Quick fill (2a/2) (warnings for some discussion of suicidal thinking)
anonymous
May 14 2011, 05:58:24 UTC
John's flat was bare, almost Spartan. The only obvious personal touches were the cane scuffs on the floors and the forgotten carton of milk on the table. John had obviously moved in very recently, and he was obviously a very sad man.
Sherlock was surprised and pleased when John left him propped up on the bed. So he would be able to observe John, at least. That was something.
He was surprised again when John didn't initiate any masturbation activity. John sat heavily on the bed, his clothes still on, and sighed. He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at him.
"Pointless," John muttered under his breath, and left the room. Sherlock heard the front door shut and lock. John was gone.
Sherlock would have giggled aloud, if he were capable of it. He should be bored, sitting here alone, but his mind was racing. In his sex shop days, he had seen men who lived double (or triple) lives, men who didn't know they were gay (or straight, or submissive), men who loved pain and diapers and popping balloons--but John Watson was the most puzzling man he had ever seen.
When John returned, it was late and he had clearly had a few pints. Sherlock observed the way his limp went from debilitating to almost forgotten and back again.
"Really is ridiculous," John said. He chuckled. "Don't know why Ella thought it would help." He clambered onto the bed, still fully clothed, and sat on top of the covers to sit near Sherlock. Sherlock wondered if he was going to turn out the light to masturbate--that would be disappointing, not being able to see it--but John seemed to like looking him in the eye.
"You know, her first suggestion was to get a plant," John confided, and burst into drunken giggles. "I had to tell her I always killed plants. Always. Even cactuses...cacti. Then she said maybe a teddy bear or something--something with a face. As though I could tell my thoughts to a bloody teddy bear."
He appeared to sober a bit. "And my first idea was no better--I thought of getting a skull. You know, like Hamlet. To soli...sole...soliloquise to. Christ, I'm drunk." He passed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "I didn't mention the skull thing to Ella. She gives me this look whenever she thinks I'm thinking too much about death."
Sherlock approved of the skull idea thoroughly. Obviously "Ella" was John's therapist, and she thought John was borderline suicidal. Could she be right? Sherlock had seen the gun in John's desk drawer, the haunted look in his eyes. But he had also seen John's smile.
Ella had probably told John he needed something to talk to. Sherlock suspected another motive. If John had something to come home to, something that seemed to be watching him--well. He certainly couldn't put a gun to his head in front of Sherlock. Suddenly Sherlock was very glad John had bought him.
"Y'see, she said I needed something to talk to," John went on predictably. "Said it was obvious I didn't feel I could open up during our sessions. Said it would help me if I just sat by myself and talked about everything that happened to me." He let out a laugh that was close to a sob. "Nothing happens to me."
Yes, yes, you're drunk and feeling sorry for yourself, Sherlock thought, glowering at him. What I want to know is, where were you wounded if not in the leg? In school, did you specialise in battlefield medicine, or trauma, or surgery? Why did you nearly flinch when Mike shook your hand, and when that elderly lady bumped into you outside the flat? What do you see in your nightmares, John Watson?
And who have you lost that you think you can replace with a sex doll?
Quick fill (2b/2) (warnings for some discussion of suicidal thinking)
anonymous
May 14 2011, 05:59:31 UTC
John couldn't hear him, of course, but he gave Sherlock a sheepish grin anyway. "Well. I didn't want a kid's toy. I thought maybe, if I got a sex doll, I would at least feel like a grown-up." He gazed into Sherlock's eyes. "And you, well...you look like you're listening. No, scratch that, you look like you can see right through me and analyse every atom that makes me up."
Sherlock rather wanted to.
"And if I'm really lucky, I might just be able to get off with you. It's been a while. Well, it's been forever, really, if we're talking men. Not that I never--Er. Well." John cleared his throat self-consciously. "If we're going to be sharing personal stories, I suppose we ought to be introduced. I'm John Watson--Dr. John Watson. Your manufacturer's imprint says Sherlock, so I suppose I'll call you that?"
John raised his eyebrows tentatively, as though waiting for Sherlock's approval. Sherlock had never wished so badly for the ability to smile.
John leaned over suddenly and gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek. "Good night, Sherlock." Sherlock felt a thrill of shock go through him at the kiss. John smelled of beer and soap and a hint of gun oil.
Then John drew back the covers. He eased Sherlock under them, handling his nude silicone body as gently as if it belonged to a wounded patient. He got up and shucked off his trousers and shirt but not his underwear--Sherlock felt another thrill when he spotted the scar on his shoulder. Then John climbed tipsily into the other side of the bed and switched off the light.
They lay in silence, side by side. Sherlock listened as John's breathing slowed into sleep.
He wondered if he would get to hear what John dreamed, and if John would wake and pace about the flat. He wondered if John would kiss him good morning. He wondered if John would tell him about the bullet.
He also wondered if a silicone sex doll could ever have a heart built into its pert-nippled chest. Some sort of error on the part of the manufacturer. Stranger things had happened. And with that thought in mind, he fell asleep.
