The Extremely Important Acquisition of Hugs
This was posted as a prompt that I randomly saw on sherlockbbc_fic and was hammered out in about half an hour, with interruptions and editing. Yay, I can function as a semi-reliably structured writer!
The prompt: Sherlock finds that, for whatever reason, he really likes hugs and craves them intensely. But he can't let people know that, it just wouldn't do.
So, with his genius brain at his disposal, he commences to try getting stealth hugs off of everyone.
---
I could go without sleep for days. Operate and experiment in my flat at 3AM on a winter's morning with broken heating, shirtsleeves rolled up. I could suppress my homeostatic urges like shivering, needing to drink and the need to eat easily.
Sex wasn't even part of the equation, either. It's so much easier to operate unfettered when you're asexual. And of course, the nicotine I receive though my patches helps with appetite repression too.
After all, I am but a great mind. All of the rest is just transport.
Or at least, I would be, if not for one particularly damning urge…
"Sherlock Holmes has always been a freak," they say. "He's just not good at forming relationships," I remember being the words of choice that my therapist used to enjoy bandying about to Mummy.
But tactile? Most definitely. The greatest of all of Sherlock Holme's vices, of the world's best consulting detective, is the need to be hugged, to give and receive warm embraces.
--------
There's a large possibility that the crime scene reported in the news this morning will result in a text or call in the next few hours. John isn't at work, and is extremely unlikely to be dashing off to something more interesting/dangerous (interchangeable in his case, it seems) and therefore can be relied on to accompany me to the scene. Judging by the media report, I'd reckon that it will be an outdoor crime scene. It'll be a slippery surface, and I can safely conclude that a trip or slip on my part wouldn't go noticed.
Sherlock slips on his coat and leaves 20 minutes later when the text arrives, with a smile quirking his lips that John can't quite decipher before it's gone again.
--
The concrete is indeed slippery, and Sherlock looks distracted as he crouches down beside the body. he straightens up again, way too fast for the long limbs to regain their balance, and he falls -oof- straight into the man (or, rather, flatmate) waiting behind him. John staggers and gently pushes Sherlock back into standing position. If that man didn't have him around.... He thinks.
It doesn't occur to John to ponder upon the short moment when Sherlock relaxed completely, fitting his arms around John way too snugly for mere balancing purposes.
Friday
As the stealth experiment concluded two days ago was a complete success, and I have also discovered that John's nurturing/protection instincts make him completely accustomed to embracing me in the name of necessity, I can safely say that avenue is open to more exploration. However, such out-of-character gracelessness will surely arouse suspicion if conducted so soon after and so regularly. Therefore, that avenue has been closed off for the time being.
Another situation that most human beings are happy to engage in uncharacteristically affectionate behaviour for is tradition- there are no major holidays coming up or any other days that stipulate hugging lanky detectives. Therefore, I will have to create one. This will require a greater deal of work- internet archive creating and the planting of several viral pieces of info- but will theoretically provide a greater pay-off, with longer lasting hugs and from more people.
That night whilst watching crap telly, neither John nor Mrs. Hudson question why Sherlock is so feverishly typing on his laptop in-between case, hunched on the armchair in the way that's usually reserved for Alan Carr chat-show reruns.
Tuesday
It's Thursday the 24th, which according to Molly is Hug-a-Detective-Day. John doesn't trust the slightly manic gleam in her eye and has no idea how he got the info. When Molly wheels toward Sherlock and clasps her arms round his tall frame, he only stiffens slightly.
Funny, John thinks. I never had Sherlock down as so sensitive to Molly's feelings.
Unfortunately for Sherlock, the whole of the office have apparently heard of this 'official' day. John almost pities him until he sees the look of apprehension on Sally Donovan's face and then envies him when he notices the vengeful and smug one in Sherlock's.
Second, more ambitious experiment was also a total success, with a large payload for comparatively little work - posting the link to a forum on cat-keeping that Molly frequents was paydirt. Said event will hopefully continue annually, with awareness also increasing without need for any extra effort. Unfortunately, said experiment in hug-acquisition cannot be repeated for a full year. If growing need for embrace and physical contact cannot be assuaged before primary experiment can be repeated, a third avenue must be explored. Apart from necessity and tradition, the only other reasons for hugs to be exchanged are for relationship barter (familial and otherwise) and comfort (physical or otherwise). Must explore.
--
Familial relations with Mycroft render him unusable in the exchange of embraces, and I rather suspect that this is indeed one habit that he hasn't cracked, judging by the obvious dearth of mocking correspondence relating to Friday and Tuesday's experiments.
