Sherlock/Firefly Fic: Can't Help Pushing Buttons
Title: Can't Help Pushing Buttons
Fandom: Sherlock and Firefly
Pairings: Sherlock/John, Zoe/Wash, implied past Zoe/John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~500
Notes: Note: This story is ostensibly in the same universe as These Tornadoes Are For You, but all you really need to know here is that Sherlock is a registered Companion, and Zoe and John are old war buddies. Written for Fandom Stocking 2013 for Rockpaperlightning.
Summary: Sherlock wants John to continue his friendly association with Zoe, but that depends on her husband coming to a certain understanding.
John’s sudden laugh started Sherlock out of his reverie. He looked up from his Cortex link, where he’d been sorting through appointment requests for their next stop, to take stock of the the common room. John still sat at the table, where he’d been for three-quarters of an hour. The captain’s second-in-command set across from him, chuckling silently, presumably at whatever had made John laugh. Reminiscing about their past together, Sherlock imagined.
John had little enough contact with people from that time of his life. Sherlock thought it wise to allow the strengthening of this association with Zoe; John habitually displayed more indicators of contentment after social contact with old friends. Despite the fact of the long-ago sexual liaison, Sherlock felt no threat from this woman. Not only was this woman now married and highly unlikely, Sherlock had judged, to engage in infidelity, but Sherlock felt more than confident enough in his sexual prowess to win John back from any rival.
Satisfied that John was occupying himself profitably, Sherlock moved to return his attention to the Cortex when he saw the ship’s pilot, Zoe’s husband, standing just outside the room’s doorway. Wash was observing the same scene Sherlock had just analyzed, but he seemed, with his inevitably inferior powers of deduction, to have come to different conclusions. A deep scowl marked his face, and his dark look towards John spoke of ill wishes.
Looking between Wash and the pair chatting away at the table, an idea began to form in Sherlock’s head: one that would allay Wash’s concerns about his wife’s affections and allow John to continue to benefit from his association with Zoe.
Sherlock switched off the station he’d been using, swiped a half-full mug from the table, and ambled over to the door, as if on his way out. He drew level with Wash and stopped just inside his personal space. “I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, and waited for Wash to tear his eyes away from the scene before him to glance at Sherlock, “thank you for the smooth flight.”
“Ship does most of the work. I just point it in the right direction.” Wash cocked his head to the side. “Actually, I do most of the work.”
Sherlock leaned closer, allowing the length of his arm to come into contact with Wash’s back as he spoke softly in Wash’s ear. “I’m looking forward to our next stop. Life on a ship can be so… confining, don’t you think?”
“It certainly puts people in close proximity. Really close.” Wash had returned his attention to the table. He didn’t notice when Sherlock deliberately undid two extra buttons on his shirt, displaying a stretch of pale skin a client had once told him looked “as indecent as a Shepherd running a whorehouse.”
“I know what you mean,” Sherlock whispered. He angled his body behind Wash and inward, to give the maximum appearance of intimacy. His efforts seemed to be making an impression on Zoe. Twice in ten seconds she’d glanced away from John’s animated retelling of a story-probably the one about the barber on Xenon, he loved that story-to look at Wash. Time to up the ante.
“Pardon me,” Sherlock whispered in Wash’s ear. “You seem to have something on your flight suit.” He dragged a hand down the front of Wash’s chest, ostensibly wiping away an imagined stain.
At that, Zoe pushed her chair back with a loud scrape. She stalked across the common room and through the doorway. Without so much as looking at Sherlock, she cut past him, all but shouldering him out of the way to take her place at Wash’s side. “Honey,” she said in a velvet purr. “I need you in my bunk. Right now.”
Zoe curled her fingers into Wash’s shirt collar. She spared a single, withering glare for Sherlock before leading a highly-willing Wash away to their quarters.
John appeared behind Sherlock, wearing a puzzled frown. “What was all that about?”
“I can safely say Zoe might not like me, but I believe I’ve cleared up her husband’s objections to your continued association.”
“Great…” John looked between the retreating couple and Sherlock. “Do I want to know how?”
“Probably not.”
“Well.” John leaned against the bulkhead, and offered Sherlock an inviting grin. “If you’re not going to launch into some convoluted explanation, do you have time for a quick shag?”
“Just a quick one,” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Whatever you like.” John traced a hand down the exposed skin of Sherlock’s chest before tugging him in close. “I guarantee your charms will work on me.”
