Fic: Tangled
John isn’t entirely sure how this happened. It started with a windy day and lots of running about and he hadn’t really thought it would lead to this particular problem, never having had this particular issue himself. Sherlock’s hair - which has grown just a bit too long - is knotted. There are some nasty knots in the back and Sherlock is whining as he tries to tease them out. John has already suggested a brush but Sherlock just gave him a dirty look and continued in his mostly-useless attempts to smooth out his hair.
He moans again and dear God, he’s pouting.
“Oh for God’s sake!”
John gets to his feet and moves to the side of the chair Sherlock is sitting in. He grabs Sherlock’s hands and moves them aside and then gently, very gently, tackles the biggest knot. Sherlock stays completely still and John goes to work. He used to do this for Harry, back when she was about thirteen and had hair right down to her waist. He had been fascinated by her hair and had spent hours playing with it.
Sherlock lets out a little moan and John frowns, pausing in his movements.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” Sherlock says quietly.
John continues, threading fingers through hair (and really trying not to think about how soft it is, despite the knots).
“This is so girly,” John says because, well it is, and it makes him feel better.
Sherlock gives a pfft and John can practically sense his eye-roll.
“A soldier who’s not in touch with his feminine side. What a surprise.”
John decides to ignore that and continues to unknot Sherlock’s thick, dark hair. Sherlock lets out a little hum that makes John smile - and then he’s horrified because there’s something else going on, something below the surface. And now he can feel all that tension and all those words unspoken. So he does what any sensible man would do: he ignores it.
If his hands linger on Sherlock’s hair longer than necessary, way past there being any knots left, Sherlock doesn’t say anything on the matter. He just sits there, silent and still, occasionally moving into the movements of John’s fingers - which have somehow gone from untangling to massaging. Sherlock lets out another little hum and John wants nothing more than to tug upwards, tilt that face towards his and -
He quickly pulls away, stepping back and blinking. Sherlock doesn’t even glance in his direction (which he is infinitely glad of) and picks up his phone, flicking through it as John stands there in the middle of their living room, having something of a revelation.
THE END
He moans again and dear God, he’s pouting.
“Oh for God’s sake!”
John gets to his feet and moves to the side of the chair Sherlock is sitting in. He grabs Sherlock’s hands and moves them aside and then gently, very gently, tackles the biggest knot. Sherlock stays completely still and John goes to work. He used to do this for Harry, back when she was about thirteen and had hair right down to her waist. He had been fascinated by her hair and had spent hours playing with it.
Sherlock lets out a little moan and John frowns, pausing in his movements.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” Sherlock says quietly.
John continues, threading fingers through hair (and really trying not to think about how soft it is, despite the knots).
“This is so girly,” John says because, well it is, and it makes him feel better.
Sherlock gives a pfft and John can practically sense his eye-roll.
“A soldier who’s not in touch with his feminine side. What a surprise.”
John decides to ignore that and continues to unknot Sherlock’s thick, dark hair. Sherlock lets out a little hum that makes John smile - and then he’s horrified because there’s something else going on, something below the surface. And now he can feel all that tension and all those words unspoken. So he does what any sensible man would do: he ignores it.
If his hands linger on Sherlock’s hair longer than necessary, way past there being any knots left, Sherlock doesn’t say anything on the matter. He just sits there, silent and still, occasionally moving into the movements of John’s fingers - which have somehow gone from untangling to massaging. Sherlock lets out another little hum and John wants nothing more than to tug upwards, tilt that face towards his and -
He quickly pulls away, stepping back and blinking. Sherlock doesn’t even glance in his direction (which he is infinitely glad of) and picks up his phone, flicking through it as John stands there in the middle of their living room, having something of a revelation.
THE END