Time Strips the Gears Till You Forget What They Were For

[doctorsoldier]

Continued from here.

The trip home from New Zealand is simply not as pleasant as one should be.  John stares up at the ceiling of the plane, studying the grooves in the walls as they fit together with the rest of the fuselage.  Sarah's very quiet beside him, and not the sort of quiet that happens when one is content and sore from too much holiday

Comments

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock straightens in silence and lays his hand atop John's head, expression vaguely thoughtful as he gives John's hair a gentle, fond ruffle. "Good," he murmurs as he steps away, letting his hand fall. "I'm glad

[couldbdangerous]

Oh, what's with the panic? Sherlock's on his feet in a moment, frowning concernedly and dragging John to the sofa by the wrist.

"It's alright," he says, pressing John back until he sits and seating himself a polite distance away, fussing over John a bit worriedly. Pulse. Pupil dilation. Respiratory rate. "Really, John, it's alright. What's wrong?"

It's alright, he supposes, if John doesn't want to tell him but it would be much easier to work out a solution to the problem if he knew what it was. John seems confused, and Sherlock has always had a hard time working out what confused means other than just that. The fact that he's not upset can't be confusing, can it?

"It was nice," he clarifies. "Really, I'd not have minded if you'd stayed."

If such a thing had really been possible, anyway. It might work odd nights but when he needs to charge, well, bed-sharing isn't very feasible.

"I'm really not upset; look."

[doctorsoldier]

Deer in headlights was about all that can describe John Watson at the moment. He sort of stares at Sherlock and his strange eyes and the cut on his cheek and that flouncy bit of hair that hangs down wrong that needs to be pushed away but John just can't because really falling for your roommate is not something that can be allowed in real life. That stuff happens in films or terrible serials and never to John Watson who is...well. Not normal, not even slightly normal, but who really, terribly wants this to stop stinging.

Sherlock is pulling off the bandage from his arm slowly and it's caught every hair on the way and ripped them out. One by one in a row. And yes, he knows where the next pinching sensation will come from, but that makes it worse and he keeps flinching which makes it even more terrible. Without meaning to, he gives Sherlock a pleading, almost imploring look

[couldbdangerous]

"Oh," Sherlock responds a bit blankly, trying to make sense of that and largely failing. If he's not upset then there was no violation taking place, was there? He doesn't understand the argument, but clearly it's sufficient to bother John and that needs remedying. "Well, you're the exception to quite a lot of my rules, aren't you? And you had to get me to bed somehow. It's fine that you stayed. And the rest, also fine

[doctorsoldier]

WEll isn't that a sobering thought? Not that John is sure how Irene got in. She did return the coat, yes, and somehow tampered with the phone, but John had been sitting just next door in the living room.... He's up a moment later. Hopefully, Sherlock has put all of his wires away. Hopefully he's decided not to leave any paraphernalia out. Hopefully he's decided to keep himself charged

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock's going to keep giving John 'that look'. In fact, he's going to take John by the shoulders and bend to meet his eyes on a level plane in order to make 'that look' all the more compelling. "Yes," he says softly, giving John a bit of a shake. "Yes, I can stay in here. And alone, too. She didn't kill me, as you may have noticed

[doctorsoldier]

John looks down and then back up at Sherlock before another sigh goes off in his pocket. "You're the detective," he says, rather gently, hand pressing against Sherlock's chest to provide some distance. "I'm fine, nothing's wrong. Well. Other than the fact that you've attracted the attention of someone that meets her guests without clothing on and who reprograms your mobile to do that when she texts

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock rests his own hand over John's, gaze still as curious as before. "I'm the detective," he agrees, "and that makes no sense. Why should that bother you? That I have her attention; why is that wrong?"

If he sounds a little defensive it's only because he thinks he deserves that attention. It's new, someone liking him despite knowing what he is. A human, at that. He deserves that, doesn't he? There's nothing wrong with what he is, no matter what anyone else says, and John... well. John doesn't know. Sherlock slides their hands down to rest against his sternum.

"There's no reason to be jealous, John," he murmurs. "And she must have known you would be from the start. My mobile -- she'll have tampered with it before bringing it back, not during or after. What you did is inconsequential, and I think I know what she wants."

He presses down on John's hand. It's bound to hit any minute now, isn't it? John is a doctor. He's supposed to notice these things. "But you mustn't be upset. There's nothing; she's lovely and she wants me but

[doctorsoldier]

Oh he had. He had noticed when Sherlock pressed his palm down to come flush to his chest. He had noticed and that is why his brows are still furrowed. And why his breathing has changed. It's not fascination, either. It's fear. Before Sherlock's even started to move his hand from sternum to navel, he's trying to pull his hand back. The moment he is allowed to do so, he carefully, hands steady, pulls open Sherlock's shirt, button by button

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock isn't expecting that. Still, his reflexes are quick. He moves to catch John as quickly as he can, to scoop him up and cradle him close. If he had a heart, it would be aching. This... it should change nothing. They are as they always were. But he knows that to be wishful thinking. John won't agree

[doctorsoldier]

The change? A persistant omission has just been revealed. Of course John is going to be startled. Shocked. Perhaps even betrayed. It's a lie, or had been, as Sherlock had been hiding himself. And for good reason. A rogue android left out and about town--- Some government experiment? And why had John been selected? What made him a good candidate for all of this? Why would someone mess with his head like this? And why tell him now, at the height of his happiness? It seems so cruel

[couldbdangerous]

"I'm sorry," Sherlock repeats softly. "I didn't relish lying to you. The way you think of-- my self-preservation directives indicated that I should refrain from telling you. And I know how you think of, of us. I didn't want to be thought of in this way

[doctorsoldier]

The slow stroking of Sherlock's hair stops abruptly. "Do you-- I mean, I know that's sort of how you usually talk when you're trying to mess with Anderson or are very, very focused but could you not talk like that?" The 'we' versus 'you' is really getting to him. It leaves his skin crawling

[couldbdangerous]

"I do have organs," Sherlock points out, "technically speaking, they're just not like yours, and I can't forget them because I'm constantly aware of them and what they're doing. But fine."

He's not sure how to answer John's questions without speaking on such terms, though, so he opts for answering a different part of it. "I don't think Adler is out to blackmail me. Nor Mycroft. I don't believe she intends to do me any harm at all, unless I go out of my way to harm her

[doctorsoldier]

When Sherlock sits, John does too, though his posture is looser and less rigid that one might expect. His knees are bent, feet against the mattress, and he leans back against the pillows. His eyes close for a moment and he rubs at the corners before exhaling slightly and giving Sherlock a somewhat bemused, absolutely puppyish sort of look that consists of his chin hitting his chest and his soulful eyes watching Sherlock's every motion.

He's not really sure if he's afraid or excited or just pretty hurt. His emotions are still there. Sherlock had fooled him completely. He's still fooling him completely, just sitting there.

"All right," he says finally. "Well, not, not everything is all right, but it's good that she's not trying to expose you." And that ought to be telling. John's still here. Still close. Still willing to work it out.

Or at least he's willing to keep Sherlock's secret for him too. He hasn't decided what else there is to do.

"Why did you tell me, Sherlock?"

[couldbdangerous]

"The current situation overrides the one that came before. It was better that I tell you than permit you to find out on your own. If she were to carry on as she has been you would have found out. She's pushing towards it, though I don't know if it's really her goal." Sherlock hesitates a moment before reaching out to touch John's knee