Fic: The Scent of Sherlock 2/3 (Sherlock/John, PG, AU, Special powers and skills)heeroluvaOctober 16 2011, 01:01:00 UTC
“Ah, naturally. Such free spirits they are, reveling in the freedom of the run, calling to the shadows? Can you shift? Can I see?” Sherlock asked, suddenly very much like a child with a new toy.
John shook his head. “No, I’m not so lucky. Harry can, but it frightens her so she tries to deny the ability. Doesn’t work out so well. My aptitude lies with the shadows, though I can summon some pretty wicked fangs. Scared myself shitless the first time it happened.”
“Let me see,” Sherlock ordered, stopping his movement in front of John.
Rolling his eyes, John rose and complied. He grinned, smile full of fangs.
Sherlock moved forward and crouched down before him. “Open.”
John shot Sherlock the ‘seriously?’ look, but Sherlock was fully engrossed with his mouth and didn’t seem to notice, so John obeyed with an exasperated sigh.
Sherlock’s hand moved forward, and John’s mouth snapped shut so fast that Sherlock was lucky he didn’t lose a finger. Leaning back and tight lipped, John shook his head and said, “You’re fingers aren’t coming near my mouth until you’ve washed them.”
Sherlock looked forlorn and ready to protest but John was resolute and glared at Sherlock until he turned and went to the kitchen sink to clean up.
Grabbing a dish towel to dry his hands, Sherlock returned to John’s side and took a seat on the couch, looking up at him expectantly.
Again rolling his eyes, John sat down next to him and opened his mouth.
Sherlock’s fingers were suddenly there poking at his teeth. He began a running commentary of his finds, but John was only able to pick up bits and pieces: “twenty… top… no incisors… grinding…”
Sherlock suddenly hit something sensitive, and John couldn’t help the instinctive need to bite down. His teeth sank into Sherlock’s flesh with sickening ease and the taste of blood immediately filled his mouth. John moved without conscious thought, opening his mouth and wrapping his hand tightly around Sherlock’s wrist, dragging him to the sink to rinse off the blood and see how bad the damage was. John swore at himself for being so dumb. He knew how sharp his teeth were, he just hadn’t realized they were so sensitive.
After several moments under the water, John turned it off and examined the damage. He blinked in confusion and probed the flesh watching the slow trickle of blood. Given the size and depth of the wounds, there should have been much more blood. Glancing up at Sherlock, John noted that he was looking anywhere but at him. Returning his attention to the wound, he decided that no stitches were needed and grabbed the first aid kit from beneath the sink.
Covering the wound with salve, John carefully wrapped his hand with bandages.
Sherlock was oddly silent until John finished, and spoke suddenly. “I’m a leanbh de an Seilg.” Sherlock said it with no inflection as though it didn’t mean a thing, but his eyes were looked on John and missed nothing.
John knew he must have paled, but the world had just fallen out beneath him. Sherlock was a child of the Hunt. A Hunt child. John had heard stories, nightmarish tales of children that survived their encounter with the Wild Hunt, but they were changed, missing something. They supposedly lived on the threshold with a foot on each side, neither living nor dead. But Sherlock wasn’t like that. He was very much alive. John had just seen him bleed.
Fic: The Scent of Sherlock 3/3 (Sherlock/John, PG, AU, Special powers and skills)heeroluvaOctober 16 2011, 01:01:35 UTC
“My mother was caught by the Wild Hunt when she was pregnant with me. While they can easily take the souls of those with mostly mortal blood, they must fight for those with magic in their blood. My mother’s family comes from a family that’s interbred with many fae over the generations, so she was able to protect herself. However, I was but a babe in her womb with no protection of my own. By the time she realized that the slaugh had turned their attention to me it was too late. She fought and saved me, but…” Sherlock trailed off, and John had never seen him look so scared, unsure, as though the fate of the world depends on what John said next.
“They marked you, left a piece of themselves behind. That’s why you rarely sleep or eat.” John closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s stiff frame. “It’s why you can’t empathize, why you have difficulties with feelings.” Under John’s hands, Sherlock tensed further.
“I feel!” Sherlock protested loudly.
“I said you have difficulties, not that you didn’t. It’s all or nothing for you, isn’t it?” John asked rubbing soothing hands up and down Sherlock’s back, relieved when the muscles slowly started to relax beneath his ministrations.
“Yes,” Sherlock all but breathed.
“Family secret? You’re never told anyone, have you?”
“Never. Mummy will be cross, and Mycroft will threaten you again. Not that it will do any good, of course. How did you know that I was… different? What gave it away? Most people assume I have a mimic in my lineage,” Sherlock asked, clearly needing to understand.
“You smell,” John said, drawing in a deep breath, flooding his senses.
“And you did not tell me that you had enhanced senses. You’re definitely not the first person that’s smelt me. There has to be more to it.”
“You smell good,” John said trying to explain, dropping his nose to nuzzle at Sherlock’s neck.
“Oh,” Sherlock said. “Oh,” he said again, understanding dawning in his eyes as he looked down at the top of John’s head.
Raising his head to meet, Sherlock’s eyes, he smiled. “Yes, oh.”
