Fic: Once More, With Feeling (5/7)
Title: Once More, With Feeling (5/7)
Author: red_carrigan
Pairing: Sherlock/John, a little bit of John/Mary
Length: 2,473
Genre: romance, fluff, humor
Warnings: Some sensuality
Rating: PG-13
Summary: To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.
Notes: Written for this prompt.
Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
John woke up to a mouthful of black curls.
They had also invaded his nose and he came close to sneezing as he tried to reach up a hand to move them. Tried to reach, because he was currently pinned beneath a tangle of dangling, spindly limbs.
Apparently Sherlock was one of those blokes who took up the entire circumference of the bed, regardless of who was on it. John found himself completely blanketed by the other man, who, as fate would have it, was dead to the world.
John shifted this way and that, doing his best to wriggle out from beneath his consulting detective comforter. Sherlock made a few disgruntled noises, spidery fingers clutching ineffectually at John's arms and sides, trying to still his movements. Eventually John managed to find an opening and worked himself free, rising unsteadily to his feet.
Sherlock's arms latched on to both pillows, using them as a substitute for John's body and as he lay there, mouth hanging open slightly, it occurred to John that he should look absolutely ridiculous. And a bit unattractive. His mouth was open, after all. And yet John couldn't help but find him, well…cute.
God help him if Sherlock ever knew he had used that particular description in association with him but there it was. Sherlock Holmes, asleep and cute. And in his bed. John licked his lips and looked around the room and yes, yes, last night's memories returned to him rapid fire. He yawned and stretched before heading towards the kitchen and he had the vaguest sense that his hair was sticking up as he absently scratched at his back.
The smell of eggs and bacon greeted him and he couldn't help a sleepy smile as he entered the kitchen to find his mother cooking. And, as always, she cooked as if cooking for ten people as opposed to a group less than half that size. But the neighbors were always thankful for the abundant leftovers. She saw him enter and let out a happy greeting before informing him that she had already made him a cup of tea, just like he liked it, in the dining room.
He thanked her before drowsily floating into that room. He took a seat and sipped his drink, waking slowly but surely as his mother drifted in and began setting the table. Once it was covered with a plethora of victuals she sat down opposite from him and made her plate. He did the same and, as he was becoming more and more wakeful, he became aware of a disquieting feeling.
His mother was watching him. Watching him with that look. That one that signaled trouble. He did his best to ignore it and was but a few forkfuls into his breakfast when she let loose, "John, I want you to know that I really, really like Sherlock."
"Oh, um…good? I like him, too."
"I know you do, sweetheart and that's why, well…" she looked hesitant which, in John's vast experience, was always a bad thing, "It's just…I hope this relationship doesn't end as disastrously as your previous ones. Because John, I swear, if you break that poor boy's heart I don't know what I will do!"
John put his fork down and his head reared back as if she had slapped him, "His heart? Mum, I'm your son! Don't you think you should be worried about my heart?"
"Oh, dear, that will never happen! He's so terribly in love with you!"
John let out a snort of derision, "Mum…I think you're misreading things."
"I am not! You can tell by what he says and the way he looks at you that he loves you! Truly, madly, deeply loves you!"
"Mum, really, he-" John shook his head and tried to think of the best way to put it when his mother added, "Not to mention that kiss he gave you last night!"
Ah, yes. The kiss. John's mind flashed to it and seemed more than happy with the idea of replaying it over and over again when he forced himself to snap out of it. Last night, that kiss…it had all been some sort of…weird aberration in time. In fact, the whole evening had been off and John was resolved to seeing everything return to its natural, proper order.
They would be returning to London today and Sherlock's as-yet-to-be-explained behavior would be resolved. He would finally stop acting the part of John's perfect partner and start acting the part of himself. Things would return to normal.
Mrs. Watson, as was her way, had been talking unheard yet again, "…since you're here anyway and it could be for just a few minutes. Ten to fifteen at most!"
John blinked, "I'm sorry?"
