Ultimate Choice series, part 2/3
Title: Ultimate Choice, pt.2
Author: Marumaru, originally in Japanese
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Wordcount: 2,369
Translated by: leopardseals
Beta-ed by: Lilithemm, lazy-like-a-fox
Rating: PG-13~NC-17
Warnings: Swearing, sexual content (part 3)
Summary: John comes to terms with his feelings.
Notes: Any awkwardness in the text is purely my fault -- the original text is absolutely beautiful! Thanks again to Marumaru-san for giving me permission to post this here :)
The original Japanese text for part 2 is located here.
Why didn’t you come with me, John?
“What?”
John felt a burst of anger surge through him at that, and he immediately dialed his flatmate’s number on his mobile.
“Sherlock, what are you thinking?!”
“John?”
“You didn’t ask me to come!”
“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted to,” said Sherlock, coolly. John wanted to bury his face in his hands.
“Why do you have to always be such a selfish bastard?” He said, exasperated.
His accusation, of course, went unanswered, as Sherlock quietly spoke into the phone.
“The case has been solved. I will be back tomorrow.”
“…You-“
The line went dead, then, and this time, John really did throw his phone down against his flatmate’s favorite couch. Of course, that did nothing to quell his rage, and he walked quickly around the flat, purposefully slamming his feet loudly against the floor as he did. In the end, he flopped onto the sofa with an irritated grunt and ran his hands almost violently through his hair, leaving it a mess.
“What is this?”
Sherlock’s attitude and his distinct inability to pick up on social cues were nothing new to him. It was just frustrating that John had been tossed aside as if he was nothing important, then he was interrupted at a very important time - and to top it all off, it was all treated as if it was all somehow his fault.
He really should just let this all go; it was something that wasn’t going to change, and living with it was necessary to cohabitating with Sherlock. He already knew that.
Something seemed different this time, however, which frustrated him so much more than usual - something he couldn’t verbalize.
But deep in his heart, he knew.
What was different this time was that Sherlock’s actions wholly matched what John had desired.
Being commanded like a dog, to “stay”, “hold it”, and “come” - it was all what he wanted. He didn’t want to admit it, but everything his rational self had told him had been true.
At the same time, he couldn’t readily accept everything about this realization, not when he has yet to think one bit about Sherlock and his emotions.
Yes -- you do love him, not just as a friend, his other self said as he reappeared, with a faint sneer.
No.
Oh? What would you do, then, if Sherlock chose to be with someone else? Do you think you really could be happy for him, and leave the flat?
I think I could, yes --
You might as well, because Sherlock would never choose you as his life’s partner.
There could be another woman out there who was as wonderful as Sarah, but to John, there was nobody who could exist in place of Sherlock Holmes, or even be comparable to him. He was the world’s only consulting detective, after all; his intellect, his skills, his insight, were all not to be found in another human being, or not to be found in anyone else. He was unique; irreplacable.
He had instantly fascinated John with his impeccable observer’s eye, powers of deduction and imagination, ever since the first time they met. Despite his myriad of flaws - his self-diagnosis as a “functioning sociopath” was generally apt, considering his appalling social skills - John felt a deep connection to him with the talents and merits that more than compensated for this lack.
Sherlock had also seemed to take a liking to John, immediately accepting him as his flatmate. However, that could only have been because nobody else wanted to live with him. There were no signs that indicated that Sherlock felt such a connection to John as much as John did to Sherlock.
Not to mention that Sherlock was a man who asserted that he was “married to his work.”
He had tried to keep the respect and loyalty he felt towards Sherlock from turning into a romantic attachment to keep his dependence on his friend from growing into a full-blown addiction.
The very fact that he had to make such an effort already indicated that he had developed feelings beyond what he was capable of dealing with, but John hadn’t faced his own budding feelings until now.
If he couldn’t love Sherlock, then he absolutely had to leave him.
What can I do?
John grimaced, biting his lip as he desperately thought of a solution. In the end, the conclusion he came to was a painful one.
