Re: Nocturne - John/girl!Sherlock pt 1
anonymous
October 23 2010, 05:14:23 UTC
Gabbing the blankets, scattered about as they are, John pulls them over his head and rolls away from the door. Contrary to Sherlock's assertion, the room is absolutely freezing and the warmth of his bed is slowly pulling him back under. A few more hours of sleep would be grand considering just how late she'd had him up, scrambling about the city, only a few steps ahead of cop and criminal alike.
"Wonderful," he says around a yawn. "Off to bed then." He draws the blankets tighter and snuggles down once more.
It is, as a deterrent, precisely as successful as he thought it might be. She clambers up onto the bed, prodding at his shoulder as she leans over to peer in at him. "John?" When she's sure she has his attention or, at least, enough of it to suit her purposes, she continues, "I require your assistance."
One long finger jabs into his shoulder.; "John?"
She's not going away, he knows that. He knows he could lie here all bloody night and she'll stay right where she is. "Fine, right, what?" he sits up, scrubbing at his face, and she's sitting almost atop him. The robe is askew, shadows hinting at the milky white swell of one breast and he closes his eyes. "Sherlock."
She rolls her eyes. "It's just a breast, John. I'm sure you see dozens of them a day in varying states of undress. I fail to see what makes mine so special."
He very nearly says, 'they're yours' but he has some control left. "We've been through this, Sherlock."
"Yes, I suppose we have," she agrees. "However, it's irrelevant at the moment. My request requires nudity." She pauses, tips her head, and then rephrases, "Well, partial-nudity, both on my part I assure you." She grins. "In fact, you can stay right as you are and it will work just fine."
"Your -- " John thinks that is, possibly, the moment his brain truly wakes up which is slightly horrifying. You see, when his brain does wake up, she's still there and she's grinningserious. "On me."
"Wonderful," he says around a yawn. "Off to bed then." He draws the blankets tighter and snuggles down once more.
It is, as a deterrent, precisely as successful as he thought it might be. She clambers up onto the bed, prodding at his shoulder as she leans over to peer in at him. "John?" When she's sure she has his attention or, at least, enough of it to suit her purposes, she continues, "I require your assistance."
One long finger jabs into his shoulder.; "John?"
She's not going away, he knows that. He knows he could lie here all bloody night and she'll stay right where she is. "Fine, right, what?" he sits up, scrubbing at his face, and she's sitting almost atop him. The robe is askew, shadows hinting at the milky white swell of one breast and he closes his eyes. "Sherlock."
She rolls her eyes. "It's just a breast, John. I'm sure you see dozens of them a day in varying states of undress. I fail to see what makes mine so special."
He very nearly says, 'they're yours' but he has some control left. "We've been through this, Sherlock."
"Yes, I suppose we have," she agrees. "However, it's irrelevant at the moment. My request requires nudity." She pauses, tips her head, and then rephrases, "Well, partial-nudity, both on my part I assure you." She grins. "In fact, you can stay right as you are and it will work just fine."
"Your -- " John thinks that is, possibly, the moment his brain truly wakes up which is slightly horrifying. You see, when his brain does wake up, she's still there and she's grinningserious. "On me."
Christ.
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