"Honestly, John! You should get those ears checked! I said you and Sherlock should come with your father and I to the flower show today! The weather's cleared up now, save those scattered showers they've talked about but I don't think those'll give us any trouble and I'd like for you two to make a brief appearance, just before you go back to London."
"No. Mum, sorry, but really, we have to be getting back."
"I see. I understand." Mrs. Watson's voice was mournful, "I haven't seen you in forever and then you come here, have dinner, try to leave but get trapped thanks to a storm and now it's rushing out the door, no thanks, no love, no-"
"Mum, it's not that!" He tried to protest but she continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"-thought to me, your poor mother, who has missed you so much. Not to mention your father, who has probably missed you even more than I, even if he can't properly express it. All I wanted was for you to stop by, meet my friends, meet Mary…"
John's eyes widened, "Mary?"
"Yes, Mary, she's going to be there. I told you, she helped me organize everything! Granted, I initially wanted you to meet her because I thought there could be an opportunity there but that was before I knew about you and Sherlock so now I would just like you to meet her because, well, she's been so kind to me. Though come to think of it you two already know one another since you attended school together so I suppose it would be a re-meeting."
"I'll go." John said quickly and Mrs. Watson smiled, "Really?"
"Yes, yes, love to."
"Wonderful! I can't wait! You and Sherlock attending the flower show! I am so excited!"
"Wait! Ah, hang on, Sherlock…" John felt something inside him twist. He wasn't sure if it was his heart or his stomach or some combination but he chose to disregard all of it as he reminded himself that last night had merely been some bizarre anomaly. Sherlock kissing him - that was…he couldn't possibly be interested in John. He had been playing a part. He'd been acting. It had all been pretend. All part of the 'perfect' partner role. He certainly wasn't in love with John. Not like his mother claimed. That would be…crazy. Insane. Impossible.
No, no, no.
Now Mary, Mary made sense. Mary was gorgeous and his mother praised her as kind and certainly she was someone who he should pursue. John sighed, "Sherlock might not be able to attend. I…think he has some work waiting for him in London. He might have to go ahead on home and I'll meet him there. Probably-probably for the best we…you know, had a talk last night and it was…things between us are…"
John couldn't continue. His mother was starting to look so upset and he found he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Well, at least not in this way. Even more so when she breathed, "Oh, John, are you…okay? You and Sherlock are you-?"
"We're fine." He reassured her with a tight lipped smile, "Better than fine. Just…dandy."
Mrs. Watson let out a sound of pure relief, one hand on her heart, "Well, that's good to hear. You gave me quite a fright! Well, I certainly hope Sherlock can postpone his business and join us! I'm going to go right upstairs and get ready!"
Mrs. Watson left and it wasn't until she was gone that John became aware of the fact that his father had appeared. He was eyeing John and stirring his tea. He took Mrs. Watson's now vacant seat and quietly sipped his cup, eyes still on John. John shifted uncomfortably in his own chair. It was almost as if his father was wordlessly cross-examining him.
"So," his father finally said, "I hear you're attending the flower show with us."
"Ah…yes. Yes."
"Hmm." Mr. Watson finished his cup and pushed it to one side, "Mary's going to be there."
"Is she?"
"Yes." He said, then leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped on the table in front of him, "Mary's a nice girl."
John frowned and supplied the word he was sure his father wanted, "But…?"
"But nothing. She's a perfectly nice girl. Smart, too. Not like those dumb girls you dated."
"Okay, who did I date that you thought was so dumb?" John asked with exasperation.
His father ignored the question, "John, have I ever told you why I like chemistry?"
John sighed, "No. No, I don't believe so."
His father hummed under his breath then said, "I like chemistry because it has the potential for so much change. Most people fear change, but I've always been excited by the possibility of it, the…danger of it. Unpredictability, that's the key word. Elements, chemicals - they can evolve and change due to a variety of variables - heat, the introduction of electricity, so on and so forth. But the most interesting thing is how sometimes some of these chemicals can, at one point, complement one another nicely and then, at others, no longer suit. Do you understand what I'm saying, son?"
