Re: Stolen Moments pt 8/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 09:58:41 UTC
Sherlock paced. There were so many reasons not to do this. The biggest of which was the very real chance that he'd do it wrong and be caught. On the other hand, if he didn't do something soon, he was going to do something really stupidly undignified, like launch himself at John and simply tear his clothes off.
John wouldn't approve. It would be a violation of his trust. If he wanted to keep his modesty that badly, then Sherlock should respect it.
On the other hand, what harm was there in simply showing Sherlock what he needed to see? John was always so accommodating in other areas. After all the man had bared his mind with little more that a mild protest. Physical modesty seemed positively trivial compared to that.
And yet the one time Sherlock had asked, John had balked. There was no reason to think he wouldn't balk again.
One thing for certain, this whole situation was ridiculous and unsustainable. It was far too distracting in all the wrong ways. It was a wonder that Sherlock could function at all with the way John was teasing and tempting him. No. It had to end. Tonight. He had the means at his disposal. He was clever enough to think of an excuse should it go wrong. John was already deeply asleep, he wouldn't even remember.
Sherlock snapped. Removing his shoes he took the stairs to John's room, carefully avoiding the creaky sixth step. The door was unlocked. It opened quietly enough. The street lamps cast a dim light around the tidy attic room. John lay, twisted in his bedding, covered from neck to wrist in soft cotton pyjamas. Sherlock stalked silently to the head of the bed then leaned over.
Without warning he lifted John's head and ran his thumbs down the back of his neck the way Mycroft had demonstrated. He was overwhelmed by a number of sensations. The first was that John's head was much heavier than it appeared. After adjusting for that, he was able to let the other details slip in. John's hair was soft and his skin pleasantly warm to the touch. Very different from the corpses he'd touched. And there was a definite pleasurable thrill to this that was not dissimilar to a new case. It ran like an electric tingle down his spine.
Almost immediately, he felt the sudden stiffening of John's body that signaled wakefulness. Sherlock concentrated on finding just the right touch, Mycroft made it seem so easy.
"Wha-- Sher-" John tried to lift his head and sit up, but just at that moment Sherlock found the right spot and the right pressure. John collapsed back to the bed and made that characteristic back of the throat moan.
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Easy after all. "Do you know who I am?" he whispered, his voice tense with excitement.
"Sherlock," said John in a slow, drowsy tone.
"Obey my orders. Lie still, I'm going to turn on the light." John did nothing. Carefully, Sherlock set his head back on the pillow and edged away to switch near the door. Part of Sherlock waited for John to make some move, but he seemed to be as hypnotized as he'd been before.
The light was dazzling. Sherlock went and turned on the light and blinked as his overwhelmed eyes saw purple. When he looked back at his subject, John was lying as he had been before, his eyes closed, though Sherlock could see a slight bit of tightening in the lids.
"John, please stand up." Sherlock felt himself shiver and attributed it to nerves.
John rolled himself out of bed, much the way he did normally. His eyes were still shut but that was the only concession he seemed to make for being hypnotized.
Sherlock tensed and sucked in a breath. This was it. The point of no return. Not clucking like a chicken, but not any better really. "Remove your shirt for me, John," he said softly.
This was where John would open his eyes and say "jokes up." Or perhaps "What are you doing?" But he didn't do either. Placidly, his fingers rose to work the buttons on his pyjamas, undoing the first few, then pulling the whole thing over his head, the way he must take them off every morning.
John wouldn't approve. It would be a violation of his trust. If he wanted to keep his modesty that badly, then Sherlock should respect it.
On the other hand, what harm was there in simply showing Sherlock what he needed to see? John was always so accommodating in other areas. After all the man had bared his mind with little more that a mild protest. Physical modesty seemed positively trivial compared to that.
And yet the one time Sherlock had asked, John had balked. There was no reason to think he wouldn't balk again.
One thing for certain, this whole situation was ridiculous and unsustainable. It was far too distracting in all the wrong ways. It was a wonder that Sherlock could function at all with the way John was teasing and tempting him. No. It had to end. Tonight. He had the means at his disposal. He was clever enough to think of an excuse should it go wrong. John was already deeply asleep, he wouldn't even remember.
Sherlock snapped. Removing his shoes he took the stairs to John's room, carefully avoiding the creaky sixth step. The door was unlocked. It opened quietly enough. The street lamps cast a dim light around the tidy attic room. John lay, twisted in his bedding, covered from neck to wrist in soft cotton pyjamas. Sherlock stalked silently to the head of the bed then leaned over.
Without warning he lifted John's head and ran his thumbs down the back of his neck the way Mycroft had demonstrated. He was overwhelmed by a number of sensations. The first was that John's head was much heavier than it appeared. After adjusting for that, he was able to let the other details slip in. John's hair was soft and his skin pleasantly warm to the touch. Very different from the corpses he'd touched. And there was a definite pleasurable thrill to this that was not dissimilar to a new case. It ran like an electric tingle down his spine.
Almost immediately, he felt the sudden stiffening of John's body that signaled wakefulness. Sherlock concentrated on finding just the right touch, Mycroft made it seem so easy.
"Wha-- Sher-" John tried to lift his head and sit up, but just at that moment Sherlock found the right spot and the right pressure. John collapsed back to the bed and made that characteristic back of the throat moan.
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Easy after all. "Do you know who I am?" he whispered, his voice tense with excitement.
"Sherlock," said John in a slow, drowsy tone.
"Obey my orders. Lie still, I'm going to turn on the light." John did nothing. Carefully, Sherlock set his head back on the pillow and edged away to switch near the door. Part of Sherlock waited for John to make some move, but he seemed to be as hypnotized as he'd been before.
The light was dazzling. Sherlock went and turned on the light and blinked as his overwhelmed eyes saw purple. When he looked back at his subject, John was lying as he had been before, his eyes closed, though Sherlock could see a slight bit of tightening in the lids.
"John, please stand up." Sherlock felt himself shiver and attributed it to nerves.
John rolled himself out of bed, much the way he did normally. His eyes were still shut but that was the only concession he seemed to make for being hypnotized.
Sherlock tensed and sucked in a breath. This was it. The point of no return. Not clucking like a chicken, but not any better really. "Remove your shirt for me, John," he said softly.
This was where John would open his eyes and say "jokes up." Or perhaps "What are you doing?" But he didn't do either. Placidly, his fingers rose to work the buttons on his pyjamas, undoing the first few, then pulling the whole thing over his head, the way he must take them off every morning.
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