Fic: Rectification
Rectification
Rating: NC-17/M to be safe
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John, Irene Adler
Warnings: M/M sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: SPOILERS FOR S2E1 (A Scandal in Belgravia)
Summary: A slightly altered/extended ending to ASiB.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"When I say 'run', run."
Sherlock whirls round, raises the sword, and he's off. Irene bows her head, letting out an audible sigh of relief.
"We're not out of this yet."
Her head whips up at the sound of John's voice and he takes his place beside her once more, handing her back her phone. She is visibly shocked and opens her mouth to say something, but John's attention is drawn back to the fight and the insurgent Sherlock hasn't spotted behind him. He manages to locate his gun under the voluminous shirt and whips it out, lining up the shot and taking out the insurgent in seconds. Sherlock glances his way, nods, and finally takes down the man he is fighting.
Irene is getting unsteadily to her feet and John reaches out a hand to steady her, giving her a once-over.
"You alright?" he asks, "Near-beheading aside."
"Fine."
Sherlock joins them a moment later, unwinding the turban from his head.
"Time to go."
-----------------
"Ow!" Sherlock complains as John finishes stitching up the cut on his upper arm. He is perched on the toilet in the laughably small bathroom attached to their hotel room.
"Stop complaining. You could have gotten much worse. We could’ve all been bloody beheaded."
"You're angry with me."
John sighs and straightens, turning to the sink to wash his hands. Sherlock slides his arm back into his sleeve and pulls his shirt around him.
"No, no I... You know what, yeah. I'm angry with you."
"This is about Irene," Sherlock says in a low voice, watching his friend. John sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"You don't even see it, do you? The power she has over you. Enough to drag you halfway across the world because she's got herself into trouble she can't flirt her way out of!"
"Jealous, John?"
"Don't you start!"
"Start what?"
"Forget it." John turns to face his friend, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest. "Is this it now, Sherlock? Can you put it behind you? Put her out of your life?"
Sherlock regards him for a long time without saying anything, and then his mouth quirks into a small smile as he rises to his feet.
"You're an idiot."
There is a pause, and it's obvious from John's expression that he wasn't expecting that.
"Yeah," he finally says, "Yeah, I suppose I am. Stupid enough to follow you to bloody Pakistan and help rescue a woman I don't particularly like-"
John had turned away, bracing himself against the sink as he spoke, but Sherlock's hand on his arm cuts him off.
"You're an idiot," Sherlock repeats, taking hold of John's other arm as well and forcing him to turn to face him again. John opens his mouth to retort but freezes when Sherlock raises a hand to his jaw, fingers ghosting over his skin. There is something in his eyes, something John has rarely seen - something like hesitance - but it is gone a moment later and a beat after that Sherlock dips his head and presses his lips to John's.
John huffs out a breath in surprise but it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to gather his wits and slide a hand into Sherlock's hair, tugging him closer and laughing into the kiss. Of course.
"A complete idiot," he murmurs against Sherlock's mouth when he gets the chance.
"Glad you agree," Sherlock whispers, cupping John's face in his hands and kissing him again.
Oh God, he's kissing Sherlock and he wants to laugh at himself, laugh at them both, because everyone else saw it. Hell, maybe Sherlock saw it too. But John didn't want to see it, was content to cling to his heterosexuality like a security blanket. Pointless, all of it, because all it's taken is one kiss to unravel him. It shouldn't feel this natural, surely, to be kissing another man. To be pressing close and thinking about beds and far less clothing and -
He breaks away from Sherlock, breathless.
"I've never-"
He stops himself almost immediately when he remembers who he's talking to. Sherlock smiles, one hand drifting down John's back.
"I think I can trump whatever you're going to say."
"God, yeah," John breathes, and forces himself back another inch. His heart is pounding and, embarrassingly, he's half-hard already. He doesn't know the extent of Sherlock's experience but if that kiss was anything to go by, Sherlock's not completely inexperienced. Nevertheless, he feels like they might both be in a bit over their heads.
"We should, err, take a breather," he suggests, even though he'd like nothing more than to kiss Sherlock again, "Calm down."
Sherlock looks him over, his eyes lingering on John's trousers for a moment longer than necessary and John shifts uncomfortably, though he's sure Sherlock could probably easily point out another five indicators of his arousal.
