Sweet The Sting (2/?)
anonymous
March 6 2011, 04:39:57 UTC
"Hmm, yes, but not aware enough to think to yourself, 'maybe I shouldn't reject that Romanian gypsy's advances as harshly as humanly possible'."
"John, the case was solved, she'd provided the information we required. I didn't see the point in stringing her along further."
"Guess you do now, considering she's cursed you."
"I am not cursed. Don't be ridiculous."
John waved the letter at him, "That's not what this says."
"Somehow she poisoned me. Obviously. Some aphrodisiac, some concoction that has caused-"
"Whatever it is," John interrupted, "It's a serious problem. How long have you been like this? How long have you been sitting on this couch? I'll tell you - too long. No, you've got a fever and the cure is most definitely not more cowbell."
Sherlock's face at this last remark was priceless.
"It's a...joke. Sarah...she...showed me this clip. On the web. It was funny..." John had started off his explanation chuckling weakly but as Sherlock's face remained impassive he started to stall, finally settling on a quiet, "Never mind."
Sherlock just shook his head, repeating his earlier pronouncement, "I'm going to die."
John cleared his throat, read the letter again, then, as casually as possible, said, "Okay, well, it basically says here the only cure is for you to have someone-ah-take care of your...situation for you. So...we just...need to do that."
"Hmm, yes, I imagine there are people lined up around the block dying to give me a handjob." Sherlock said this in such a deadpanned manner that John actually did a double take.
Finally John recovered enough to speak, "It...can't be that hard to find someone..."
"Yes, let's just call up Lestrade, shall we? Or maybe Mrs. Hudson, though her response will be, 'I'm your landlady, not your-'."
"Stop!" John cut him off desperately, "Please!"
Sherlock smirked dryly, "There. At last you seem to understand the gravity of my predicament. As I quite appropriately surmised, I'm going to die, because there is no way this issue is going to be resolved. Thus I will be unable to leave this flat, nay, even this couch any time in the near future."
"Well, you always said sleeping, eating, and breathing were boring, so-"
"Yes, thank you again, John. Throwing my previous statements back in my face comforts me to no end. However, I would ask that perhaps you make my eulogy a little more heartwarming."
"Stop being so dramatic!" He returned waspishly.
"I'll make you an offer, when you have an erection that has lasted for well over an hour, I promise I'll let you be as dramatic as you like. Sound fair?"
Sweet The Sting (3/?)
anonymous
March 6 2011, 04:40:47 UTC
John sighed heavily.
There was a long, heavy silence.
At last, John spoke, eyes darting about, "There is...one way..."
"This is something actually helpful, I hope?"
John's response was mumbled so deeply under his breath that Sherlock's head fell back, eyes on the ceiling as he let out a long aggrieved groan, "John, please, it's been a very trying day. The least you could do is speak clearly."
"...me."
"What was that?"
John closed his eyes, spoke again on a whispered breath, "Me. I...I could do it."
Sherlock blinked, positive he had must have misheard, "You?"
"Yes." John took in a deep breath, opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's, stirring up all the courage he could muster, "I could take care of it for you."
"You want to-?"
"It would be strictly professional, you understand? I'm am a Doctor, so-"
"So, what? You're offering me a medicinal handjob?"
"Can you please stop saying that word?"
"...medicinal blowjob, then?"
"Sherlock!"
"What?"
John rubbed at his face, "This is crazy."
"I agree."
"And a bad idea."
"Most assuredly."
"Forget I even mentioned it."
"Forgotten." Sherlock said but as John saw him sitting there, all flushed and twitchy and looking pathetically miserable, he shook his head, cursing lightly before saying "No, no, we can't just...forget it. It's crazy, yeah, but...it's the only option. It's either this or death."
"I chose death."
"Sherlock..."
"Don't worry, all joking aside, I'm sure the eulogy you deliver will be lovely. Don't let Mycroft say a word. Not. One. Word. I want my funeral to have some dignity for god's sake."
"Sherlock," John scooted closer to him, "Let me do this for you. We don't...it'll just stay between us."
"John..."
John, curious, reached out a hand to brush along Sherlock's knee. The sound the other man let out at the merest touch bordered on obscene. He leaned into as if unable to help himself. The contact was brief and when John drew his hand away Sherlock looked almost pained.
