Sherlock - fic - We Happy Few, Sherlock/John, PG
I've been at cons/meet-ups for all but 2 Saturdays since the end of May XD Nothing else until September now, though, so I've managed to write something :)
Title - We Happy Few
Author - laurab1
Rating - PG
Warnings, kinks and contents - asexuality and intimacy issues
Pairing - Sherlock/John
Length - 645 words
Summary - I think you’ve had quite enough, in your life, of being alone.
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain.
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - Written for this prompt on sherlockbbc-fic
We Happy Few
by Laura
First, there’s a change in the way John looks at him. What was clinical and concerned, friendly, becomes something else. It’s followed by a change in the way he touches him, other than what occurs after a gun fight. A casual brush of fingers becomes deliberate contact.
It’s John, he knows it’s John, who means a great deal to him, but Sherlock doesn’t like any of it. Alone is what he has. Alone protects him. Caring is not an advantage.
Then yet another murder is solved, and they’re giggling, high on adrenaline. As soon as Lestrade lets them go, they return to Baker Street. When they’re though the front door, Sherlock sees the flicker of something else in John’s eyes. The look is followed by a glance at his lips, and Sherlock is once again hoping John doesn’t follow through.
“No,” he says, voice flat, “Married to my work.” Sherlock walks away, heads up the stairs and opens the door to their flat.
“Sherlock?” John calls after him, concern in his tone. He follows Sherlock, and closes the door behind him.
Still wearing his coat, Sherlock flops onto the sofa, sprawling over the whole length of it. Emotional entanglements are nothing but trouble. He has no desire whatsoever to be intimate with someone else. He never has done.
“Right, what was that all about, then?” John asks, sitting in his armchair.
“You had the clear intention of kissing me,” Sherlock practically spits.
“And you headed me off at the pass with five words.”
No denial, then. And surprisingly patient. “Yes.” He’s silent for a few minutes, fingers steepled by his lips.
“Sherlock?”
It’s John, but he still doesn’t like any of it. “John,” he eventually says, somewhat hesitantly, “I assume you are familiar with asexuality?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t something I was taught; read about it in some of my medical journals. And I assume someone you knew before you met me had never heard of it.”
Sherlock nods in reply to John’s last statement. “I realise that you are somehow attracted to me, but I have no wish to pursue a relationship with you beyond that which we currently share.”
“All right,” John says, nodding. “And if we did pursue a relationship beyond that which we currently share…?”
That isn’t what he was meant to say. Did he not listen? He did, of course he did. “I’d end it immediately, as I’d have decided I would much rather be alone,” Sherlock replies.
John breathes a sigh, and rises from his chair. A decision has been made, then. “Sherlock, I think you’ve had quite enough, in your life, of being alone. Come on, sit up, and let me join you.”
Sherlock wriggles up, John sits beside him on the sofa. They look at each other briefly, before Sherlock turns away. John, as he has done so many times before, wordlessly slips an arm around Sherlock’s back. But this is clearly different, nothing like when they carry each other up the stairs after yet another run-in with criminals. Sherlock relents, lets himself be pulled close. It’s John. He shuts his eyes, just breathes. He even allows the kiss planted on his temple.
Kisses. A caressing hand on his shoulder.
Finally, words: “If this is all you can cope with, this is all we’ll do.”
And there it is: understanding, a level of affection and intimacy offered to him which John knows he’ll probably find acceptable. Once upon a time, Sherlock remembers, he and Mycroft were similarly close. That’s long since passed, though, and now he has John. His doctor, his soldier, his friend. His brother in arms.
Henry V Act IV Scene iii:
…For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother…
Sherlock opens his eyes, reaches for John’s free hand with his. He’s met half way. Fingers intertwine, and hold on tight.
-end-
sherlockbbc
bbcsherlock
johnsherlock
221bsherlock
221b_slash
ourbbcsherlock
Title - We Happy Few
Author - laurab1
Rating - PG
Warnings, kinks and contents - asexuality and intimacy issues
Pairing - Sherlock/John
Length - 645 words
Summary - I think you’ve had quite enough, in your life, of being alone.
Disclaimer - Alas, none of these people are entirely mine. This version of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, the BBC et al. However, Sherlock Holmes as created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in the public domain.
Feedback is loved and appreciated :) Enjoy!
A/N - Written for this prompt on sherlockbbc-fic
We Happy Few
by Laura
First, there’s a change in the way John looks at him. What was clinical and concerned, friendly, becomes something else. It’s followed by a change in the way he touches him, other than what occurs after a gun fight. A casual brush of fingers becomes deliberate contact.
It’s John, he knows it’s John, who means a great deal to him, but Sherlock doesn’t like any of it. Alone is what he has. Alone protects him. Caring is not an advantage.
Then yet another murder is solved, and they’re giggling, high on adrenaline. As soon as Lestrade lets them go, they return to Baker Street. When they’re though the front door, Sherlock sees the flicker of something else in John’s eyes. The look is followed by a glance at his lips, and Sherlock is once again hoping John doesn’t follow through.
“No,” he says, voice flat, “Married to my work.” Sherlock walks away, heads up the stairs and opens the door to their flat.
“Sherlock?” John calls after him, concern in his tone. He follows Sherlock, and closes the door behind him.
Still wearing his coat, Sherlock flops onto the sofa, sprawling over the whole length of it. Emotional entanglements are nothing but trouble. He has no desire whatsoever to be intimate with someone else. He never has done.
“Right, what was that all about, then?” John asks, sitting in his armchair.
“You had the clear intention of kissing me,” Sherlock practically spits.
“And you headed me off at the pass with five words.”
No denial, then. And surprisingly patient. “Yes.” He’s silent for a few minutes, fingers steepled by his lips.
“Sherlock?”
It’s John, but he still doesn’t like any of it. “John,” he eventually says, somewhat hesitantly, “I assume you are familiar with asexuality?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t something I was taught; read about it in some of my medical journals. And I assume someone you knew before you met me had never heard of it.”
Sherlock nods in reply to John’s last statement. “I realise that you are somehow attracted to me, but I have no wish to pursue a relationship with you beyond that which we currently share.”
“All right,” John says, nodding. “And if we did pursue a relationship beyond that which we currently share…?”
That isn’t what he was meant to say. Did he not listen? He did, of course he did. “I’d end it immediately, as I’d have decided I would much rather be alone,” Sherlock replies.
John breathes a sigh, and rises from his chair. A decision has been made, then. “Sherlock, I think you’ve had quite enough, in your life, of being alone. Come on, sit up, and let me join you.”
Sherlock wriggles up, John sits beside him on the sofa. They look at each other briefly, before Sherlock turns away. John, as he has done so many times before, wordlessly slips an arm around Sherlock’s back. But this is clearly different, nothing like when they carry each other up the stairs after yet another run-in with criminals. Sherlock relents, lets himself be pulled close. It’s John. He shuts his eyes, just breathes. He even allows the kiss planted on his temple.
Kisses. A caressing hand on his shoulder.
Finally, words: “If this is all you can cope with, this is all we’ll do.”
And there it is: understanding, a level of affection and intimacy offered to him which John knows he’ll probably find acceptable. Once upon a time, Sherlock remembers, he and Mycroft were similarly close. That’s long since passed, though, and now he has John. His doctor, his soldier, his friend. His brother in arms.
Henry V Act IV Scene iii:
…For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother…
Sherlock opens his eyes, reaches for John’s free hand with his. He’s met half way. Fingers intertwine, and hold on tight.
-end-
sherlockbbc
bbcsherlock
johnsherlock
221bsherlock
221b_slash
ourbbcsherlock