"That would be the sensible thing to do, I suppose," Sherlock says finally, but there is a gleam in his eyes, one John knows too well. He takes a step back and some of the tension leaves John's body, only to return twofold when Sherlock shrugs out of his shirt and lets it fall to the floor at his feet.
John has seen Sherlock in varying states of undress before, numerous times (not least that one time at the Palace), but he's unprepared for the visceral, aching want that floods him now. His fingers are itching to touch and when Sherlock moves back towards him, he gives in, pulling the other man towards him. His hands smooth over those long arms and and skim down his back to settle just above his waistband. He presses his mouth to the side of Sherlock's neck and Sherlock's breath hitches in an incredibly satisfying way as he leans into John’s touch.
“We’ve never been particularly sensible,” Sherlock comments, dragging John’s mouth back to his. John moans into the kiss and presses himself harder against Sherlock.
“You’ll be the death of me,” John whispers when Sherlock pulls away to press his lips against John’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.
“That would be a shame,” Sherlock replies, his teeth brushing against John’s neck and drawing a gasp from him.
“You’re really too good at this, for a- a-”
“Virgin, John. It’s okay, you can say it. I’m not ashamed.”
Sherlock has somehow insinuated a hand under John’s shirt and John is losing what little control he has left.
“In fact, I plan to rectify the situation as soon as possible.”
The implication makes John moan and suddenly, he’s gone from half-hard to completely hard and he has no idea what he’s doing but he needs more.
“Bed,” he almost growls and Sherlock’s eyes widen a fraction, before he breaks into a somewhat smug smile.
John follows Sherlock out into the main room, a hand at his back, but almost collides with him when Sherlock comes to an abrupt halt.
“Hello boys. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
John rolls his eyes as soon he hears Irene’s voice and slips into a chair to hopefully avoid any comments about his current state of arousal. Sherlock says nothing, but raises an inquisitive eyebrow at her where she is lounging on the room’s sofa.
“I brought you this,” she says, rising to her feet and holding a large manila envelope out towards Sherlock, “It’s everything I have on Moriarty.”
John’s eyes go wide but Sherlock accepts the envelope without comment.
“I have to go now.”
“He’ll find you,” Sherlock states with certainty.
“No doubt,” Irene says with a wry smile, and after a pause, “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life. Both of you.”
Sherlock says nothing and John does not miss the small waver in Irene’s expression before she forces a smile.
“Goodbye, Dr Watson, Mr Holmes.”
“Goodbye, Miss Adler,” Sherlock replies, his attention already turning to the envelope as he turns from her. She shares a look with John and then she is gone. Sherlock throws the envelope onto the table beside John and fixes him with a hungry look.
“Where were we?”
---------------------------
There is something almost fierce in the way Sherlock tackles John to the bed and it takes John’s breath away for a second. His shirt is rucked up somewhere around his chest and he manages to pull away for just long enough to get it over his head, before Sherlock is kissing him again, tongue delving into his mouth. John groans and tugs the other man closer and the touch of skin against skin is almost too good. He drags his hands down Sherlock’s back and grabs his arse, fingers clenching instinctively. Sherlock lets out a shaky breath and then his mouth is on John’s collarbone, skimming down over his chest, the bottom of his ribs.
“Oh God,” John whispers, breaking into an involuntary laugh, “I hope you know what we’re doing, because I really don’t.”
“So you’re leaving all the decisions to the virgin,” Sherlock breathes into his skin, “Is that wise?”
“I trust you.”
“Is that wise?”
They both laugh then and some of the nervous tension seeps away, replaced by an almost comfortable kind of anticipation.
“Come here,” John urges and Sherlock complies, sliding back up his body in a way that is completely at odds with his inexperience. John cups his face in his hands for a moment, just looking at him, at this face he knows so well. I love you, he thinks and is stunned by the thought. He shakes it away and traces a thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Second thoughts?” Sherlock asks with a tilt of the head.
“No. No. I just, there must be a reason you’ve never done this.”
“Will it make you feel special if I say I never found the right person?”
“Is that the truth?”
“Mostly.”
“And the rest?”
“I didn’t want to lower myself to the same level as the mindless masses.”
