At Least I Got a Good Shag (1/2)
anonymous
March 3 2011, 05:10:30 UTC
This was supposed to be light and silly, but then Sherlock got all upset. I'm just gonna leave it here and hope someone else fills this lovely prompt properly!
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'All right then, we need to get a cab. Lestrade texted me while you were missing, and--' Sherlock halted in midstride, frowning slightly. He turned to face the man beside him. 'Sorry, a good what?'
'Shag. I'd rather not define that one for you. Try and google it.'
Now that the relief of seeing John alive had passed, Sherlock noticed he was smiling the very same smile he had had when he announced his first date with Sarah. Not John's usual smile. He looked calm, relaxed, slightly dopey. He smelled of expensive cologne and almond oil. And on his jumper sleeve there clung a single, short, obviously dyed hair.
'You shagged Jim,' Sherlock said flatly.
The rushing in Sherlock's ears felt familiar. Also the way certain details (the backwards knot in John's shoelaces) jumped out at him, magnified, and seemed to float around him in the air, refusing to disappear until they were interpreted (someone kneeling at John's feet to retie them). Certain specific combinations of drugs had this effect on Sherlock. So did fury.
'You had sexual relations with my arch-enemy--'
'I thought your brother was your--'
'Mycroft is my arch-arch-enemy now, obviously, do try to keep up.--As I was saying, you had sexual relations, very willing and enthusiastic relations if the wrinkle pattern on your trousers is any indication, in fact you've "got off", to use your juvenile idiom, twice in the past four hours, the first time in a position that ought to have been very hard on your shoulder, and--John, you do realise the man is a murderer!?' Sherlock was nearly shouting. It occurred to him that, given the unsavory part of London they were in, he ought to avoid drawing attention. He couldn't bring himself to care.
John straightened his shoulders slightly. 'I know that, yes. Look, I'm not proud of this or anything, but--'
'Well, you're certainly acting like you are!' Sherlock snapped. 'You've made no effort to hide it and what's more significant, neither has he. It's perfectly obvious he did this to send a message. To me.'
'Not everything revolves around you, Sherlock,' John said mildly.
'You don't honestly think he wanted you.' The very thought made Sherlock's stomach squirm. 'He's just using you to get to me. You're one of his puppets now. Like poor dear Molly.' Sherlock spat the words out, couldn't stop himself even as he heard how vicious he sounded. He needed John to snarl back at him.
John just nodded. 'Good thing he's a fantastic lay, then.'
God damn the man, Sherlock thought. He didn't even look hurt. Well, there was something faintly sad in his eyes, barely detectable, but that was always there. 'You've played right into his hands,' Sherlock told him.
John snorted. 'That's not the only thing I've done into--no, no, scratch that, never mind.' He cleared his throat. 'All right, Sherlock, I admit that wasn't my finest moment, but...Well, it's been a while. It was fun, you know? And we used condoms--'
'Obviously.'
'--so no harm done.'
WRONG! Sherlock wanted to say. Only he couldn't figure out just how it was wrong. Everything John said sounded perfectly logical. John wanted a shag, so he had one. It was the kind of thing Sherlock might have done, if he had a sex drive and a few hours to kill in an abandoned warehouse with his randy arch-enemy.
At Least I Got a Good Shag (2/2)
anonymous
March 3 2011, 05:15:44 UTC
'You wouldn't normally do this,' he said slowly. John looked away. 'Jim talked to you. Loosened you up a bit. That's it, isn't it?' His voice sounded bitter to his own ears. 'We sociopaths do have such a lot of superficial charm.'
'I'm not Anderson, you know, I don't for a minute believe you're a sociopath,' John said. His calmness was infuriating. 'And yes, Moriarty did a fairly decent impression of being charming. We had a good bitch session about you, by the way. He seems to know all your annoying habits even better than I do. Is it true you dye your hair?'
Sherlock sputtered indignantly, beyond words.
John cleared his throat. 'Listen...I don't have any illusions about Moriarty. He's not a nice man, and I'm not about to get attached to him. I expect one of us will kill him within the next few months, anyway--Yes, all right, don't glower at me like that, he's all yours, I promise.'
'I don't care which of us gets to kill Moriarty,' said Sherlock through gritted teeth.
'Okay. Fine.'
'What could possibly make that lying, simpering, conceited megalomaniac attractive to you?' Sherlock demanded. 'You haven't had sexual contact with a male since before your military service, an idiot could deduce that. You're at the low end of the Kinsey scale. You hate cruelty. You dislike having bombs strapped to you. Fashionable men make you uncomfortable.'
'They do not,' John protested. 'It's just designer suits I don't care for.'
'You don't like lying unless it's the kind of lie that makes people feel good. I suppose Jim put on a nice act for you, one of his sweet little phoney voices, letting you face the other way so you could pretend he was somebody el--'
Sherlock broke off. He stared at John, stricken.