---
Sherlock was back in 221B the next evening. The case had apparently been less compelling once he’d gone to investigate, and he had solved it - the killer had been the groundskeeper - immediately after he’d stepped foot into the cottage.
“It was a boring case; the groundskeeper had been having an affair with the proprietress. The Belgian police are a shoddy lot, the evidence was obvious. I’ve got the particulars saved, I’ll post them on the website later.”
“I see.”
Sherlock poured some coffee for himself and sat down on the dining table, shuffling and skimming through the latest local papers. He seemed to have forgotten completely about their previous conversation.
“Sherlock…”
“Oh hello, Sherlock. What’s your fancy for dinner tonight?”
Mrs. Hudson entered just as John had spoken, looking anxious to see that Sherlock had made it home all right.
“I was thinking of having something light…I was craving one of your sandwiches while I was away, in fact. Everything I had on the trip was absolutely dreadful.”
“Oh! In that case, I’ll go and make us all some cucumber and bacon sandwiches. I’ll be right back, dear.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
John watched as their landlady smiled cheerfully and hurried down the stairs. He turned to Sherlock calmly, trying hard to act like his normal self.
“So, did you get anything for her?”
At that, Sherlock turned up a corner of his mouth and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket, its edges trimmed in hand-knitted lace.
“Lovely. I was sure you’d forgotten”
Sherlock placed the handkerchief gently down on the table and before picking up a bunch of newspapers and sprawling onto his couch.
“John?” He said, after a second.
“Yes?”
“You started to say something before. What was it?”
He had already picked up on the fact that John seemed different than usual.
“Well…”
You have to be direct, John told himself. He let out a deep breath as he prepared himself.
“Sherlock, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
Sherlock folded his half-read newspaper and looked up at John from the couch, still lying down. John’s expression was pained, and he didn’t meet his friend’s gaze as he spoke.
“I think...I shouldn’t stay here any longer. I’ll be seeking out another flat soon.”
“John?”
“Sorry, but…you’ll have to get a different flatmate. I…”
John couldn’t look at Sherlock, no matter how much he tried. He clenched his hands into fists, knitting his eyebrows.
“…The expression on your face states clearly that you don’t actually want to do that, so hadn’t you better not?”
“Sherlock,” John started, and finally looked into his flatmate’s eyes.
“I believe I have the right to ask you why.”
“…I really would rather not tell you.”
Letting out a sharp breath, Sherlock rolled and got up on his feet. Seeing that, John quickly turned to leave the living room, his instinct telling him to flee.
Before he could, however, his arm was grabbed from behind and he was pushed down onto the couch, still warm from Sherlock’s body.
“What-“
“What sorts of ridiculous things did they tell you? Was it Mycroft? Or someone else -“
“No, it’s nothing like that…it’s…”
“Then what is it?” Sherlock hissed, trapping John by bringing his hands on either side of his body, against the back of the couch. Despite his long arms, their faces were unnervingly close. At being told of their parting ways, he had lost all of his composure, and his eyes were wild as he stared down at John.
“Tell me!”
“…I told you, I can’t be here with you anymore.”
“That’s not a reason, John. And besides, there is no way I can possibly allow it.”
“…”
John broke his gaze and looked away, but his friend took his clenched jaw firmly in his hand and forced him to look at him.
Only Sherlock was reflected in his clear blue eyes.
“What is it, John? It must be serious for you to consider such a ridiculous notion.”
“Sorry, Sherlock, but it’s my problem, you see...”
“I’ve told you before, but you are my personal blogger. My colleague. I require your help. You’ll give up even that?”
Something broke in John at those words. He looked back at Sherlock with a pained expression, his face crumpling.
“It’s hard for me too. I want to be with you if I could…it’s no good. I’ll just end up being an inconvenience.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
John shook his head, feebly.
“No, Sherlock. I…”
He sighed softly, as he realized that it was no use muddling his words any further. He closed his eyes, damp with unshed tears.
“I…realized that I think of you as more than a friend.”
“…”
Sherlock slowly released his grip on John’s jaw. John took that as a sign of his friend’s disgust, and he felt his chest tighten painfully.
“Right? That’s why I told you I can’t be here anymore.”
