ficlet: sherlock bbc
for incapricious. ♥ because there is no one I would rather follow blindly and willingly into the wonderful world of Sherlock. This is all based on the lovely giggling between the two of them at the end of A Study in Pink.
sherlock/john, 500 words. kissing.
blame the dim sum
sherlock/john, pg13
::
John's first (coherent) thought is to blame the dim sum. There's no other explanation. No other logical, reasonable explanation. And from what he can tell of Sherlock (in what... one day of knowing him?), logic and reason (and sense and deduction) have everything to do with Sherlock's actions. But John is buggered if he can figure out the reason behind--
behind this sudden tangle of lips and slippery wet smiles that shiver their way under John's skin.
First they were giggling outside Roland Kerr, then arguing whether or not Sherlock could truly predict the fortunes inside a fortune cookie based on how close the tables were pushed together in a restaurant and where they placed the serviettes, and now, now any thought John's had ever in his life has fled and he's kissing Sherlock back, as though this (kissing) was all part of a natural turn of events and the logical next step after saving someone's life. And well, maybe it is.
It is a bloody good kiss.
Their lips are just dry enough that they stick and pull gently with every exchange and the feel of it rushes over him in warm waves of longing. He knows he needs a shave, but Sherlock doesn't seem to be bothered at all. Instead, Sherlock presses him further back against the wall outside the restaurant and captures John's face with his hands.
Sherlock's lips are lush, malleable, and so bloody soft. He kisses the secrets right out of him, kisses John until they're spilling out and staining the ground with jumbled letters and nonsense. And John, John tangles one hand into Sherlock's brilliant mop of hair, licks across that gorgeous lower lip, and holds on.
The air thickens and the world probably goes on around them, but John thinks of none of it. He shuts his eyes, presses forward, and lets Sherlock suck his tongue.
God.
He moans aloud (he thinks it came from him) and tugs Sherlock's lapels, flipping them around until he can push Sherlock back against the wall. John dives back in, breathing in everything he can and slipping his fingers under the edge of Sherlock's scarf to tug it open. Inches of rich, smooth skin blind him for more than a moment, then John sucks gently under the line of Sherlock's jaw and moves down his neck, marking a slow, wet path. It tastes... well, it tastes like skin. And promises.
Sherlock gasps when John's teeth scrape his collarbone, and John's mind rather helpfully shuts off impending criticism about bloody army doctors being unable to find a suitable adjective for skin. He opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock: they stare for a long moment, then Sherlock grins, grins at him. Sherlock licks the corners of his mouth, then kisses him: messy, methodical, and perfect.
So John tosses Sherlock's scarf over his shoulder and kisses him back like they might not need that extra room.
John's sure at some point all of the logic and reason to this will make perfect sense. But for now? For now, John's just going to blame it on the dim sum.
::
♥
sherlock/john, 500 words. kissing.
blame the dim sum
sherlock/john, pg13
::
John's first (coherent) thought is to blame the dim sum. There's no other explanation. No other logical, reasonable explanation. And from what he can tell of Sherlock (in what... one day of knowing him?), logic and reason (and sense and deduction) have everything to do with Sherlock's actions. But John is buggered if he can figure out the reason behind--
behind this sudden tangle of lips and slippery wet smiles that shiver their way under John's skin.
First they were giggling outside Roland Kerr, then arguing whether or not Sherlock could truly predict the fortunes inside a fortune cookie based on how close the tables were pushed together in a restaurant and where they placed the serviettes, and now, now any thought John's had ever in his life has fled and he's kissing Sherlock back, as though this (kissing) was all part of a natural turn of events and the logical next step after saving someone's life. And well, maybe it is.
It is a bloody good kiss.
Their lips are just dry enough that they stick and pull gently with every exchange and the feel of it rushes over him in warm waves of longing. He knows he needs a shave, but Sherlock doesn't seem to be bothered at all. Instead, Sherlock presses him further back against the wall outside the restaurant and captures John's face with his hands.
Sherlock's lips are lush, malleable, and so bloody soft. He kisses the secrets right out of him, kisses John until they're spilling out and staining the ground with jumbled letters and nonsense. And John, John tangles one hand into Sherlock's brilliant mop of hair, licks across that gorgeous lower lip, and holds on.
The air thickens and the world probably goes on around them, but John thinks of none of it. He shuts his eyes, presses forward, and lets Sherlock suck his tongue.
God.
He moans aloud (he thinks it came from him) and tugs Sherlock's lapels, flipping them around until he can push Sherlock back against the wall. John dives back in, breathing in everything he can and slipping his fingers under the edge of Sherlock's scarf to tug it open. Inches of rich, smooth skin blind him for more than a moment, then John sucks gently under the line of Sherlock's jaw and moves down his neck, marking a slow, wet path. It tastes... well, it tastes like skin. And promises.
Sherlock gasps when John's teeth scrape his collarbone, and John's mind rather helpfully shuts off impending criticism about bloody army doctors being unable to find a suitable adjective for skin. He opens his eyes and looks at Sherlock: they stare for a long moment, then Sherlock grins, grins at him. Sherlock licks the corners of his mouth, then kisses him: messy, methodical, and perfect.
So John tosses Sherlock's scarf over his shoulder and kisses him back like they might not need that extra room.
John's sure at some point all of the logic and reason to this will make perfect sense. But for now? For now, John's just going to blame it on the dim sum.
::
♥