Secure with the knowledge of Sherlock’s feelings, John raised one hand to cup the back of Sherlock’s head, and not pleased at the novelty of being shorter, brushed his lips across Sherlock’s.
Slowly pulling back, John was pleased to note the truly happy grin on Sherlock’s face and the dancing emotions in his eyes.
Re: Fic: The Scent of Sherlock 3/3 (Sherlock/John, PG, AU, Special powers and skills)jaune_chatDecember 6 2011, 02:38:06 UTC
I so very much love fairy tales. And I adore the use of scent in a story, dunno why, but I do. I really like Sherlock and John exploring each other's heritage, discovering something unexpectedly different and wonderful about each other. Thank you!
John shook his head. “No, I’m not so lucky. Harry can, but it frightens her so she tries to deny the ability. Doesn’t work out so well. My aptitude lies with the shadows, though I can summon some pretty wicked fangs. Scared myself shitless the first time it happened.”
“Let me see,” Sherlock ordered, stopping his movement in front of John.
Rolling his eyes, John rose and complied. He grinned, smile full of fangs.
Sherlock moved forward and crouched down before him. “Open.”
John shot Sherlock the ‘seriously?’ look, but Sherlock was fully engrossed with his mouth and didn’t seem to notice, so John obeyed with an exasperated sigh.
Sherlock’s hand moved forward, and John’s mouth snapped shut so fast that Sherlock was lucky he didn’t lose a finger. Leaning back and tight lipped, John shook his head and said, “You’re fingers aren’t coming near my mouth until you’ve washed them.”
Sherlock looked forlorn and ready to protest but John was resolute and glared at Sherlock until he turned and went to the kitchen sink to clean up.
Grabbing a dish towel to dry his hands, Sherlock returned to John’s side and took a seat on the couch, looking up at him expectantly.
Again rolling his eyes, John sat down next to him and opened his mouth.
Sherlock’s fingers were suddenly there poking at his teeth. He began a running commentary of his finds, but John was only able to pick up bits and pieces: “twenty… top… no incisors… grinding…”
Sherlock suddenly hit something sensitive, and John couldn’t help the instinctive need to bite down. His teeth sank into Sherlock’s flesh with sickening ease and the taste of blood immediately filled his mouth. John moved without conscious thought, opening his mouth and wrapping his hand tightly around Sherlock’s wrist, dragging him to the sink to rinse off the blood and see how bad the damage was. John swore at himself for being so dumb. He knew how sharp his teeth were, he just hadn’t realized they were so sensitive.
After several moments under the water, John turned it off and examined the damage. He blinked in confusion and probed the flesh watching the slow trickle of blood. Given the size and depth of the wounds, there should have been much more blood. Glancing up at Sherlock, John noted that he was looking anywhere but at him. Returning his attention to the wound, he decided that no stitches were needed and grabbed the first aid kit from beneath the sink.
Covering the wound with salve, John carefully wrapped his hand with bandages.
Sherlock was oddly silent until John finished, and spoke suddenly. “I’m a leanbh de an Seilg.” Sherlock said it with no inflection as though it didn’t mean a thing, but his eyes were looked on John and missed nothing.
John knew he must have paled, but the world had just fallen out beneath him. Sherlock was a child of the Hunt. A Hunt child. John had heard stories, nightmarish tales of children that survived their encounter with the Wild Hunt, but they were changed, missing something. They supposedly lived on the threshold with a foot on each side, neither living nor dead. But Sherlock wasn’t like that. He was very much alive. John had just seen him bleed.
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“They marked you, left a piece of themselves behind. That’s why you rarely sleep or eat.” John closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s stiff frame. “It’s why you can’t empathize, why you have difficulties with feelings.” Under John’s hands, Sherlock tensed further.
“I feel!” Sherlock protested loudly.
“I said you have difficulties, not that you didn’t. It’s all or nothing for you, isn’t it?” John asked rubbing soothing hands up and down Sherlock’s back, relieved when the muscles slowly started to relax beneath his ministrations.
“Yes,” Sherlock all but breathed.
“Family secret? You’re never told anyone, have you?”
“Never. Mummy will be cross, and Mycroft will threaten you again. Not that it will do any good, of course. How did you know that I was… different? What gave it away? Most people assume I have a mimic in my lineage,” Sherlock asked, clearly needing to understand.
“You smell,” John said, drawing in a deep breath, flooding his senses.
“And you did not tell me that you had enhanced senses. You’re definitely not the first person that’s smelt me. There has to be more to it.”
“You smell good,” John said trying to explain, dropping his nose to nuzzle at Sherlock’s neck.
“Oh,” Sherlock said. “Oh,” he said again, understanding dawning in his eyes as he looked down at the top of John’s head.
Raising his head to meet, Sherlock’s eyes, he smiled. “Yes, oh.”
Secure with the knowledge of Sherlock’s feelings, John raised one hand to cup the back of Sherlock’s head, and not pleased at the novelty of being shorter, brushed his lips across Sherlock’s.
Slowly pulling back, John was pleased to note the truly happy grin on Sherlock’s face and the dancing emotions in his eyes.
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