This is really surprisingly lovely, and it's hopeful, in a way. I was so pleased to see that you incorporated canon!Sherlock's characteristics into this other body -- he's still curious and still clever -- and I can't help believing that this Sherlock will still end up helping John heal.
Re: Quick fill (2b/2) (warnings for some discussion of suicidal thinking)pufftinJuly 13 2011, 02:22:28 UTC
Actually crying, bb. That was unexpectedly sad and beautiful and haunting at the same time. Funny, too tho: "Sherlock approved of the skull idea thoroughly" Hee.
Sherlock was surprised and pleased when John left him propped up on the bed. So he would be able to observe John, at least. That was something.
He was surprised again when John didn't initiate any masturbation activity. John sat heavily on the bed, his clothes still on, and sighed. He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at him.
"Pointless," John muttered under his breath, and left the room. Sherlock heard the front door shut and lock. John was gone.
Sherlock would have giggled aloud, if he were capable of it. He should be bored, sitting here alone, but his mind was racing. In his sex shop days, he had seen men who lived double (or triple) lives, men who didn't know they were gay (or straight, or submissive), men who loved pain and diapers and popping balloons--but John Watson was the most puzzling man he had ever seen.
When John returned, it was late and he had clearly had a few pints. Sherlock observed the way his limp went from debilitating to almost forgotten and back again.
"Really is ridiculous," John said. He chuckled. "Don't know why Ella thought it would help." He clambered onto the bed, still fully clothed, and sat on top of the covers to sit near Sherlock. Sherlock wondered if he was going to turn out the light to masturbate--that would be disappointing, not being able to see it--but John seemed to like looking him in the eye.
"You know, her first suggestion was to get a plant," John confided, and burst into drunken giggles. "I had to tell her I always killed plants. Always. Even cactuses...cacti. Then she said maybe a teddy bear or something--something with a face. As though I could tell my thoughts to a bloody teddy bear."
He appeared to sober a bit. "And my first idea was no better--I thought of getting a skull. You know, like Hamlet. To soli...sole...soliloquise to. Christ, I'm drunk." He passed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "I didn't mention the skull thing to Ella. She gives me this look whenever she thinks I'm thinking too much about death."
Sherlock approved of the skull idea thoroughly. Obviously "Ella" was John's therapist, and she thought John was borderline suicidal. Could she be right? Sherlock had seen the gun in John's desk drawer, the haunted look in his eyes. But he had also seen John's smile.
Ella had probably told John he needed something to talk to. Sherlock suspected another motive. If John had something to come home to, something that seemed to be watching him--well. He certainly couldn't put a gun to his head in front of Sherlock. Suddenly Sherlock was very glad John had bought him.
"Y'see, she said I needed something to talk to," John went on predictably. "Said it was obvious I didn't feel I could open up during our sessions. Said it would help me if I just sat by myself and talked about everything that happened to me." He let out a laugh that was close to a sob. "Nothing happens to me."
Yes, yes, you're drunk and feeling sorry for yourself, Sherlock thought, glowering at him. What I want to know is, where were you wounded if not in the leg? In school, did you specialise in battlefield medicine, or trauma, or surgery? Why did you nearly flinch when Mike shook your hand, and when that elderly lady bumped into you outside the flat? What do you see in your nightmares, John Watson?
And who have you lost that you think you can replace with a sex doll?
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Sherlock rather wanted to.
"And if I'm really lucky, I might just be able to get off with you. It's been a while. Well, it's been forever, really, if we're talking men. Not that I never--Er. Well." John cleared his throat self-consciously. "If we're going to be sharing personal stories, I suppose we ought to be introduced. I'm John Watson--Dr. John Watson. Your manufacturer's imprint says Sherlock, so I suppose I'll call you that?"
John raised his eyebrows tentatively, as though waiting for Sherlock's approval. Sherlock had never wished so badly for the ability to smile.
John leaned over suddenly and gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek. "Good night, Sherlock." Sherlock felt a thrill of shock go through him at the kiss. John smelled of beer and soap and a hint of gun oil.
Then John drew back the covers. He eased Sherlock under them, handling his nude silicone body as gently as if it belonged to a wounded patient. He got up and shucked off his trousers and shirt but not his underwear--Sherlock felt another thrill when he spotted the scar on his shoulder. Then John climbed tipsily into the other side of the bed and switched off the light.
They lay in silence, side by side. Sherlock listened as John's breathing slowed into sleep.
He wondered if he would get to hear what John dreamed, and if John would wake and pace about the flat. He wondered if John would kiss him good morning. He wondered if John would tell him about the bullet.
He also wondered if a silicone sex doll could ever have a heart built into its pert-nippled chest. Some sort of error on the part of the manufacturer. Stranger things had happened. And with that thought in mind, he fell asleep.
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this.... this is AMAZING!! =D
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And IDEK how you wrote something like that so clean!
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Thank you for writing this!
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*sniff*
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