John laughs and pulls Sherlock down into another kiss. He can feel the evidence of Sherlock’s own arousal against his thigh and he should probably be freaking out about now, shouldn’t he? He’s not though; he is nervous, uncertain, unsure of Sherlock’s feelings for him - but all he can think about is touching Sherlock, tasting him, making him abandon that cool control. With that intoxicating thought on his mind, he summons all his courage and slides his hands to the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock moans against him and deepens the kiss as John forces the trousers down, hands brushing over Sherlock’s thighs.
Suddenly galvanised into action, Sherlock pulls away, tugging at his own trousers and dragging them off, followed soon after by his boxers. John has pushed himself up on his elbows to watch but he feels they might give way now at the sight of Sherlock. Sherlock kneels in front of him for a moment longer and then gives him a hungry look.
“Too many clothes,” he says, with a pointed look at John’s lower half.
John strips in less than thirty seconds, unselfconscious even despite his uncertainty, and watches with hooded eyes as Sherlock settles next to him and drags a hand over his bare thigh. There is a flash of hesitance in Sherlock’s expression again, but then they share a look, a nod, and suddenly Sherlock is touching him.
“Oh God.”
Sherlock buries his face in John’s neck, kisses the tendon as his hand moves slowly.
“Help me, John. I want - please.”
John covers Sherlock’s hand with his own and lets out a low moan. With his free hand, he coaxes Sherlock’s head up and kisses him hungrily. He really isn’t going to last long, which is a little ironic considering he’s not the virgin here, but with Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped around him and Sherlock’s tongue teasing his, he’s close. He pulls away to take several calming breaths, his mouth pressed to Sherlock’s temple.
“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” he murmurs, groaning as Sherlock twists his fingers just so. “Oh fuck!”
“I have masturbated, John. It’s really not that different.”
And the thought of Sherlock touching himself is inexplicably what finally pushes John over the edge and he’s coming, moaning deep in his throat and crushing his mouth to Sherlock’s.
When John manages to pull himself back together, Sherlock is watching him with a knowing look.
“Interesting.”
John doesn’t even bother to question it, moves instead - surges up and forces Sherlock onto his back. He kisses him, hard, and trails a hand down to Sherlock’s cock. He supposes it isn’t that different to touching himself, and yet it really is. Sherlock is hot and hard in his hand and Sherlock’s whole body jerks with his first touch. Desperate now to see Sherlock unravel, John tears himself away from Sherlock’s mouth and slides down until his mouth is level with Sherlock’s groin. He glances back up and Sherlock is watching him, pupils blown wide with desire and some surprise.
“Are you okay with this?” John asks.
Sherlock swallows hard and nods. He’s trembling - almost imperceptibly - and John lays a steadying hand on his stomach. John takes a deep breath and forces his nervousness away, before dipping his head and taking Sherlock into his mouth. Sherlock gasps his name and bucks helplessly towards him, only restrained by John’s hand on him. John does his best to replicate the movements and actions he only knows from the other side of this act and he must be doing something right because Sherlock’s trembling even harder than before and his breathing is frantic.
“John. John.”
Sherlock’s hand alights on his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.
“John, I’m - oh God - I’m going to -”
John heeds the warning and pulls back just as Sherlock comes, his head thrown back in abandon, one arm thrown across his eyes. He is stunning.
Sherlock doesn’t move for a long time and John moves up the bed, stretching out beside him.
“Sherlock, you okay? I didn’t break you, did I?” he asks with a smile, touching the arm flung across Sherlock’s face.
“I’m okay,” Sherlock says, his voice wavering just slightly as he moves his arm away, his eyes closed tightly.
“It’s okay to be a bit overwhelmed.”
“I’m fine,” Sherlock asserts forcefully, but he finally opens his eyes and gives John a somewhat shy smile.
------------------
They doze for a while, but John can’t sleep properly, not until he has gotten an explanation.
“Sherlock?”
“Hmm?” Sherlock asks, cracking one eye open. He is sprawled on his front beside John, head nestled in his crossed arms.
“What are we doing here?”
“I might be mistaken, but I believe it’s called a relationship, John.”
John rolls his eyes and slaps Sherlock lightly around the back of the head.
“I mean here in Karachi. Saving Irene.”
“By saving Irene, she owed me a favour. And there’s only one thing I wanted from her.”
“Information about Moriarty.”
“Exactly,” Sherlock says, moving onto his side to face John, “I will stop him, John, if it kills me.”
“Yeah,” John replies with absolute certainty, “You will.”