However, what Sherlock did next was unexpected - he placed his hand over John’s cheek and slowly pressed his lips to his.
“Mm…”
The kiss was not a gentle one; Sherlock all but bit his lips as he tasted his mouth, forcing John’s teeth to open with his tongue and sliding it against his own warm, soft one. John’s body went limp, and he felt himself give in completely to Sherlock’s will.
Why would you kiss me like this…?
Somewhere in his head, he seemed to understand what Sherlock was doing, but he could not control his physical self. By the time he realized he was drowning in that kiss, he was pressed face up onto the couch.
Their noses were almost touching as John stared up at his roommate, who looked down at him with a piercing gaze and a slight smile.
“So -- what did you think about me?”
“…Sherlock, just stop it, will you?”
“You love me, don’t you, John?”
After a moment, John nodded, looking resigned.
“And that’s an inconvenience for me, is it?”
“Of course it is. It would be to anyone.”
“…But I’m not ‘anyone’, John, am I?”
John felt Sherlock’s warm body slowly press against his, and he subconsciously spread his legs to support them both. He wrapped his arms around him even as his heart hammered in his ribs and he felt a bit faint.
He only pushed back against Sherlock’s body with a shivering hand when he realized one thing.
“Wait…Mrs. Hudson - she’s bringing us sandwiches.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Sherlock lifted himself off the couch and stood up gracefully, and took John’s hand, helping him up. John’s head was spinning as he followed after his flatmate, their fingers still entwined.
“Mrs. Hudson! Hold the sandwiches, we’ve got to run out,” Sherlock shouted down the stairs. They heard Mrs. Hudson exclaim something in surprise, but before she could say anything more, Sherlock had dragged both of them up the stairs.
“Sherlock, you said we were going out -“
“…”
The third floor was John’s bedroom. They fell down together on top of the neatly made up bed, their limbs tangling together. They explored each others’ bodies, awkward and fumbling, their breaths ragged and heavy with lust.
“Oh -“
Sherlock pinned John’s shoulders under him with his hands and stared down at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes darted up into Sherlock’s, looking a bit bewildered. It made the dark, sadistic side of him stir.
This soldier, fresh out of Afghanistan - hadn’t had the slightest idea what the eyes of his own flatmate had been observing so intently.
John thought that only he had felt that way, and that his feelings were an inconvenience - completely absurd, made worse by the fact that he’d tried to use that to leave me.
Really, that sort of thing could not be easily forgiven.
“Sherlock, what are you -“
“I’ve already answered that question, I believe.”
Sherlock once more covered John’s body with his. His hot breath tickled John’s ear as he leaned in close. He licked and sucked at the earlobe, kissing a trail following John’s scent.
“A…ah -“
Pain quickly turned to pleasure - no, perhaps it was pleasurable because of the pain - as Sherlock sucked at the white skin just above John’s collarbone and left his mark.
“Didn’t I tell you? You are mine”
“…Sherlock -“
“You’re not even your own, John - your body and your heart are mine alone. Remember that.”
“…Ah -“
Sherlock kissed him again, deeper this time - he wanted to sink into the innermost parts of John, to possess every inch of him.
He felt numb with pleasure, and the sensations threatened to overtake him.
John realized for the first time that it felt good to lose all control of himself - in a place within that existed beyond trivialities like pride and self-worth, there was an endless, dark pool which intoxicated him and filled him with ecstasy. It yawned, threatening to swallow him into its core.
He faced it without any doubts, however -- it was none other than Sherlock Holmes who was leading him there. Was there anything to fear?
If he could be with him, he wouldn’t hesitate to follow him to the depths of hell.
“…More.”
“John?”
“…Harder - please, just break me, Sherlock…”
John initiated the kiss this time, winding their tongues together. Their saliva mingled together in their mouths, a thin trail trickling slowly down John’s jaw and dripping onto his pale neck.
“I want to disappear…I want to melt completely inside you.”
“…That sounds incredible.”
Their eyes met, and a smile spread across their lips.
To John and Sherlock, that night felt like it would never end, but at the same time, like it had been just a brief pause in their lives.