"You need this, Sherlock," John replied, trying to fervently ignore how breathless he sounded, "You need me. Please."
Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and he nodded, "Very well."
"John, the case was solved, she'd provided the information we required. I didn't see the point in stringing her along further."
"Guess you do now, considering she's cursed you."
"I am not cursed. Don't be ridiculous."
John waved the letter at him, "That's not what this says."
"Somehow she poisoned me. Obviously. Some aphrodisiac, some concoction that has caused-"
"Whatever it is," John interrupted, "It's a serious problem. How long have you been like this? How long have you been sitting on this couch? I'll tell you - too long. No, you've got a fever and the cure is most definitely not more cowbell."
Sherlock's face at this last remark was priceless.
"It's a...joke. Sarah...she...showed me this clip. On the web. It was funny..." John had started off his explanation chuckling weakly but as Sherlock's face remained impassive he started to stall, finally settling on a quiet, "Never mind."
Sherlock just shook his head, repeating his earlier pronouncement, "I'm going to die."
John cleared his throat, read the letter again, then, as casually as possible, said, "Okay, well, it basically says here the only cure is for you to have someone-ah-take care of your...situation for you. So...we just...need to do that."
"Hmm, yes, I imagine there are people lined up around the block dying to give me a handjob." Sherlock said this in such a deadpanned manner that John actually did a double take.
Finally John recovered enough to speak, "It...can't be that hard to find someone..."
"Yes, let's just call up Lestrade, shall we? Or maybe Mrs. Hudson, though her response will be, 'I'm your landlady, not your-'."
"Stop!" John cut him off desperately, "Please!"
Sherlock smirked dryly, "There. At last you seem to understand the gravity of my predicament. As I quite appropriately surmised, I'm going to die, because there is no way this issue is going to be resolved. Thus I will be unable to leave this flat, nay, even this couch any time in the near future."
"Well, you always said sleeping, eating, and breathing were boring, so-"
"Yes, thank you again, John. Throwing my previous statements back in my face comforts me to no end. However, I would ask that perhaps you make my eulogy a little more heartwarming."
"Stop being so dramatic!" He returned waspishly.
"I'll make you an offer, when you have an erection that has lasted for well over an hour, I promise I'll let you be as dramatic as you like. Sound fair?"
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There was a long, heavy silence.
At last, John spoke, eyes darting about, "There is...one way..."
"This is something actually helpful, I hope?"
John's response was mumbled so deeply under his breath that Sherlock's head fell back, eyes on the ceiling as he let out a long aggrieved groan, "John, please, it's been a very trying day. The least you could do is speak clearly."
"...me."
"What was that?"
John closed his eyes, spoke again on a whispered breath, "Me. I...I could do it."
Sherlock blinked, positive he had must have misheard, "You?"
"Yes." John took in a deep breath, opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's, stirring up all the courage he could muster, "I could take care of it for you."
"You want to-?"
"It would be strictly professional, you understand? I'm am a Doctor, so-"
"So, what? You're offering me a medicinal handjob?"
"Can you please stop saying that word?"
"...medicinal blowjob, then?"
"Sherlock!"
"What?"
John rubbed at his face, "This is crazy."
"I agree."
"And a bad idea."
"Most assuredly."
"Forget I even mentioned it."
"Forgotten." Sherlock said but as John saw him sitting there, all flushed and twitchy and looking pathetically miserable, he shook his head, cursing lightly before saying "No, no, we can't just...forget it. It's crazy, yeah, but...it's the only option. It's either this or death."
"I chose death."
"Sherlock..."
"Don't worry, all joking aside, I'm sure the eulogy you deliver will be lovely. Don't let Mycroft say a word. Not. One. Word. I want my funeral to have some dignity for god's sake."
"Sherlock," John scooted closer to him, "Let me do this for you. We don't...it'll just stay between us."
"John..."
John, curious, reached out a hand to brush along Sherlock's knee. The sound the other man let out at the merest touch bordered on obscene. He leaned into as if unable to help himself. The contact was brief and when John drew his hand away Sherlock looked almost pained.
"You need this, Sherlock," John replied, trying to fervently ignore how breathless he sounded, "You need me. Please."
Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and he nodded, "Very well."
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Mrs Hudson's being their landlady not?
medicinal handjob?
*gets on knees*
You haven't even gotten to the porn and I want to marry you.
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More?
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Sweet the Sting
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