THE END
Rating: NC-17/M to be safe
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John, Irene Adler
Warnings: M/M sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: SPOILERS FOR S2E1 (A Scandal in Belgravia)
Summary: A slightly altered/extended ending to ASiB.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"When I say 'run', run."
Sherlock whirls round, raises the sword, and he's off. Irene bows her head, letting out an audible sigh of relief.
"We're not out of this yet."
Her head whips up at the sound of John's voice and he takes his place beside her once more, handing her back her phone. She is visibly shocked and opens her mouth to say something, but John's attention is drawn back to the fight and the insurgent Sherlock hasn't spotted behind him. He manages to locate his gun under the voluminous shirt and whips it out, lining up the shot and taking out the insurgent in seconds. Sherlock glances his way, nods, and finally takes down the man he is fighting.
Irene is getting unsteadily to her feet and John reaches out a hand to steady her, giving her a once-over.
"You alright?" he asks, "Near-beheading aside."
"Fine."
Sherlock joins them a moment later, unwinding the turban from his head.
"Time to go."
-----------------
"Ow!" Sherlock complains as John finishes stitching up the cut on his upper arm. He is perched on the toilet in the laughably small bathroom attached to their hotel room.
"Stop complaining. You could have gotten much worse. We could’ve all been bloody beheaded."
"You're angry with me."
John sighs and straightens, turning to the sink to wash his hands. Sherlock slides his arm back into his sleeve and pulls his shirt around him.
"No, no I... You know what, yeah. I'm angry with you."
"This is about Irene," Sherlock says in a low voice, watching his friend. John sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"You don't even see it, do you? The power she has over you. Enough to drag you halfway across the world because she's got herself into trouble she can't flirt her way out of!"
"Jealous, John?"
"Don't you start!"
"Start what?"
"Forget it." John turns to face his friend, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest. "Is this it now, Sherlock? Can you put it behind you? Put her out of your life?"
Sherlock regards him for a long time without saying anything, and then his mouth quirks into a small smile as he rises to his feet.
"You're an idiot."
There is a pause, and it's obvious from John's expression that he wasn't expecting that.
"Yeah," he finally says, "Yeah, I suppose I am. Stupid enough to follow you to bloody Pakistan and help rescue a woman I don't particularly like-"
John had turned away, bracing himself against the sink as he spoke, but Sherlock's hand on his arm cuts him off.
"You're an idiot," Sherlock repeats, taking hold of John's other arm as well and forcing him to turn to face him again. John opens his mouth to retort but freezes when Sherlock raises a hand to his jaw, fingers ghosting over his skin. There is something in his eyes, something John has rarely seen - something like hesitance - but it is gone a moment later and a beat after that Sherlock dips his head and presses his lips to John's.
John huffs out a breath in surprise but it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to gather his wits and slide a hand into Sherlock's hair, tugging him closer and laughing into the kiss. Of course.
"A complete idiot," he murmurs against Sherlock's mouth when he gets the chance.
"Glad you agree," Sherlock whispers, cupping John's face in his hands and kissing him again.
Oh God, he's kissing Sherlock and he wants to laugh at himself, laugh at them both, because everyone else saw it. Hell, maybe Sherlock saw it too. But John didn't want to see it, was content to cling to his heterosexuality like a security blanket. Pointless, all of it, because all it's taken is one kiss to unravel him. It shouldn't feel this natural, surely, to be kissing another man. To be pressing close and thinking about beds and far less clothing and -
He breaks away from Sherlock, breathless.
"I've never-"
He stops himself almost immediately when he remembers who he's talking to. Sherlock smiles, one hand drifting down John's back.
"I think I can trump whatever you're going to say."
"God, yeah," John breathes, and forces himself back another inch. His heart is pounding and, embarrassingly, he's half-hard already. He doesn't know the extent of Sherlock's experience but if that kiss was anything to go by, Sherlock's not completely inexperienced. Nevertheless, he feels like they might both be in a bit over their heads.
"We should, err, take a breather," he suggests, even though he'd like nothing more than to kiss Sherlock again, "Calm down."
Sherlock looks him over, his eyes lingering on John's trousers for a moment longer than necessary and John shifts uncomfortably, though he's sure Sherlock could probably easily point out another five indicators of his arousal.