Part 3
Author: Marumaru, originally in Japanese
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Wordcount: 2,369
Translated by: leopardseals
Beta-ed by: Lilithemm, lazy-like-a-fox
Rating: PG-13~NC-17
Warnings: Swearing, sexual content (part 3)
Summary: John comes to terms with his feelings.
Notes: Any awkwardness in the text is purely my fault -- the original text is absolutely beautiful! Thanks again to Marumaru-san for giving me permission to post this here :)
The original Japanese text for part 2 is located here.
Why didn’t you come with me, John?
“What?”
John felt a burst of anger surge through him at that, and he immediately dialed his flatmate’s number on his mobile.
“Sherlock, what are you thinking?!”
“John?”
“You didn’t ask me to come!”
“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted to,” said Sherlock, coolly. John wanted to bury his face in his hands.
“Why do you have to always be such a selfish bastard?” He said, exasperated.
His accusation, of course, went unanswered, as Sherlock quietly spoke into the phone.
“The case has been solved. I will be back tomorrow.”
“…You-“
The line went dead, then, and this time, John really did throw his phone down against his flatmate’s favorite couch. Of course, that did nothing to quell his rage, and he walked quickly around the flat, purposefully slamming his feet loudly against the floor as he did. In the end, he flopped onto the sofa with an irritated grunt and ran his hands almost violently through his hair, leaving it a mess.
“What is this?”
Sherlock’s attitude and his distinct inability to pick up on social cues were nothing new to him. It was just frustrating that John had been tossed aside as if he was nothing important, then he was interrupted at a very important time - and to top it all off, it was all treated as if it was all somehow his fault.
He really should just let this all go; it was something that wasn’t going to change, and living with it was necessary to cohabitating with Sherlock. He already knew that.
Something seemed different this time, however, which frustrated him so much more than usual - something he couldn’t verbalize.
But deep in his heart, he knew.
What was different this time was that Sherlock’s actions wholly matched what John had desired.
Being commanded like a dog, to “stay”, “hold it”, and “come” - it was all what he wanted. He didn’t want to admit it, but everything his rational self had told him had been true.
At the same time, he couldn’t readily accept everything about this realization, not when he has yet to think one bit about Sherlock and his emotions.
Yes -- you do love him, not just as a friend, his other self said as he reappeared, with a faint sneer.
No.
Oh? What would you do, then, if Sherlock chose to be with someone else? Do you think you really could be happy for him, and leave the flat?
I think I could, yes --
You might as well, because Sherlock would never choose you as his life’s partner.
There could be another woman out there who was as wonderful as Sarah, but to John, there was nobody who could exist in place of Sherlock Holmes, or even be comparable to him. He was the world’s only consulting detective, after all; his intellect, his skills, his insight, were all not to be found in another human being, or not to be found in anyone else. He was unique; irreplacable.
He had instantly fascinated John with his impeccable observer’s eye, powers of deduction and imagination, ever since the first time they met. Despite his myriad of flaws - his self-diagnosis as a “functioning sociopath” was generally apt, considering his appalling social skills - John felt a deep connection to him with the talents and merits that more than compensated for this lack.
Sherlock had also seemed to take a liking to John, immediately accepting him as his flatmate. However, that could only have been because nobody else wanted to live with him. There were no signs that indicated that Sherlock felt such a connection to John as much as John did to Sherlock.
Not to mention that Sherlock was a man who asserted that he was “married to his work.”
He had tried to keep the respect and loyalty he felt towards Sherlock from turning into a romantic attachment to keep his dependence on his friend from growing into a full-blown addiction.
The very fact that he had to make such an effort already indicated that he had developed feelings beyond what he was capable of dealing with, but John hadn’t faced his own budding feelings until now.
If he couldn’t love Sherlock, then he absolutely had to leave him.
What can I do?
John grimaced, biting his lip as he desperately thought of a solution. In the end, the conclusion he came to was a painful one.
---
Sherlock was back in 221B the next evening. The case had apparently been less compelling once he’d gone to investigate, and he had solved it - the killer had been the groundskeeper - immediately after he’d stepped foot into the cottage.