Fandom: Sherlock and Firefly
Pairings: Sherlock/John, Zoe/Wash, implied past Zoe/John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~500
Notes: Note: This story is ostensibly in the same universe as These Tornadoes Are For You, but all you really need to know here is that Sherlock is a registered Companion, and Zoe and John are old war buddies. Written for Fandom Stocking 2013 for Rockpaperlightning.
Summary: Sherlock wants John to continue his friendly association with Zoe, but that depends on her husband coming to a certain understanding.
John’s sudden laugh started Sherlock out of his reverie. He looked up from his Cortex link, where he’d been sorting through appointment requests for their next stop, to take stock of the the common room. John still sat at the table, where he’d been for three-quarters of an hour. The captain’s second-in-command set across from him, chuckling silently, presumably at whatever had made John laugh. Reminiscing about their past together, Sherlock imagined.
John had little enough contact with people from that time of his life. Sherlock thought it wise to allow the strengthening of this association with Zoe; John habitually displayed more indicators of contentment after social contact with old friends. Despite the fact of the long-ago sexual liaison, Sherlock felt no threat from this woman. Not only was this woman now married and highly unlikely, Sherlock had judged, to engage in infidelity, but Sherlock felt more than confident enough in his sexual prowess to win John back from any rival.
Satisfied that John was occupying himself profitably, Sherlock moved to return his attention to the Cortex when he saw the ship’s pilot, Zoe’s husband, standing just outside the room’s doorway. Wash was observing the same scene Sherlock had just analyzed, but he seemed, with his inevitably inferior powers of deduction, to have come to different conclusions. A deep scowl marked his face, and his dark look towards John spoke of ill wishes.
Looking between Wash and the pair chatting away at the table, an idea began to form in Sherlock’s head: one that would allay Wash’s concerns about his wife’s affections and allow John to continue to benefit from his association with Zoe.
Sherlock switched off the station he’d been using, swiped a half-full mug from the table, and ambled over to the door, as if on his way out. He drew level with Wash and stopped just inside his personal space. “I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, and waited for Wash to tear his eyes away from the scene before him to glance at Sherlock, “thank you for the smooth flight.”
“Ship does most of the work. I just point it in the right direction.” Wash cocked his head to the side. “Actually, I do most of the work.”
Sherlock leaned closer, allowing the length of his arm to come into contact with Wash’s back as he spoke softly in Wash’s ear. “I’m looking forward to our next stop. Life on a ship can be so… confining, don’t you think?”
“It certainly puts people in close proximity. Really close.” Wash had returned his attention to the table. He didn’t notice when Sherlock deliberately undid two extra buttons on his shirt, displaying a stretch of pale skin a client had once told him looked “as indecent as a Shepherd running a whorehouse.”
“I know what you mean,” Sherlock whispered. He angled his body behind Wash and inward, to give the maximum appearance of intimacy. His efforts seemed to be making an impression on Zoe. Twice in ten seconds she’d glanced away from John’s animated retelling of a story-probably the one about the barber on Xenon, he loved that story-to look at Wash. Time to up the ante.
“Pardon me,” Sherlock whispered in Wash’s ear. “You seem to have something on your flight suit.” He dragged a hand down the front of Wash’s chest, ostensibly wiping away an imagined stain.
At that, Zoe pushed her chair back with a loud scrape. She stalked across the common room and through the doorway. Without so much as looking at Sherlock, she cut past him, all but shouldering him out of the way to take her place at Wash’s side. “Honey,” she said in a velvet purr. “I need you in my bunk. Right now.”
Zoe curled her fingers into Wash’s shirt collar. She spared a single, withering glare for Sherlock before leading a highly-willing Wash away to their quarters.
John appeared behind Sherlock, wearing a puzzled frown. “What was all that about?”
“I can safely say Zoe might not like me, but I believe I’ve cleared up her husband’s objections to your continued association.”
“Great…” John looked between the retreating couple and Sherlock. “Do I want to know how?”
“Probably not.”
“Well.” John leaned against the bulkhead, and offered Sherlock an inviting grin. “If you’re not going to launch into some convoluted explanation, do you have time for a quick shag?”
“Just a quick one,” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Whatever you like.” John traced a hand down the exposed skin of Sherlock’s chest before tugging him in close. “I guarantee your charms will work on me.”