"I…no?" John hated to sound completely flummoxed but he was. His father, however, did not look put out by this. Instead he merely chuckled and rose to his feet. He walked over and patted John's shoulder, "Well, you'll know soon enough. You're a bright lad…sort of…"
John grimaced at that and as his father left the revolving door of people in the house seemed to continue as Sherlock appeared. He now wore the suit his mother had repaired. All traces of the sleepy man that had been in his bed this morning were gone and for reasons John didn't want to examine he found that disappointing.
Instead he chose to go straight to the heart of the matter, "My mother has invited me to her flower show and I plan to attend."
"Naturally." Sherlock returned.
"Naturally?"
Sherlock nodded, "I will come with you."
John's eyes widened, "What? Why?"
"Why not?"
"Sherlock, you-you can't possibly want to go to a flower show of all things. You'll be bored out of your skull. Frankly, I would be as well if not for, ah…"
Sherlock's face was entirely impassive, "I am a man of my word. Today I will end our fabricated affair but, before I do so, it would be for the best if we kept up appearances. I can also easily distract your mother while you…'address' Mary."
John's eyebrows rose, "You're going to-?"
"Friends are expected to help one another, yes? And you recently did define us as friends."
"Yes. Okay, sure, but…" John eyed him suspiciously, "You must want something."
"Why?"
John slapped one of his hands down on the table with enough force to cause the dishware to clatter about, "Right! There's something…you've been…what exactly are you playing at?"
"John, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"This!" John gestured at Sherlock's entire length, "You! You're…ever since we've gotten here you've been so-so…" his words trailed off as he tried to think of the best way to put it. Finally he settled on, "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the…sacrifices you've made to appear, um, plebeian but it's…not you."
"You are of course referring to your own definition of me?" Sherlock offered and John remembered his words last night with some chagrin, shaking his head, "No. Not…not exactly."
"You have no reason to apologize, John. Everything you said was completely sound." Sherlock replied smoothly, "And it has been well documented that the more time you spend in my company the easier you can begin to see and catalogue my faults. Your parents have simply not had the proper amount of time but, after today, I assure you they will. You need not worry about the dissolution of our relationship; I have the task well in hand."
John hated the fact that he felt a sudden swell of dissatisfaction at those words. He was being ridiculous. Was it odd that Sherlock was being helpful? Yes, but all things considered, he should be grateful for it. After all, at this point his parents were viewing them as some sort of super couple. And they were not a couple. John did not want them to be a couple. He did not want to be in a relationship - romantically - with Sherlock Holmes. The very idea of it was…it was…
John didn't know why his imagination started working so feverishly over it, but it did; conjuring up images of their normal, day to day lives, but now intermingled with the simple additions of them sitting closer on the sofa, holding hands, and kissing, kissing, kissing like last night and then those kisses growing deeper, hotter, hungrier…wet tongues meeting, hands roaming, shedding off clothing to reveal pale white skin, skin washed over soft pink with exertion and deep throated groans and pressing Sherlock down onto their shared mattress and-
"John?"
John resolutely refused to believe that he let out something akin to a squeak when he heard his mother, her voice cutting through his meandering mind like a bucket of ice water. Both she and his father had entered the room and now stood before him, each looking at him with bemusement. He hadn't even seen or heard them enter.
He swallowed and shifted in his seat, noting with some dismay the heavy pang of arousal working its way throughout his body as he cleared his throat, "Ah - yes?"
Mrs. Watson frowned, "My, but you were distracted! Said your name about five times, didn't I, Arthur?" Mr. Watson nodded as she continued, "Anyway, best you get changed and ready to go. I told Mary I'd be there in about an hour."
Mary. John blinked and scowled. Mary! Why couldn't it have been Mary that he'd been fantasize about? That would have been better. Much better. So much better. He set about drumming up images of her in his mind to think about, to dream about, as he set about getting himself ready to attend the show.