"That would be the sensible thing to do, I suppose," Sherlock says finally, but there is a gleam in his eyes, one John knows too well. He takes a step back and some of the tension leaves John's body, only to return twofold when Sherlock shrugs out of his shirt and lets it fall to the floor at his feet.
John has seen Sherlock in varying states of undress before, numerous times (not least that one time at the Palace), but he's unprepared for the visceral, aching want that floods him now. His fingers are itching to touch and when Sherlock moves back towards him, he gives in, pulling the other man towards him. His hands smooth over those long arms and and skim down his back to settle just above his waistband. He presses his mouth to the side of Sherlock's neck and Sherlock's breath hitches in an incredibly satisfying way as he leans into John’s touch.
“We’ve never been particularly sensible,” Sherlock comments, dragging John’s mouth back to his. John moans into the kiss and presses himself harder against Sherlock.
“You’ll be the death of me,” John whispers when Sherlock pulls away to press his lips against John’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.
“That would be a shame,” Sherlock replies, his teeth brushing against John’s neck and drawing a gasp from him.
“You’re really too good at this, for a- a-”
“Virgin, John. It’s okay, you can say it. I’m not ashamed.”
Sherlock has somehow insinuated a hand under John’s shirt and John is losing what little control he has left.
“In fact, I plan to rectify the situation as soon as possible.”
The implication makes John moan and suddenly, he’s gone from half-hard to completely hard and he has no idea what he’s doing but he needs more.
“Bed,” he almost growls and Sherlock’s eyes widen a fraction, before he breaks into a somewhat smug smile.
John follows Sherlock out into the main room, a hand at his back, but almost collides with him when Sherlock comes to an abrupt halt.
“Hello boys. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
John rolls his eyes as soon he hears Irene’s voice and slips into a chair to hopefully avoid any comments about his current state of arousal. Sherlock says nothing, but raises an inquisitive eyebrow at her where she is lounging on the room’s sofa.
“I brought you this,” she says, rising to her feet and holding a large manila envelope out towards Sherlock, “It’s everything I have on Moriarty.”
John’s eyes go wide but Sherlock accepts the envelope without comment.
“I have to go now.”
“He’ll find you,” Sherlock states with certainty.
“No doubt,” Irene says with a wry smile, and after a pause, “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life. Both of you.”
Sherlock says nothing and John does not miss the small waver in Irene’s expression before she forces a smile.
“Goodbye, Dr Watson, Mr Holmes.”
“Goodbye, Miss Adler,” Sherlock replies, his attention already turning to the envelope as he turns from her. She shares a look with John and then she is gone. Sherlock throws the envelope onto the table beside John and fixes him with a hungry look.
“Where were we?”
---------------------------
There is something almost fierce in the way Sherlock tackles John to the bed and it takes John’s breath away for a second. His shirt is rucked up somewhere around his chest and he manages to pull away for just long enough to get it over his head, before Sherlock is kissing him again, tongue delving into his mouth. John groans and tugs the other man closer and the touch of skin against skin is almost too good. He drags his hands down Sherlock’s back and grabs his arse, fingers clenching instinctively. Sherlock lets out a shaky breath and then his mouth is on John’s collarbone, skimming down over his chest, the bottom of his ribs.
“Oh God,” John whispers, breaking into an involuntary laugh, “I hope you know what we’re doing, because I really don’t.”
“So you’re leaving all the decisions to the virgin,” Sherlock breathes into his skin, “Is that wise?”
“I trust you.”
“Is that wise?”
They both laugh then and some of the nervous tension seeps away, replaced by an almost comfortable kind of anticipation.
“Come here,” John urges and Sherlock complies, sliding back up his body in a way that is completely at odds with his inexperience. John cups his face in his hands for a moment, just looking at him, at this face he knows so well. I love you, he thinks and is stunned by the thought. He shakes it away and traces a thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Second thoughts?” Sherlock asks with a tilt of the head.
“No. No. I just, there must be a reason you’ve never done this.”
“Will it make you feel special if I say I never found the right person?”
“Is that the truth?”
“Mostly.”
“And the rest?”
“I didn’t want to lower myself to the same level as the mindless masses.”
