"Bad Kids" BBC Sherlock fic Sherlock/Sally Rating R Wordcount-920
Title: Bad Kids
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Sally Donovan/Sherlock Holmes (slight hint of Sherlock/John)
Rating: R
Wordcount: 920
Notes: Takes place before and during A Study In Pink. Thanks to hllangel for first Beta lookover. Remaining typos and glitches are my fault.
Summary: The hostility is real, but it's not the whole story.
It had never occurred to Sherlock that he would feel jealousy.
His instant deduction about Sally and Anderson provoked a flash of unexpected anger. It was surprise at the emotion as much as the emotion itself that caused him to lash out.
He made a rude remark in order to embarrass Sally, which he was quite sure he’d successfully accomplished, but in the end it was Sherlock who felt himself exposed. Behind Sally’s glare, he could see a smug light dawning. Sherlock presented himself as being above the petty envies that troubled other men. Now Sally knew otherwise.
This had to be dealt with immediately. Sally thinking she had the upper hand and possibly sharing this supposition with Anderson was intolerable.
He headed off, telling the new flat-mate that they would meet later for dinner. If John thought there was anything odd about the exchange of personal insults at the crime scene he didn’t let on so Sherlock took his placid agreement at face value. It would have taken a fool or a genius to suspect that something might be going on between Sherlock and Sergeant Donovan. Based on current evidence, John was neither; just an amiable fellow with an average set of observational skills.
Sally answered the door wearing a low-cut blouse and her usual smirk, accompanied by the wary-looking cat whose name Sherlock had never bothered to learn. The cat probably associated him with Sally shooing him (or her) out of her room and then closing the door to avoid feline interference in their coupling.
Sherlock had no idea why he had come or what he intended to say. It wasn’t as though he and Sally ever had genuine conversations. All they had in common was concern for justice, dislike for each other, and a certain animal lust.
He accepted a cup of tea as a stalling tactic, which Sally would inevitably see through. Saying anything would only give Sally further ammunition for future jibes. She saved him the bother.
“I gave Anderson a blow-job and you don’t like it.”
Crude, but succinct. The salient point being made without being spoken. In his sexual forays with Sergeant Donovan, it was always Sherlock providing the oral stimulation.
Specifically by Sherlock’s meticulous accounting, they’d had intercourse on six occasions, he’d performed cunnilingus on her three times and Sally had penetrated him with a dildo twice.
Sally had never gotten on her knees for him. Even when lying on her back with Sherlock’s head between her legs, there was no question of who had control of the situation. The idea of Sally allowing herself to assume the subservient position with another man and specifically with Anderson rankled Sherlock more than he wanted to admit.
“Does it not bother you in the slightest that he’s married?”
Ludicrous, he thought even as the words escaped his mouth. Trite dialogue worthy only of the soap operas his mother had favoured in her dotage.
Sherlock notice that Sally didn’t bother to hide her amusement at his completely unearned self-righteousness.
“Not as much as it seems to bother you.”
He wasn’t prepared to concede the point, so he ignored it.
“Are you planning to continue the liaison?”
“Might do,” she said with a shrug, as if the matter were of no concern to her whatsoever, thereby daring Sherlock to up the ante by making any statement of possession or even affection. She casually undid her top button, allowing his eyes to skim the surface of her breasts before he’d even realised he was doing it. She raised her eyebrows to let him know she’d caught him and Sherlock chastised himself for the weakness.
The only reason he’d taken up with Donovan in the first place was the utter lack of emotion beyond antipathy. He’d believed this was the best way to avoid any emotional entanglements. Apparently he’d miscalculated.
“In that case, I shall need to terminate our arrangement.”
He made his tone as lifeless as the words themselves, hoping to inflict some kind of pain, while concealing his own.
Her amusement metamorphosised into utter contempt, as she buttoned up, depriving him of a last glance.
“Typical posh boy. You don’t like to share,” she sneered, almost viciously
“Not with that dullard,” Sherlock allowed, thinking that he might sway Sally by implying she was too good for Anderson.
“I’ll live.”
That was that then. Sherlock prepared to leave, not bothering with any further pleasantries, although his mind was searching for a properly cutting bon mot with which to punctuate his exit.
“Oh don’t be all pissy, Holmes. You’ll find someone else to shag. Maybe that fellow who was following you around like a pup today.”
“What? John?” Sherlock practically sputtered, completely taken aback.
Again, he cursed himself for being caught unawares and further detested Sally for having intuited that aspect of his nature, presumably during their sessions with the strap-on. By the time he realised that she was only using the possibility as a taunt against him, it was too late. He’d already considered the matter and begun to wonder if behind that stolid demeanour, John might be amenable to such an arrangement, and Sally had seen the idea appeal to him. Then she struck, like a viper.
“’Less I get there first, of course.”
He nodded, putting on his coat. He and Sally never really talked, but they always managed to communicate. A challenge had been laid down and accepted. Sherlock had already accepted the fact that
Sally had beaten him today.