+
Part 6
Author: red_carrigan
Pairing: Sherlock/John, a little bit of John/Mary
Length: 2,473
Genre: romance, fluff, humor
Warnings: Some sensuality
Rating: PG-13
Summary: To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.
Notes: Written for this prompt.
Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
John woke up to a mouthful of black curls.
They had also invaded his nose and he came close to sneezing as he tried to reach up a hand to move them. Tried to reach, because he was currently pinned beneath a tangle of dangling, spindly limbs.
Apparently Sherlock was one of those blokes who took up the entire circumference of the bed, regardless of who was on it. John found himself completely blanketed by the other man, who, as fate would have it, was dead to the world.
John shifted this way and that, doing his best to wriggle out from beneath his consulting detective comforter. Sherlock made a few disgruntled noises, spidery fingers clutching ineffectually at John's arms and sides, trying to still his movements. Eventually John managed to find an opening and worked himself free, rising unsteadily to his feet.
Sherlock's arms latched on to both pillows, using them as a substitute for John's body and as he lay there, mouth hanging open slightly, it occurred to John that he should look absolutely ridiculous. And a bit unattractive. His mouth was open, after all. And yet John couldn't help but find him, well…cute.
God help him if Sherlock ever knew he had used that particular description in association with him but there it was. Sherlock Holmes, asleep and cute. And in his bed. John licked his lips and looked around the room and yes, yes, last night's memories returned to him rapid fire. He yawned and stretched before heading towards the kitchen and he had the vaguest sense that his hair was sticking up as he absently scratched at his back.
The smell of eggs and bacon greeted him and he couldn't help a sleepy smile as he entered the kitchen to find his mother cooking. And, as always, she cooked as if cooking for ten people as opposed to a group less than half that size. But the neighbors were always thankful for the abundant leftovers. She saw him enter and let out a happy greeting before informing him that she had already made him a cup of tea, just like he liked it, in the dining room.
He thanked her before drowsily floating into that room. He took a seat and sipped his drink, waking slowly but surely as his mother drifted in and began setting the table. Once it was covered with a plethora of victuals she sat down opposite from him and made her plate. He did the same and, as he was becoming more and more wakeful, he became aware of a disquieting feeling.
His mother was watching him. Watching him with that look. That one that signaled trouble. He did his best to ignore it and was but a few forkfuls into his breakfast when she let loose, "John, I want you to know that I really, really like Sherlock."
"Oh, um…good? I like him, too."
"I know you do, sweetheart and that's why, well…" she looked hesitant which, in John's vast experience, was always a bad thing, "It's just…I hope this relationship doesn't end as disastrously as your previous ones. Because John, I swear, if you break that poor boy's heart I don't know what I will do!"
John put his fork down and his head reared back as if she had slapped him, "His heart? Mum, I'm your son! Don't you think you should be worried about my heart?"
"Oh, dear, that will never happen! He's so terribly in love with you!"
John let out a snort of derision, "Mum…I think you're misreading things."
"I am not! You can tell by what he says and the way he looks at you that he loves you! Truly, madly, deeply loves you!"
"Mum, really, he-" John shook his head and tried to think of the best way to put it when his mother added, "Not to mention that kiss he gave you last night!"
Ah, yes. The kiss. John's mind flashed to it and seemed more than happy with the idea of replaying it over and over again when he forced himself to snap out of it. Last night, that kiss…it had all been some sort of…weird aberration in time. In fact, the whole evening had been off and John was resolved to seeing everything return to its natural, proper order.
They would be returning to London today and Sherlock's as-yet-to-be-explained behavior would be resolved. He would finally stop acting the part of John's perfect partner and start acting the part of himself. Things would return to normal.
Mrs. Watson, as was her way, had been talking unheard yet again, "…since you're here anyway and it could be for just a few minutes. Ten to fifteen at most!"
John blinked, "I'm sorry?"