John laughs and pulls Sherlock down into another kiss. He can feel the evidence of Sherlock’s own arousal against his thigh and he should probably be freaking out about now, shouldn’t he? He’s not though; he is nervous, uncertain, unsure of Sherlock’s feelings for him - but all he can think about is touching Sherlock, tasting him, making him abandon that cool control. With that intoxicating thought on his mind, he summons all his courage and slides his hands to the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock moans against him and deepens the kiss as John forces the trousers down, hands brushing over Sherlock’s thighs.
Suddenly galvanised into action, Sherlock pulls away, tugging at his own trousers and dragging them off, followed soon after by his boxers. John has pushed himself up on his elbows to watch but he feels they might give way now at the sight of Sherlock. Sherlock kneels in front of him for a moment longer and then gives him a hungry look.
“Too many clothes,” he says, with a pointed look at John’s lower half.
John strips in less than thirty seconds, unselfconscious even despite his uncertainty, and watches with hooded eyes as Sherlock settles next to him and drags a hand over his bare thigh. There is a flash of hesitance in Sherlock’s expression again, but then they share a look, a nod, and suddenly Sherlock is touching him.
“Oh God.”
Sherlock buries his face in John’s neck, kisses the tendon as his hand moves slowly.
“Help me, John. I want - please.”
John covers Sherlock’s hand with his own and lets out a low moan. With his free hand, he coaxes Sherlock’s head up and kisses him hungrily. He really isn’t going to last long, which is a little ironic considering he’s not the virgin here, but with Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped around him and Sherlock’s tongue teasing his, he’s close. He pulls away to take several calming breaths, his mouth pressed to Sherlock’s temple.
“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” he murmurs, groaning as Sherlock twists his fingers just so. “Oh fuck!”
“I have masturbated, John. It’s really not that different.”
And the thought of Sherlock touching himself is inexplicably what finally pushes John over the edge and he’s coming, moaning deep in his throat and crushing his mouth to Sherlock’s.
When John manages to pull himself back together, Sherlock is watching him with a knowing look.
“Interesting.”
John doesn’t even bother to question it, moves instead - surges up and forces Sherlock onto his back. He kisses him, hard, and trails a hand down to Sherlock’s cock. He supposes it isn’t that different to touching himself, and yet it really is. Sherlock is hot and hard in his hand and Sherlock’s whole body jerks with his first touch. Desperate now to see Sherlock unravel, John tears himself away from Sherlock’s mouth and slides down until his mouth is level with Sherlock’s groin. He glances back up and Sherlock is watching him, pupils blown wide with desire and some surprise.
“Are you okay with this?” John asks.
Sherlock swallows hard and nods. He’s trembling - almost imperceptibly - and John lays a steadying hand on his stomach. John takes a deep breath and forces his nervousness away, before dipping his head and taking Sherlock into his mouth. Sherlock gasps his name and bucks helplessly towards him, only restrained by John’s hand on him. John does his best to replicate the movements and actions he only knows from the other side of this act and he must be doing something right because Sherlock’s trembling even harder than before and his breathing is frantic.
“John. John.”
Sherlock’s hand alights on his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.
“John, I’m - oh God - I’m going to -”
John heeds the warning and pulls back just as Sherlock comes, his head thrown back in abandon, one arm thrown across his eyes. He is stunning.
Sherlock doesn’t move for a long time and John moves up the bed, stretching out beside him.
“Sherlock, you okay? I didn’t break you, did I?” he asks with a smile, touching the arm flung across Sherlock’s face.
“I’m okay,” Sherlock says, his voice wavering just slightly as he moves his arm away, his eyes closed tightly.
“It’s okay to be a bit overwhelmed.”
“I’m fine,” Sherlock asserts forcefully, but he finally opens his eyes and gives John a somewhat shy smile.
------------------
They doze for a while, but John can’t sleep properly, not until he has gotten an explanation.
“Sherlock?”
“Hmm?” Sherlock asks, cracking one eye open. He is sprawled on his front beside John, head nestled in his crossed arms.
“What are we doing here?”
“I might be mistaken, but I believe it’s called a relationship, John.”
John rolls his eyes and slaps Sherlock lightly around the back of the head.
“I mean here in Karachi. Saving Irene.”
“By saving Irene, she owed me a favour. And there’s only one thing I wanted from her.”
“Information about Moriarty.”
“Exactly,” Sherlock says, moving onto his side to face John, “I will stop him, John, if it kills me.”
“Yeah,” John replies with absolute certainty, “You will.”
THE END