Fic: The Spy Who Loved Me (14/14)
The Spy Who Loved Me
Rating: NC-17/M
Pairings: Sherlock/Victor Trevor; Sherlock/John
Warnings: ANGST! Character death. Drug abuse. Man-on-man explicit situations.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the property of ACD. The latest incarnation of Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I own nothing.
Summary: Sherlock's first love was a secret agent named Victor Trevor. He was sent away on a dangerous top secret mission and Sherlock swore to wait for him, even though the mission was expected to take several years.
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Chapter Fourteen
It is almost dark when Sherlock gets home and, in all honesty, John hadn’t expected him home at all. John had come home as soon as he could after giving the briefest of statements to the police, slipping past Sherlock unnoticed and fleeing to the safe haven of 221b. Since then he has made three cups of tea - remembering only halfway through that they’re still out of milk and giving up each time - and has been sitting in his chair, feeling just a little bit sorry for himself and determinedly trying not to imagine Sherlock and Victor having oh-God-you’re-still-alive (again) sex.
So when Sherlock walks through the door, John is surprised out of what has turned into a full-on self-pitying session. Sherlock looks him up and down, as if he can deduce exactly what John has been doing most of the afternoon, and slips out of his coat, laying it across the arm of the sofa. Neither of them says anything for several long moments and John can see Sherlock hesitating, unsure of what to say. John can’t hold it in anymore though so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I guess you’ll be moving out then?”
Sherlock gives him a bewildered look but doesn’t move from his spot on the other side of the living room.
“Why would I be moving out?”
“I know you like to ignore social convention when it pleases you, but don’t you think it’d be just a bit inappropriate for me, you, and Victor, to live here?!”
Sherlock still looks bewildered and John backtracks.
“Oh, do you want me to move out? Of course, yeah -”
“John.”
“I mean, it’ll be a bit of an arse, finding a new place and all -”
“John.”
John falls silent, eyes tracking Sherlock’s movement as he moves to kneel in front of John’s chair.
“I don’t want anyone to move out.”
John turns that over in his mind for a moment and then comes to a startling conclusion.
“Oh. Oh. I mean, I’m flattered, but I - I’m really not into the whole multiple partners thing.”
Sherlock clamps a hand over John's mouth and he’s smiling, trying not to laugh.
“John, shut up.”
John frowns, shifting away from Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock’s expression turns serious.
“John, Victor and I have decided to be friends. Nothing more.”
John can’t help it, he really can’t - he appears to have no control over his emotions, or his mouth, around Sherlock at the moment.
“Was that before or after you kissed him?”
Sherlock gives him a look of surprise and John sighs, slams his fist against the arm of the chair.
“Dammit, sorry. Moriarty showed me. Sorry, I -”
“John,” Sherlock murmurs, resting his hand hesitantly over John’s to get his attention, “Yes, I kissed Victor. And I’m sorry for it. But I think it made everything so much clearer.”
“How’s that?” John asks quietly, trying not to let the warmth of Sherlock’s hand over his affect him.
“You know I’m not exactly one for romance, John,” Sherlock starts and John can’t help his tiny smile, “But when I kissed Victor, all I could think about was you.”
John blinks once, twice, dumbfounded, and Sherlock smiles, brushing his thumb over the back of John’s hand.
“I love you, John,” Sherlock murmurs, leaning in a little closer, “I want you. Only you.”
“But you - Sherlock, you were in love with Victor for years. You waited for him all that time, and now he’s back.”
Sherlock regards him for a long moment, his thumb still brushing over John’s skin, before speaking up.
“I was twenty-two when I met Victor,” he says slowly, “He was the first man I’d ever been with. He was my first love.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” John asks quietly and Sherlock smiles, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. It’s a knowingly provocative gesture and John can’t help the rush of blood between his legs.
“I’m not twenty-two anymore.”
“I had noticed.”
“And I’m not the same person I was then. Not even the same person I was when Victor left.”
John feels ridiculous for the surge of hope and affection welling up in his chest with every word Sherlock speaks.