“It was a boring case; the groundskeeper had been having an affair with the proprietress. The Belgian police are a shoddy lot, the evidence was obvious. I’ve got the particulars saved, I’ll post them on the website later.”
“I see.”
Sherlock poured some coffee for himself and sat down on the dining table, shuffling and skimming through the latest local papers. He seemed to have forgotten completely about their previous conversation.
“Sherlock…”
“Oh hello, Sherlock. What’s your fancy for dinner tonight?”
Mrs. Hudson entered just as John had spoken, looking anxious to see that Sherlock had made it home all right.
“I was thinking of having something light…I was craving one of your sandwiches while I was away, in fact. Everything I had on the trip was absolutely dreadful.”
“Oh! In that case, I’ll go and make us all some cucumber and bacon sandwiches. I’ll be right back, dear.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
John watched as their landlady smiled cheerfully and hurried down the stairs. He turned to Sherlock calmly, trying hard to act like his normal self.
“So, did you get anything for her?”
At that, Sherlock turned up a corner of his mouth and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket, its edges trimmed in hand-knitted lace.
“Lovely. I was sure you’d forgotten”
Sherlock placed the handkerchief gently down on the table and before picking up a bunch of newspapers and sprawling onto his couch.
“John?” He said, after a second.
“Yes?”
“You started to say something before. What was it?”
He had already picked up on the fact that John seemed different than usual.
“Well…”
You have to be direct, John told himself. He let out a deep breath as he prepared himself.
“Sherlock, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
Sherlock folded his half-read newspaper and looked up at John from the couch, still lying down. John’s expression was pained, and he didn’t meet his friend’s gaze as he spoke.
“I think...I shouldn’t stay here any longer. I’ll be seeking out another flat soon.”
“John?”
“Sorry, but…you’ll have to get a different flatmate. I…”
John couldn’t look at Sherlock, no matter how much he tried. He clenched his hands into fists, knitting his eyebrows.
“…The expression on your face states clearly that you don’t actually want to do that, so hadn’t you better not?”
“Sherlock,” John started, and finally looked into his flatmate’s eyes.
“I believe I have the right to ask you why.”
“…I really would rather not tell you.”
Letting out a sharp breath, Sherlock rolled and got up on his feet. Seeing that, John quickly turned to leave the living room, his instinct telling him to flee.
Before he could, however, his arm was grabbed from behind and he was pushed down onto the couch, still warm from Sherlock’s body.
“What-“
“What sorts of ridiculous things did they tell you? Was it Mycroft? Or someone else -“
“No, it’s nothing like that…it’s…”
“Then what is it?” Sherlock hissed, trapping John by bringing his hands on either side of his body, against the back of the couch. Despite his long arms, their faces were unnervingly close. At being told of their parting ways, he had lost all of his composure, and his eyes were wild as he stared down at John.
“Tell me!”
“…I told you, I can’t be here with you anymore.”
“That’s not a reason, John. And besides, there is no way I can possibly allow it.”
“…”
John broke his gaze and looked away, but his friend took his clenched jaw firmly in his hand and forced him to look at him.
Only Sherlock was reflected in his clear blue eyes.
“What is it, John? It must be serious for you to consider such a ridiculous notion.”
“Sorry, Sherlock, but it’s my problem, you see...”
“I’ve told you before, but you are my personal blogger. My colleague. I require your help. You’ll give up even that?”
Something broke in John at those words. He looked back at Sherlock with a pained expression, his face crumpling.
“It’s hard for me too. I want to be with you if I could…it’s no good. I’ll just end up being an inconvenience.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
John shook his head, feebly.
“No, Sherlock. I…”
He sighed softly, as he realized that it was no use muddling his words any further. He closed his eyes, damp with unshed tears.
“I…realized that I think of you as more than a friend.”
“…”
Sherlock slowly released his grip on John’s jaw. John took that as a sign of his friend’s disgust, and he felt his chest tighten painfully.
“Right? That’s why I told you I can’t be here anymore.”