Mrs. Hudson is currently spending much time with John, and he has already had his suspicions aroused by my recent behaviour, careful as it has been. The man is extremely observant where I am concerned. Note to self: Modify John's perception of social norms and society's views on platonic relationships. May be useful later.
Sherlock sees his chance for another necessity-related hug that will seem totally unplanned to the untrained eye when one of his (chemical, non hug-acquisition-related) experiments begins to fizz and give out generous amounts of heat, helpfully reminding Sherlock of the properties of the chemicals he's working with. It takes only a minor adjustment to the solution to achieve the effect he's looking for, and has less of an impact on his research than John moving the damn toes again.
Sure enough, when the small amounts of reactants have been used up there is a louder fizz, signalling Sherlock to position himself in the correct place as relating to John (who is blogging at the desk; as he predicted). Almost before he has a chance to steady himself, the contents of the beaker explode and Sherlock takes the opportunity to again wrap himself around John, 'protecting' him from the shrapnel. The chair is not so lucky and the pair go tumbling into the near wall, where John does some protecting of his own, an instinct born of his army days. Since John's in the dark about just how dangerous the beaker full of explosives was (there's enough smoke and the noise was loud to enough to fool him) the social awkwardness was avoided, but Sherlock feels uneasy even as he disentangles himself from the wall/floor. Has John guessed, or worse, jumped to the erring conclusions?
He resolves to go to other for hugs for the conceivable future.
--
It's only after a month or two of enthusiastically hugging Mrs. Hudson after her agreeing to fudge the rents without telling John so that he was paying closer to two-thirds rather than half and surprising a witness by comforting her after coldly extracting a testimony with a sudden change of heart that Sherlock realises what's wrong. Even though he is receiving these hugs more often than ever (he should have rationed them, he thinks) they aren't enough. Who would have thought that the person hugging and being hugged also played a factor in the enjoyment?
It's obvious that any more engineered stunts like the ones he's pulled will either land him without a flatmate and with a sexual harassment charge; or perhaps worse, with John discovering some latent bisexuality and attempting to come on to him, so Sherlock once again resigns himself to a long dry spell.
He's between cases and this combined with the realisation of his conundrum have him in a foul mood, so he's taken completely by surprise when John appears in the doorway at the end of that evening and holds his arms out without a word.
So he's not an idiot, after all, Sherlock thinks as he sinks into them.
The prompt: Sherlock finds that, for whatever reason, he really likes hugs and craves them intensely. But he can't let people know that, it just wouldn't do.
So, with his genius brain at his disposal, he commences to try getting stealth hugs off of everyone.
---
I could go without sleep for days. Operate and experiment in my flat at 3AM on a winter's morning with broken heating, shirtsleeves rolled up. I could suppress my homeostatic urges like shivering, needing to drink and the need to eat easily.
Sex wasn't even part of the equation, either. It's so much easier to operate unfettered when you're asexual. And of course, the nicotine I receive though my patches helps with appetite repression too.
After all, I am but a great mind. All of the rest is just transport.
Or at least, I would be, if not for one particularly damning urge…
"Sherlock Holmes has always been a freak," they say. "He's just not good at forming relationships," I remember being the words of choice that my therapist used to enjoy bandying about to Mummy.
But tactile? Most definitely. The greatest of all of Sherlock Holme's vices, of the world's best consulting detective, is the need to be hugged, to give and receive warm embraces.
--------
There's a large possibility that the crime scene reported in the news this morning will result in a text or call in the next few hours. John isn't at work, and is extremely unlikely to be dashing off to something more interesting/dangerous (interchangeable in his case, it seems) and therefore can be relied on to accompany me to the scene. Judging by the media report, I'd reckon that it will be an outdoor crime scene. It'll be a slippery surface, and I can safely conclude that a trip or slip on my part wouldn't go noticed.
Sherlock slips on his coat and leaves 20 minutes later when the text arrives, with a smile quirking his lips that John can't quite decipher before it's gone again.
--
The concrete is indeed slippery, and Sherlock looks distracted as he crouches down beside the body. he straightens up again, way too fast for the long limbs to regain their balance, and he falls -oof- straight into the man (or, rather, flatmate) waiting behind him. John staggers and gently pushes Sherlock back into standing position. If that man didn't have him around.... He thinks.
It doesn't occur to John to ponder upon the short moment when Sherlock relaxed completely, fitting his arms around John way too snugly for mere balancing purposes.