"Honestly, John! You should get those ears checked! I said you and Sherlock should come with your father and I to the flower show today! The weather's cleared up now, save those scattered showers they've talked about but I don't think those'll give us any trouble and I'd like for you two to make a brief appearance, just before you go back to London."
"No. Mum, sorry, but really, we have to be getting back."
"I see. I understand." Mrs. Watson's voice was mournful, "I haven't seen you in forever and then you come here, have dinner, try to leave but get trapped thanks to a storm and now it's rushing out the door, no thanks, no love, no-"
"Mum, it's not that!" He tried to protest but she continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"-thought to me, your poor mother, who has missed you so much. Not to mention your father, who has probably missed you even more than I, even if he can't properly express it. All I wanted was for you to stop by, meet my friends, meet Mary…"
John's eyes widened, "Mary?"
"Yes, Mary, she's going to be there. I told you, she helped me organize everything! Granted, I initially wanted you to meet her because I thought there could be an opportunity there but that was before I knew about you and Sherlock so now I would just like you to meet her because, well, she's been so kind to me. Though come to think of it you two already know one another since you attended school together so I suppose it would be a re-meeting."
"I'll go." John said quickly and Mrs. Watson smiled, "Really?"
"Yes, yes, love to."
"Wonderful! I can't wait! You and Sherlock attending the flower show! I am so excited!"
"Wait! Ah, hang on, Sherlock…" John felt something inside him twist. He wasn't sure if it was his heart or his stomach or some combination but he chose to disregard all of it as he reminded himself that last night had merely been some bizarre anomaly. Sherlock kissing him - that was…he couldn't possibly be interested in John. He had been playing a part. He'd been acting. It had all been pretend. All part of the 'perfect' partner role. He certainly wasn't in love with John. Not like his mother claimed. That would be…crazy. Insane. Impossible.
No, no, no.
Now Mary, Mary made sense. Mary was gorgeous and his mother praised her as kind and certainly she was someone who he should pursue. John sighed, "Sherlock might not be able to attend. I…think he has some work waiting for him in London. He might have to go ahead on home and I'll meet him there. Probably-probably for the best we…you know, had a talk last night and it was…things between us are…"
John couldn't continue. His mother was starting to look so upset and he found he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Well, at least not in this way. Even more so when she breathed, "Oh, John, are you…okay? You and Sherlock are you-?"
"We're fine." He reassured her with a tight lipped smile, "Better than fine. Just…dandy."
Mrs. Watson let out a sound of pure relief, one hand on her heart, "Well, that's good to hear. You gave me quite a fright! Well, I certainly hope Sherlock can postpone his business and join us! I'm going to go right upstairs and get ready!"
Mrs. Watson left and it wasn't until she was gone that John became aware of the fact that his father had appeared. He was eyeing John and stirring his tea. He took Mrs. Watson's now vacant seat and quietly sipped his cup, eyes still on John. John shifted uncomfortably in his own chair. It was almost as if his father was wordlessly cross-examining him.
"So," his father finally said, "I hear you're attending the flower show with us."
"Ah…yes. Yes."
"Hmm." Mr. Watson finished his cup and pushed it to one side, "Mary's going to be there."
"Is she?"
"Yes." He said, then leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped on the table in front of him, "Mary's a nice girl."
John frowned and supplied the word he was sure his father wanted, "But…?"
"But nothing. She's a perfectly nice girl. Smart, too. Not like those dumb girls you dated."
"Okay, who did I date that you thought was so dumb?" John asked with exasperation.
His father ignored the question, "John, have I ever told you why I like chemistry?"
John sighed, "No. No, I don't believe so."
His father hummed under his breath then said, "I like chemistry because it has the potential for so much change. Most people fear change, but I've always been excited by the possibility of it, the…danger of it. Unpredictability, that's the key word. Elements, chemicals - they can evolve and change due to a variety of variables - heat, the introduction of electricity, so on and so forth. But the most interesting thing is how sometimes some of these chemicals can, at one point, complement one another nicely and then, at others, no longer suit. Do you understand what I'm saying, son?"
