he couldn't leave it where it was.
Sherlock saved him from coming up with a solution, however, by reaching out and placing the aching arm across his own stomach. John raised his head slightly to look questioningly at the detective.
But Sherlock just arched an eyebrow and replied, "It was the most logical solution." John just lowered his head back to the warm chest and blearily decided not to comment that no, actually, both of them lying in their own beds would be the most logical solution.
But Sherlock was warm and (for all his bony figure) surprisingly comfy and John was asleep within minutes.
In his sleep, John would never know that he shuffled closer, nuzzling his face against Sherlock's chest lightly and tightening his grip on the detective's waist. Nor was he awake to see when Sherlock paused his typing to turn and look at him with a tiny, satisfied smile. Watching the good doctor sleep and allowing just a bit of contentment to flow through him.
x-x-x-x-x
It was a combination of habit and a sleep-addled mind that made John make the first move. They were cuddled (that word associated with Sherlock still made John's brain spin a bit) on the bed and John had fallen asleep after a long day running around London followed by some rather vigorous fake sex. He'd woken up warm and pleased and with his face buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck.
And in such an overall pleasant mood was he, that he stretched his own neck a bit and placed a soft kiss on the tender flesh.
Sherlock's whole body tensed beside him, but John was too far gone in the sense of half (read mostly) asleep fulfillment that he merely snuggled closer, nuzzling the (oh, so comfy) shoulder and neck beneath his head with a contented smile.
Gradually, Sherlock relaxed, but John was already asleep again by the time he hesitantly turned his head and applied a soft kiss to the top of the doctor's head.
x-x-x-x-x
John stared at the small drug store bag their landlady-not-housekeeper had just handed him with a mix of shock and horror.
“I wasn’t sure what brand you preferred,” Mrs. Hudson told him thoughtfully. “So I just got the brand Henry and I always liked.”
John’s eyes shot open even further but his body remained completely frozen in shock. Yes, he knew that Mrs. Hudson had once been married and that sex was a natural part of life (one he, himself, quite enjoyed). To each their own, as he’d often heard said, and he had no problem with it.
But that didn't mean he wanted to know that the woman he and Sherlock had basically come to view as their mother had once enjoyed a good bout of anal sex. Enough to have preference of lube. There are just some pieces of knowledge that John could have lived the rest of his life quite happily without.
That little tidbit was one of them.
“Thank you,” he finally managed to get out, because it was polite to thank someone when they got you a gift (even horrendously embarrassing ones) and John Watson was nothing if not polite.
“Your welcome, dear,” she answered obviously, patting his hand. “But just this once mind, I’m not your housekeeper.”
He didn’t feel like bringing up that he hadn’t actually asked her to pick them up because that would only extend the conversation so he took them to his room, stuffed them in the bedside drawer, and decided to pretend this never happened.
Part 3
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Originally titled Noisy Neighbors.
John's bed was small so the two men were squished up against each other. John couldn't help but feel pleasantly drained, not quite I just had sex drained bit more of an I just spend the last half hour vigorously pretending to have sex with my definitely not interested flatmate drained.
Sherlock had John's laptop to occupy him this time instead of a book, but John was on the side of the bed that was against the wall. He had to turn on his side to make room for Sherlock to have the computer in his lap and the small size of the bed had them tangled together in such a way that (had this been anyone else) John would have labeled it cuddling.
It was... nice.
John himself wasn't usually much of a cuddler but here he was: his head on Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's arm reaching around him so he could reach the computer (which was propped up on his knees). The only issue John had was where to put his arm.
He didn't want to just put it across Sherlock because then this really would be cuddling and turning it into cuddling without asking first seemed rude somehow. On the other hand, his shoulder was beginning to ache from keeping it aligned with his body so he couldn't leave it where it was.
Sherlock saved him from coming up with a solution, however, by reaching out and placing the aching arm across his own stomach. John raised his head slightly to look questioningly at the detective.
But Sherlock just arched an eyebrow and replied, "It was the most logical solution." John just lowered his head back to the warm chest and blearily decided not to comment that no, actually, both of them lying in their own beds would be the most logical solution.
But Sherlock was warm and (for all his bony figure) surprisingly comfy and John was asleep within minutes.
In his sleep, John would never know that he shuffled closer, nuzzling his face against Sherlock's chest lightly and tightening his grip on the detective's waist. Nor was he awake to see when Sherlock paused his typing to turn and look at him with a tiny, satisfied smile. Watching the good doctor sleep and allowing just a bit of contentment to flow through him.
x-x-x-x-x
It was a combination of habit and a sleep-addled mind that made John make the first move. They were cuddled (that word associated with Sherlock still made John's brain spin a bit) on the bed and John had fallen asleep after a long day running around London followed by some rather vigorous fake sex. He'd woken up warm and pleased and with his face buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck.
And in such an overall pleasant mood was he, that he stretched his own neck a bit and placed a soft kiss on the tender flesh.
Sherlock's whole body tensed beside him, but John was too far gone in the sense of half (read mostly) asleep fulfillment that he merely snuggled closer, nuzzling the (oh, so comfy) shoulder and neck beneath his head with a contented smile.
Gradually, Sherlock relaxed, but John was already asleep again by the time he hesitantly turned his head and applied a soft kiss to the top of the doctor's head.
x-x-x-x-x
John stared at the small drug store bag their landlady-not-housekeeper had just handed him with a mix of shock and horror.
“I wasn’t sure what brand you preferred,” Mrs. Hudson told him thoughtfully. “So I just got the brand Henry and I always liked.”
John’s eyes shot open even further but his body remained completely frozen in shock. Yes, he knew that Mrs. Hudson had once been married and that sex was a natural part of life (one he, himself, quite enjoyed). To each their own, as he’d often heard said, and he had no problem with it.
But that didn't mean he wanted to know that the woman he and Sherlock had basically come to view as their mother had once enjoyed a good bout of anal sex. Enough to have preference of lube. There are just some pieces of knowledge that John could have lived the rest of his life quite happily without.
That little tidbit was one of them.
“Thank you,” he finally managed to get out, because it was polite to thank someone when they got you a gift (even horrendously embarrassing ones) and John Watson was nothing if not polite.
“Your welcome, dear,” she answered obviously, patting his hand. “But just this once mind, I’m not your housekeeper.”
He didn’t feel like bringing up that he hadn’t actually asked her to pick them up because that would only extend the conversation so he took them to his room, stuffed them in the bedside drawer, and decided to pretend this never happened.
Part 3