Friday
As the stealth experiment concluded two days ago was a complete success, and I have also discovered that John's nurturing/protection instincts make him completely accustomed to embracing me in the name of necessity, I can safely say that avenue is open to more exploration. However, such out-of-character gracelessness will surely arouse suspicion if conducted so soon after and so regularly. Therefore, that avenue has been closed off for the time being.
Another situation that most human beings are happy to engage in uncharacteristically affectionate behaviour for is tradition- there are no major holidays coming up or any other days that stipulate hugging lanky detectives. Therefore, I will have to create one. This will require a greater deal of work- internet archive creating and the planting of several viral pieces of info- but will theoretically provide a greater pay-off, with longer lasting hugs and from more people.
That night whilst watching crap telly, neither John nor Mrs. Hudson question why Sherlock is so feverishly typing on his laptop in-between case, hunched on the armchair in the way that's usually reserved for Alan Carr chat-show reruns.
Tuesday
It's Thursday the 24th, which according to Molly is Hug-a-Detective-Day. John doesn't trust the slightly manic gleam in her eye and has no idea how he got the info. When Molly wheels toward Sherlock and clasps her arms round his tall frame, he only stiffens slightly.
Funny, John thinks. I never had Sherlock down as so sensitive to Molly's feelings.
Unfortunately for Sherlock, the whole of the office have apparently heard of this 'official' day. John almost pities him until he sees the look of apprehension on Sally Donovan's face and then envies him when he notices the vengeful and smug one in Sherlock's.
Second, more ambitious experiment was also a total success, with a large payload for comparatively little work - posting the link to a forum on cat-keeping that Molly frequents was paydirt. Said event will hopefully continue annually, with awareness also increasing without need for any extra effort. Unfortunately, said experiment in hug-acquisition cannot be repeated for a full year. If growing need for embrace and physical contact cannot be assuaged before primary experiment can be repeated, a third avenue must be explored. Apart from necessity and tradition, the only other reasons for hugs to be exchanged are for relationship barter (familial and otherwise) and comfort (physical or otherwise). Must explore.
--
Familial relations with Mycroft render him unusable in the exchange of embraces, and I rather suspect that this is indeed one habit that he hasn't cracked, judging by the obvious dearth of mocking correspondence relating to Friday and Tuesday's experiments.
Mrs. Hudson is currently spending much time with John, and he has already had his suspicions aroused by my recent behaviour, careful as it has been. The man is extremely observant where I am concerned. Note to self: Modify John's perception of social norms and society's views on platonic relationships. May be useful later.
Sherlock sees his chance for another necessity-related hug that will seem totally unplanned to the untrained eye when one of his (chemical, non hug-acquisition-related) experiments begins to fizz and give out generous amounts of heat, helpfully reminding Sherlock of the properties of the chemicals he's working with. It takes only a minor adjustment to the solution to achieve the effect he's looking for, and has less of an impact on his research than John moving the damn toes again.
Sure enough, when the small amounts of reactants have been used up there is a louder fizz, signalling Sherlock to position himself in the correct place as relating to John (who is blogging at the desk; as he predicted). Almost before he has a chance to steady himself, the contents of the beaker explode and Sherlock takes the opportunity to again wrap himself around John, 'protecting' him from the shrapnel. The chair is not so lucky and the pair go tumbling into the near wall, where John does some protecting of his own, an instinct born of his army days. Since John's in the dark about just how dangerous the beaker full of explosives was (there's enough smoke and the noise was loud to enough to fool him) the social awkwardness was avoided, but Sherlock feels uneasy even as he disentangles himself from the wall/floor. Has John guessed, or worse, jumped to the erring conclusions?
He resolves to go to other for hugs for the conceivable future.
--
It's only after a month or two of enthusiastically hugging Mrs. Hudson after her agreeing to fudge the rents without telling John so that he was paying closer to two-thirds rather than half and surprising a witness by comforting her after coldly extracting a testimony with a sudden change of heart that Sherlock realises what's wrong. Even though he is receiving these hugs more often than ever (he should have rationed them, he thinks) they aren't enough. Who would have thought that the person hugging and being hugged also played a factor in the enjoyment?
It's obvious that any more engineered stunts like the ones he's pulled will either land him without a flatmate and with a sexual harassment charge; or perhaps worse, with John discovering some latent bisexuality and attempting to come on to him, so Sherlock once again resigns himself to a long dry spell.
He's between cases and this combined with the realisation of his conundrum have him in a foul mood, so he's taken completely by surprise when John appears in the doorway at the end of that evening and holds his arms out without a word.
So he's not an idiot, after all, Sherlock thinks as he sinks into them.