“Neither, unsurprisingly, is Victor.”
Sherlock pauses again, looking to the side with something like a sad smile.
“Part of me will always love Victor, I think, but we’re not the same people we were... and even if we were, there’s one rather large problem.”
“What’s that?” John asks breathlessly and Sherlock turns back to him with a soft smile.
“I’m in love with someone else.”
“Lucky bloke,” John breathes and Sherlock laughs, shifting his whole body forward until he can press his forehead to John’s.
“John,” he whispers, his hand settling at the back of John’s neck.
“Just... shut up, for once,” John gets out, before he tilts his head forward and kisses Sherlock.
The kiss quickly turns desperate, both of them moaning, John twisting his hands in Sherlock’s hair and tugging him closer. It's all adrenaline, need, relief. His kisses move to Sherlock’s neck and he is possessed with the sudden, overwhelming urge to mark that pale skin - even as he is surprised by his own possessiveness. Sherlock arches into his mouth and in one swift movement, John shoves him to the floor and covers Sherlock’s body with his own, his teeth scraping at Sherlock’s jaw.
“John,” Sherlock breathes, hands twisting in John’s jumper, “I thought I’d lost you.”
He doesn’t know if Sherlock means because of Victor or Moriarty but it doesn’t matter, because John is kissing him again, silencing him. Their hips are rocking together of their own accord and Sherlock moans underneath him, hands tugging until he can get his hands on the bare skin of John’s back.
John strips Sherlock, then himself, with hurried, frantic movements and then they are rocking together, Sherlock’s leg hooked around John’s hip.
“Fuck, Sherlock -”
“In the desk drawer.”
John pulls back for a brief second to regard Sherlock with surprise but then he is on his feet, rushing to the desk drawer and opening it to reveal a small tube of lubricant.
“Do I even want to know?”
“Does it matter?” Sherlock asks, propping himself up on his elbows to look at John and John shakes his head. He returns to his previous position and soon pins Sherlock’s wrists to the floor as he works one lubricated finger inside him, mouth sucking hard on the junction between neck and shoulder. Sherlock lets out a low keening noise and John hums in approval, adding another finger.
“John,” Sherlock groans, writhing against him, hands grasping at John helplessly, “John, come on. Please. I need you.”
John lets out his own moan and adds another finger, causing Sherlock to let out a gasp.
“John.”
It is a low whine now and John finally gives in, slipping his fingers free and sliding lubricant over himself. Sherlock grabs at him, pulling him closer and then, John is sinking home and their gazes lock.
“John,” Sherlock whispers, his tone and his expression filled with something like awe.
John closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and then starts to move. He tucks his forearms under Sherlock’s shoulders, holding him close, pressing his mouth to Sherlock’s neck.
“I love you.”
“John,” Sherlock moans again, “John. I love you.”
John can’t keep up his controlled rhythm for very long and he flicks his hips, driving himself into Sherlock even as Sherlock meets every thrust, arching into it, breathing a constant stream of John and oh God and I love you into John’s ear. And John doesn’t care if it takes a month, a year, a lifetime, he will erase the memory of Victor from Sherlock’s body, and from his heart. He will wipe away every trace, painful or otherwise, and replace it with his own name.
“I love you,” he moans into Sherlock’s skin as Sherlock comes apart underneath him, pulling John over the edge with him.
THE END
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Notes: I can't believe it's over! I have enjoyed writing this story so much and once again, I have to thank theimprobable1 for coming up with such an amazing prompt, as follows:
Sherlock's first and only lover was a secret agent named Victor Trevor. He was sent on a dangerous top secret mission abroad that required him to break contact with everyone he knew, including Sherlock. Sherlock swore to wait for him, even though the mission was expected to take several years, and he tells everyone he's "married to his work" to avoid further questions.
Then the news comes that Victor was killed. Sherlock is devastated, his whole world crumbles. Fortunately, he has John who helps him to gradually overcome his grief and eventually they become a couple.