"I…no?" John hated to sound completely flummoxed but he was. His father, however, did not look put out by this. Instead he merely chuckled and rose to his feet. He walked over and patted John's shoulder, "Well, you'll know soon enough. You're a bright lad…sort of…"
John grimaced at that and as his father left the revolving door of people in the house seemed to continue as Sherlock appeared. He now wore the suit his mother had repaired. All traces of the sleepy man that had been in his bed this morning were gone and for reasons John didn't want to examine he found that disappointing.
Instead he chose to go straight to the heart of the matter, "My mother has invited me to her flower show and I plan to attend."
"Naturally." Sherlock returned.
"Naturally?"
Sherlock nodded, "I will come with you."
John's eyes widened, "What? Why?"
"Why not?"
"Sherlock, you-you can't possibly want to go to a flower show of all things. You'll be bored out of your skull. Frankly, I would be as well if not for, ah…"
Sherlock's face was entirely impassive, "I am a man of my word. Today I will end our fabricated affair but, before I do so, it would be for the best if we kept up appearances. I can also easily distract your mother while you…'address' Mary."
John's eyebrows rose, "You're going to-?"
"Friends are expected to help one another, yes? And you recently did define us as friends."
"Yes. Okay, sure, but…" John eyed him suspiciously, "You must want something."
"Why?"
John slapped one of his hands down on the table with enough force to cause the dishware to clatter about, "Right! There's something…you've been…what exactly are you playing at?"
"John, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"This!" John gestured at Sherlock's entire length, "You! You're…ever since we've gotten here you've been so-so…" his words trailed off as he tried to think of the best way to put it. Finally he settled on, "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the…sacrifices you've made to appear, um, plebeian but it's…not you."
"You are of course referring to your own definition of me?" Sherlock offered and John remembered his words last night with some chagrin, shaking his head, "No. Not…not exactly."
"You have no reason to apologize, John. Everything you said was completely sound." Sherlock replied smoothly, "And it has been well documented that the more time you spend in my company the easier you can begin to see and catalogue my faults. Your parents have simply not had the proper amount of time but, after today, I assure you they will. You need not worry about the dissolution of our relationship; I have the task well in hand."
John hated the fact that he felt a sudden swell of dissatisfaction at those words. He was being ridiculous. Was it odd that Sherlock was being helpful? Yes, but all things considered, he should be grateful for it. After all, at this point his parents were viewing them as some sort of super couple. And they were not a couple. John did not want them to be a couple. He did not want to be in a relationship - romantically - with Sherlock Holmes. The very idea of it was…it was…
John didn't know why his imagination started working so feverishly over it, but it did; conjuring up images of their normal, day to day lives, but now intermingled with the simple additions of them sitting closer on the sofa, holding hands, and kissing, kissing, kissing like last night and then those kisses growing deeper, hotter, hungrier…wet tongues meeting, hands roaming, shedding off clothing to reveal pale white skin, skin washed over soft pink with exertion and deep throated groans and pressing Sherlock down onto their shared mattress and-
"John?"
John resolutely refused to believe that he let out something akin to a squeak when he heard his mother, her voice cutting through his meandering mind like a bucket of ice water. Both she and his father had entered the room and now stood before him, each looking at him with bemusement. He hadn't even seen or heard them enter.
He swallowed and shifted in his seat, noting with some dismay the heavy pang of arousal working its way throughout his body as he cleared his throat, "Ah - yes?"
Mrs. Watson frowned, "My, but you were distracted! Said your name about five times, didn't I, Arthur?" Mr. Watson nodded as she continued, "Anyway, best you get changed and ready to go. I told Mary I'd be there in about an hour."
Mary. John blinked and scowled. Mary! Why couldn't it have been Mary that he'd been fantasize about? That would have been better. Much better. So much better. He set about drumming up images of her in his mind to think about, to dream about, as he set about getting himself ready to attend the show.
+
Part 6