John gazed back at him blankly for a moment, then sighed, waving a hand dismissively. 'Go ahead and speculate about my pathetic sex life, Sherlock. Oh, sorry, I mean deduce. I don't even care. Just don't tell the Yard, is all I ask.'
He sounded so perfectly, utterly normal that Sherlock wondered if one of them was going mad. Was it possible John was bluffing? Was it possible John had just used Jim Moriarty as a Sherlock substitute and didn't mind whether he figured it out?
But then, John's sex drive was a fairly impersonal thing. He had genuinely liked Sarah, and he had still regarded her primarily as a way of getting off. Maybe this was the same. Not everything revolves around you, Sherlock. John wanted a shag with a vain, charming, dangerous madman, so he arranged to have one without messy complications. Somehow, that notion bothered Sherlock even more than the rest of it.
Sherlock dug his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. He threw it at John, who caught it easily. Sex seemed to have loosened his stiff shoulder considerably--or actually, no, Sherlock corrected himself, Jim had apparently given him a post-coital massage. Nauseating. 'Cab. Speed dial two.'
'I don't even know where we are,' John remarked, looking at the squalor around them. The phone was already at his ear.
Sherlock sniffed. 'Of course you don't. Your ignorance of soil types is appalling.' He turned on his heel to stride down the poorly lit, vaguely familiar street, not bothering to glance behind him. He knew John would follow.
Re: At Least I Got a Good Shag (2/2)
anonymous
March 3 2011, 06:31:52 UTC
Yeeeeee, this was amazing. Somehow you made it totally believable! I love that Sherlock is sort of horrified for all the right reasons and then all the wrong ones, it's so him.
Anyway! You should absolutely continue this! What if Jim tries to shag *Sherlock* next time-- after all, Jim could probably do a pretty convincing *John* impression now that they've been so intimate. I bet *then* John would think that shagging Moriarty was a big deal. :D
Re: At Least I Got a Good Shag (2/2)
anonymous
March 3 2011, 22:08:46 UTC
Op here. Love this! Thank you, kind anon. I like angst and torment too. If you have any inclinations for a follow-up, I'd love to see where this goes, and if it leads to anything.
Things and moments I loved: - John's resigned calm even as Sherlock gets more agitated and cutting with his words. - "Mycroft is my arch-arch-enemy now, obviously, do try to keep up." Oh, Sherlock. - Sherlock's realization and his imagination of Moriarty kneeling and tying John's shoe, and massaging John's shoulder. It's kind of sweet for the unseen John/Jim, even as it's twisting for Sherlock. I like having those dueling sensations. - Sherlock's mention of the Kinsey scale. That made me squee, literally, out loud. - Sherlock making all kinds of arguments about why John shouldn't have done it, and avoiding the unrealized one that actually matters. - Sherlock reaching a conclusion about John's intentions for being with Moriarty (as a substitute for Sherlock), and not really wanting to face it. And then being derisive instead of addressing it. It's gut-wrenching but oh-so-good.
Re: At Least I Got a Good Shag (2/2)
anonymous
March 4 2011, 02:39:08 UTC
You're welcome, op, and thank you! Your comments put a smile on my face. This does feel like it could use a follow-up. We'll see what happens. Thanks again for the prompt! <3
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'All right then, we need to get a cab. Lestrade texted me while you were missing, and--' Sherlock halted in midstride, frowning slightly. He turned to face the man beside him. 'Sorry, a good what?'
'Shag. I'd rather not define that one for you. Try and google it.'
Now that the relief of seeing John alive had passed, Sherlock noticed he was smiling the very same smile he had had when he announced his first date with Sarah. Not John's usual smile. He looked calm, relaxed, slightly dopey. He smelled of expensive cologne and almond oil. And on his jumper sleeve there clung a single, short, obviously dyed hair.
'You shagged Jim,' Sherlock said flatly.
The rushing in Sherlock's ears felt familiar. Also the way certain details (the backwards knot in John's shoelaces) jumped out at him, magnified, and seemed to float around him in the air, refusing to disappear until they were interpreted (someone kneeling at John's feet to retie them). Certain specific combinations of drugs had this effect on Sherlock. So did fury.
'You had sexual relations with my arch-enemy--'
'I thought your brother was your--'
'Mycroft is my arch-arch-enemy now, obviously, do try to keep up.--As I was saying, you had sexual relations, very willing and enthusiastic relations if the wrinkle pattern on your trousers is any indication, in fact you've "got off", to use your juvenile idiom, twice in the past four hours, the first time in a position that ought to have been very hard on your shoulder, and--John, you do realise the man is a murderer!?' Sherlock was nearly shouting. It occurred to him that, given the unsavory part of London they were in, he ought to avoid drawing attention. He couldn't bring himself to care.
John straightened his shoulders slightly. 'I know that, yes. Look, I'm not proud of this or anything, but--'
'Well, you're certainly acting like you are!' Sherlock snapped. 'You've made no effort to hide it and what's more significant, neither has he. It's perfectly obvious he did this to send a message. To me.'