Except Victor didn't actually die, and he comes back...
I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Until next time...
Rating: NC-17/M
Pairings: Sherlock/Victor Trevor; Sherlock/John
Warnings: ANGST! Character death. Drug abuse. Man-on-man explicit situations.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the property of ACD. The latest incarnation of Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I own nothing.
Summary: Sherlock's first love was a secret agent named Victor Trevor. He was sent away on a dangerous top secret mission and Sherlock swore to wait for him, even though the mission was expected to take several years.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Fourteen
It is almost dark when Sherlock gets home and, in all honesty, John hadn’t expected him home at all. John had come home as soon as he could after giving the briefest of statements to the police, slipping past Sherlock unnoticed and fleeing to the safe haven of 221b. Since then he has made three cups of tea - remembering only halfway through that they’re still out of milk and giving up each time - and has been sitting in his chair, feeling just a little bit sorry for himself and determinedly trying not to imagine Sherlock and Victor having oh-God-you’re-still-alive (again) sex.
So when Sherlock walks through the door, John is surprised out of what has turned into a full-on self-pitying session. Sherlock looks him up and down, as if he can deduce exactly what John has been doing most of the afternoon, and slips out of his coat, laying it across the arm of the sofa. Neither of them says anything for several long moments and John can see Sherlock hesitating, unsure of what to say. John can’t hold it in anymore though so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I guess you’ll be moving out then?”
Sherlock gives him a bewildered look but doesn’t move from his spot on the other side of the living room.
“Why would I be moving out?”
“I know you like to ignore social convention when it pleases you, but don’t you think it’d be just a bit inappropriate for me, you, and Victor, to live here?!”
Sherlock still looks bewildered and John backtracks.
“Oh, do you want me to move out? Of course, yeah -”
“John.”
“I mean, it’ll be a bit of an arse, finding a new place and all -”
“John.”
John falls silent, eyes tracking Sherlock’s movement as he moves to kneel in front of John’s chair.
“I don’t want anyone to move out.”
John turns that over in his mind for a moment and then comes to a startling conclusion.
“Oh. Oh. I mean, I’m flattered, but I - I’m really not into the whole multiple partners thing.”
Sherlock clamps a hand over John's mouth and he’s smiling, trying not to laugh.
“John, shut up.”
John frowns, shifting away from Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock’s expression turns serious.
“John, Victor and I have decided to be friends. Nothing more.”
John can’t help it, he really can’t - he appears to have no control over his emotions, or his mouth, around Sherlock at the moment.
“Was that before or after you kissed him?”
Sherlock gives him a look of surprise and John sighs, slams his fist against the arm of the chair.
“Dammit, sorry. Moriarty showed me. Sorry, I -”
“John,” Sherlock murmurs, resting his hand hesitantly over John’s to get his attention, “Yes, I kissed Victor. And I’m sorry for it. But I think it made everything so much clearer.”
“How’s that?” John asks quietly, trying not to let the warmth of Sherlock’s hand over his affect him.
“You know I’m not exactly one for romance, John,” Sherlock starts and John can’t help his tiny smile, “But when I kissed Victor, all I could think about was you.”
John blinks once, twice, dumbfounded, and Sherlock smiles, brushing his thumb over the back of John’s hand.
“I love you, John,” Sherlock murmurs, leaning in a little closer, “I want you. Only you.”
“But you - Sherlock, you were in love with Victor for years. You waited for him all that time, and now he’s back.”
Sherlock regards him for a long moment, his thumb still brushing over John’s skin, before speaking up.
“I was twenty-two when I met Victor,” he says slowly, “He was the first man I’d ever been with. He was my first love.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” John asks quietly and Sherlock smiles, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. It’s a knowingly provocative gesture and John can’t help the rush of blood between his legs.
“I’m not twenty-two anymore.”
“I had noticed.”
“And I’m not the same person I was then. Not even the same person I was when Victor left.”
John feels ridiculous for the surge of hope and affection welling up in his chest with every word Sherlock speaks.