However, what Sherlock did next was unexpected - he placed his hand over John’s cheek and slowly pressed his lips to his.
“Mm…”
The kiss was not a gentle one; Sherlock all but bit his lips as he tasted his mouth, forcing John’s teeth to open with his tongue and sliding it against his own warm, soft one. John’s body went limp, and he felt himself give in completely to Sherlock’s will.
Why would you kiss me like this…?
Somewhere in his head, he seemed to understand what Sherlock was doing, but he could not control his physical self. By the time he realized he was drowning in that kiss, he was pressed face up onto the couch.
Their noses were almost touching as John stared up at his roommate, who looked down at him with a piercing gaze and a slight smile.
“So -- what did you think about me?”
“…Sherlock, just stop it, will you?”
“You love me, don’t you, John?”
After a moment, John nodded, looking resigned.
“And that’s an inconvenience for me, is it?”
“Of course it is. It would be to anyone.”
“…But I’m not ‘anyone’, John, am I?”
John felt Sherlock’s warm body slowly press against his, and he subconsciously spread his legs to support them both. He wrapped his arms around him even as his heart hammered in his ribs and he felt a bit faint.
He only pushed back against Sherlock’s body with a shivering hand when he realized one thing.
“Wait…Mrs. Hudson - she’s bringing us sandwiches.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
Sherlock lifted himself off the couch and stood up gracefully, and took John’s hand, helping him up. John’s head was spinning as he followed after his flatmate, their fingers still entwined.
“Mrs. Hudson! Hold the sandwiches, we’ve got to run out,” Sherlock shouted down the stairs. They heard Mrs. Hudson exclaim something in surprise, but before she could say anything more, Sherlock had dragged both of them up the stairs.
“Sherlock, you said we were going out -“
“…”
The third floor was John’s bedroom. They fell down together on top of the neatly made up bed, their limbs tangling together. They explored each others’ bodies, awkward and fumbling, their breaths ragged and heavy with lust.
“Oh -“
Sherlock pinned John’s shoulders under him with his hands and stared down at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes darted up into Sherlock’s, looking a bit bewildered. It made the dark, sadistic side of him stir.
This soldier, fresh out of Afghanistan - hadn’t had the slightest idea what the eyes of his own flatmate had been observing so intently.
John thought that only he had felt that way, and that his feelings were an inconvenience - completely absurd, made worse by the fact that he’d tried to use that to leave me.
Really, that sort of thing could not be easily forgiven.
“Sherlock, what are you -“
“I’ve already answered that question, I believe.”
Sherlock once more covered John’s body with his. His hot breath tickled John’s ear as he leaned in close. He licked and sucked at the earlobe, kissing a trail following John’s scent.
“A…ah -“
Pain quickly turned to pleasure - no, perhaps it was pleasurable because of the pain - as Sherlock sucked at the white skin just above John’s collarbone and left his mark.
“Didn’t I tell you? You are mine”
“…Sherlock -“
“You’re not even your own, John - your body and your heart are mine alone. Remember that.”
“…Ah -“
Sherlock kissed him again, deeper this time - he wanted to sink into the innermost parts of John, to possess every inch of him.
He felt numb with pleasure, and the sensations threatened to overtake him.
John realized for the first time that it felt good to lose all control of himself - in a place within that existed beyond trivialities like pride and self-worth, there was an endless, dark pool which intoxicated him and filled him with ecstasy. It yawned, threatening to swallow him into its core.
He faced it without any doubts, however -- it was none other than Sherlock Holmes who was leading him there. Was there anything to fear?
If he could be with him, he wouldn’t hesitate to follow him to the depths of hell.
“…More.”
“John?”
“…Harder - please, just break me, Sherlock…”
John initiated the kiss this time, winding their tongues together. Their saliva mingled together in their mouths, a thin trail trickling slowly down John’s jaw and dripping onto his pale neck.
“I want to disappear…I want to melt completely inside you.”
“…That sounds incredible.”
Their eyes met, and a smile spread across their lips.
To John and Sherlock, that night felt like it would never end, but at the same time, like it had been just a brief pause in their lives.
Part 3