'Not everything revolves around you, Sherlock,' John said mildly.
'You don't honestly think he wanted you.' The very thought made Sherlock's stomach squirm. 'He's just using you to get to me. You're one of his puppets now. Like poor dear Molly.' Sherlock spat the words out, couldn't stop himself even as he heard how vicious he sounded. He needed John to snarl back at him.
John just nodded. 'Good thing he's a fantastic lay, then.'
God damn the man, Sherlock thought. He didn't even look hurt. Well, there was something faintly sad in his eyes, barely detectable, but that was always there. 'You've played right into his hands,' Sherlock told him.
John snorted. 'That's not the only thing I've done into--no, no, scratch that, never mind.' He cleared his throat. 'All right, Sherlock, I admit that wasn't my finest moment, but...Well, it's been a while. It was fun, you know? And we used condoms--'
'Obviously.'
'--so no harm done.'
WRONG! Sherlock wanted to say. Only he couldn't figure out just how it was wrong. Everything John said sounded perfectly logical. John wanted a shag, so he had one. It was the kind of thing Sherlock might have done, if he had a sex drive and a few hours to kill in an abandoned warehouse with his randy arch-enemy.
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'I'm not Anderson, you know, I don't for a minute believe you're a sociopath,' John said. His calmness was infuriating. 'And yes, Moriarty did a fairly decent impression of being charming. We had a good bitch session about you, by the way. He seems to know all your annoying habits even better than I do. Is it true you dye your hair?'
Sherlock sputtered indignantly, beyond words.
John cleared his throat. 'Listen...I don't have any illusions about Moriarty. He's not a nice man, and I'm not about to get attached to him. I expect one of us will kill him within the next few months, anyway--Yes, all right, don't glower at me like that, he's all yours, I promise.'
'I don't care which of us gets to kill Moriarty,' said Sherlock through gritted teeth.
'Okay. Fine.'
'What could possibly make that lying, simpering, conceited megalomaniac attractive to you?' Sherlock demanded. 'You haven't had sexual contact with a male since before your military service, an idiot could deduce that. You're at the low end of the Kinsey scale. You hate cruelty. You dislike having bombs strapped to you. Fashionable men make you uncomfortable.'
'They do not,' John protested. 'It's just designer suits I don't care for.'
'You don't like lying unless it's the kind of lie that makes people feel good. I suppose Jim put on a nice act for you, one of his sweet little phoney voices, letting you face the other way so you could pretend he was somebody el--'
Sherlock broke off. He stared at John, stricken.
John gazed back at him blankly for a moment, then sighed, waving a hand dismissively. 'Go ahead and speculate about my pathetic sex life, Sherlock. Oh, sorry, I mean deduce. I don't even care. Just don't tell the Yard, is all I ask.'
He sounded so perfectly, utterly normal that Sherlock wondered if one of them was going mad. Was it possible John was bluffing? Was it possible John had just used Jim Moriarty as a Sherlock substitute and didn't mind whether he figured it out?
But then, John's sex drive was a fairly impersonal thing. He had genuinely liked Sarah, and he had still regarded her primarily as a way of getting off. Maybe this was the same. Not everything revolves around you, Sherlock. John wanted a shag with a vain, charming, dangerous madman, so he arranged to have one without messy complications. Somehow, that notion bothered Sherlock even more than the rest of it.
Sherlock dug his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. He threw it at John, who caught it easily. Sex seemed to have loosened his stiff shoulder considerably--or actually, no, Sherlock corrected himself, Jim had apparently given him a post-coital massage. Nauseating. 'Cab. Speed dial two.'
'I don't even know where we are,' John remarked, looking at the squalor around them. The phone was already at his ear.
Sherlock sniffed. 'Of course you don't. Your ignorance of soil types is appalling.' He turned on his heel to stride down the poorly lit, vaguely familiar street, not bothering to glance behind him. He knew John would follow.
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Anyway! You should absolutely continue this! What if Jim tries to shag *Sherlock* next time-- after all, Jim could probably do a pretty convincing *John* impression now that they've been so intimate. I bet *then* John would think that shagging Moriarty was a big deal. :D
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Things and moments I loved:
- John's resigned calm even as Sherlock gets more agitated and cutting with his words.
- "Mycroft is my arch-arch-enemy now, obviously, do try to keep up." Oh, Sherlock.
- Sherlock's realization and his imagination of Moriarty kneeling and tying John's shoe, and massaging John's shoulder. It's kind of sweet for the unseen John/Jim, even as it's twisting for Sherlock. I like having those dueling sensations.
- Sherlock's mention of the Kinsey scale. That made me squee, literally, out loud.
- Sherlock making all kinds of arguments about why John shouldn't have done it, and avoiding the unrealized one that actually matters.
- Sherlock reaching a conclusion about John's intentions for being with Moriarty (as a substitute for Sherlock), and not really wanting to face it. And then being derisive instead of addressing it. It's gut-wrenching but oh-so-good.
Thank you again, anon!
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--authoranon
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