It wouldn’t happen again.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Sally Donovan/Sherlock Holmes (slight hint of Sherlock/John)
Rating: R
Wordcount: 920
Notes: Takes place before and during A Study In Pink. Thanks to hllangel for first Beta lookover. Remaining typos and glitches are my fault.
Summary: The hostility is real, but it's not the whole story.
It had never occurred to Sherlock that he would feel jealousy.
His instant deduction about Sally and Anderson provoked a flash of unexpected anger. It was surprise at the emotion as much as the emotion itself that caused him to lash out.
He made a rude remark in order to embarrass Sally, which he was quite sure he’d successfully accomplished, but in the end it was Sherlock who felt himself exposed. Behind Sally’s glare, he could see a smug light dawning. Sherlock presented himself as being above the petty envies that troubled other men. Now Sally knew otherwise.
This had to be dealt with immediately. Sally thinking she had the upper hand and possibly sharing this supposition with Anderson was intolerable.
He headed off, telling the new flat-mate that they would meet later for dinner. If John thought there was anything odd about the exchange of personal insults at the crime scene he didn’t let on so Sherlock took his placid agreement at face value. It would have taken a fool or a genius to suspect that something might be going on between Sherlock and Sergeant Donovan. Based on current evidence, John was neither; just an amiable fellow with an average set of observational skills.
Sally answered the door wearing a low-cut blouse and her usual smirk, accompanied by the wary-looking cat whose name Sherlock had never bothered to learn. The cat probably associated him with Sally shooing him (or her) out of her room and then closing the door to avoid feline interference in their coupling.
Sherlock had no idea why he had come or what he intended to say. It wasn’t as though he and Sally ever had genuine conversations. All they had in common was concern for justice, dislike for each other, and a certain animal lust.
He accepted a cup of tea as a stalling tactic, which Sally would inevitably see through. Saying anything would only give Sally further ammunition for future jibes. She saved him the bother.
“I gave Anderson a blow-job and you don’t like it.”
Crude, but succinct. The salient point being made without being spoken. In his sexual forays with Sergeant Donovan, it was always Sherlock providing the oral stimulation.
Specifically by Sherlock’s meticulous accounting, they’d had intercourse on six occasions, he’d performed cunnilingus on her three times and Sally had penetrated him with a dildo twice.
Sally had never gotten on her knees for him. Even when lying on her back with Sherlock’s head between her legs, there was no question of who had control of the situation. The idea of Sally allowing herself to assume the subservient position with another man and specifically with Anderson rankled Sherlock more than he wanted to admit.
“Does it not bother you in the slightest that he’s married?”
Ludicrous, he thought even as the words escaped his mouth. Trite dialogue worthy only of the soap operas his mother had favoured in her dotage.
Sherlock notice that Sally didn’t bother to hide her amusement at his completely unearned self-righteousness.
“Not as much as it seems to bother you.”
He wasn’t prepared to concede the point, so he ignored it.
“Are you planning to continue the liaison?”
“Might do,” she said with a shrug, as if the matter were of no concern to her whatsoever, thereby daring Sherlock to up the ante by making any statement of possession or even affection. She casually undid her top button, allowing his eyes to skim the surface of her breasts before he’d even realised he was doing it. She raised her eyebrows to let him know she’d caught him and Sherlock chastised himself for the weakness.
The only reason he’d taken up with Donovan in the first place was the utter lack of emotion beyond antipathy. He’d believed this was the best way to avoid any emotional entanglements. Apparently he’d miscalculated.
“In that case, I shall need to terminate our arrangement.”
He made his tone as lifeless as the words themselves, hoping to inflict some kind of pain, while concealing his own.
Her amusement metamorphosised into utter contempt, as she buttoned up, depriving him of a last glance.
“Typical posh boy. You don’t like to share,” she sneered, almost viciously
“Not with that dullard,” Sherlock allowed, thinking that he might sway Sally by implying she was too good for Anderson.
“I’ll live.”
That was that then. Sherlock prepared to leave, not bothering with any further pleasantries, although his mind was searching for a properly cutting bon mot with which to punctuate his exit.
“Oh don’t be all pissy, Holmes. You’ll find someone else to shag. Maybe that fellow who was following you around like a pup today.”
“What? John?” Sherlock practically sputtered, completely taken aback.
Again, he cursed himself for being caught unawares and further detested Sally for having intuited that aspect of his nature, presumably during their sessions with the strap-on. By the time he realised that she was only using the possibility as a taunt against him, it was too late. He’d already considered the matter and begun to wonder if behind that stolid demeanour, John might be amenable to such an arrangement, and Sally had seen the idea appeal to him. Then she struck, like a viper.
“’Less I get there first, of course.”
He nodded, putting on his coat. He and Sally never really talked, but they always managed to communicate. A challenge had been laid down and accepted. Sherlock had already accepted the fact that
Sally had beaten him today.
It wouldn’t happen again.