“Neither, unsurprisingly, is Victor.”
Sherlock pauses again, looking to the side with something like a sad smile.
“Part of me will always love Victor, I think, but we’re not the same people we were... and even if we were, there’s one rather large problem.”
“What’s that?” John asks breathlessly and Sherlock turns back to him with a soft smile.
“I’m in love with someone else.”
“Lucky bloke,” John breathes and Sherlock laughs, shifting his whole body forward until he can press his forehead to John’s.
“John,” he whispers, his hand settling at the back of John’s neck.
“Just... shut up, for once,” John gets out, before he tilts his head forward and kisses Sherlock.
The kiss quickly turns desperate, both of them moaning, John twisting his hands in Sherlock’s hair and tugging him closer. It's all adrenaline, need, relief. His kisses move to Sherlock’s neck and he is possessed with the sudden, overwhelming urge to mark that pale skin - even as he is surprised by his own possessiveness. Sherlock arches into his mouth and in one swift movement, John shoves him to the floor and covers Sherlock’s body with his own, his teeth scraping at Sherlock’s jaw.
“John,” Sherlock breathes, hands twisting in John’s jumper, “I thought I’d lost you.”
He doesn’t know if Sherlock means because of Victor or Moriarty but it doesn’t matter, because John is kissing him again, silencing him. Their hips are rocking together of their own accord and Sherlock moans underneath him, hands tugging until he can get his hands on the bare skin of John’s back.
John strips Sherlock, then himself, with hurried, frantic movements and then they are rocking together, Sherlock’s leg hooked around John’s hip.
“Fuck, Sherlock -”
“In the desk drawer.”
John pulls back for a brief second to regard Sherlock with surprise but then he is on his feet, rushing to the desk drawer and opening it to reveal a small tube of lubricant.
“Do I even want to know?”
“Does it matter?” Sherlock asks, propping himself up on his elbows to look at John and John shakes his head. He returns to his previous position and soon pins Sherlock’s wrists to the floor as he works one lubricated finger inside him, mouth sucking hard on the junction between neck and shoulder. Sherlock lets out a low keening noise and John hums in approval, adding another finger.
“John,” Sherlock groans, writhing against him, hands grasping at John helplessly, “John, come on. Please. I need you.”
John lets out his own moan and adds another finger, causing Sherlock to let out a gasp.
“John.”
It is a low whine now and John finally gives in, slipping his fingers free and sliding lubricant over himself. Sherlock grabs at him, pulling him closer and then, John is sinking home and their gazes lock.
“John,” Sherlock whispers, his tone and his expression filled with something like awe.
John closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and then starts to move. He tucks his forearms under Sherlock’s shoulders, holding him close, pressing his mouth to Sherlock’s neck.
“I love you.”
“John,” Sherlock moans again, “John. I love you.”
John can’t keep up his controlled rhythm for very long and he flicks his hips, driving himself into Sherlock even as Sherlock meets every thrust, arching into it, breathing a constant stream of John and oh God and I love you into John’s ear. And John doesn’t care if it takes a month, a year, a lifetime, he will erase the memory of Victor from Sherlock’s body, and from his heart. He will wipe away every trace, painful or otherwise, and replace it with his own name.
“I love you,” he moans into Sherlock’s skin as Sherlock comes apart underneath him, pulling John over the edge with him.
THE END
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Notes: I can't believe it's over! I have enjoyed writing this story so much and once again, I have to thank theimprobable1 for coming up with such an amazing prompt, as follows:
Sherlock's first and only lover was a secret agent named Victor Trevor. He was sent on a dangerous top secret mission abroad that required him to break contact with everyone he knew, including Sherlock. Sherlock swore to wait for him, even though the mission was expected to take several years, and he tells everyone he's "married to his work" to avoid further questions.
Then the news comes that Victor was killed. Sherlock is devastated, his whole world crumbles. Fortunately, he has John who helps him to gradually overcome his grief and eventually they become a couple.
Except Victor didn't actually die, and he comes back...
I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Until next time...