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

[doctorsoldier]

"I don't-- God, no-- No, Sherlock, I don't want to possess you. I can barely figure out a mobile phone and-- No. I'm not that responsible and you are my friend. You are and oh God, I did not mean to molest you. I

[couldbdangerous]

"Fine," Sherlock says to calm him. "Fine. I don't mean to push. I just don't want you to go. And can you molest someone if you have their consent? I don't know how it should be defined. Admittedly I couldn't express it at the time but I could've indicated displeasure if I'd wanted. Which I didn't, clearly

[doctorsoldier]

"I'd be offended," John says immediately. "Not that you're me. You're not. And not everyone is like me, God no, that'd be awful." Sherlock's skin isn't quite right. And John's always known that, even if he's never had prolonged contact before. The grain is too even, the pores too uniform save for where there's obviously been some tampering to make it seem less uniform. And maybe this shouldn't be done here. And maybe Sherlock should close his eyes. Or-- No, that's a truly terrible idea. Very bad. "It's personal, isn't it

[couldbdangerous]

"Personal? I suppose, but that doesn't bother me. It's better than leaving you to wonder, at that." And maybe Sherlock likes the attention, though if that's not normal he'll refrain from admitting it.

"And I won't be offended. Truly. All the less so as it's a matter of practicality. You want it to be as usual; so do I. This is the best way I can think of to help you get over what I am." Blunt, perhaps, but there it is.

"I'm not ashamed of it," he adds, "so I've no reason to be offended, have I?"

He wasn't offended by Irene Adler's fascination with him either. In fact if she'd been blunt in her approach he'd likely have been willing to answer many of her questions directly. It might even have helped him catch her off guard more easily to take the mobile. He doesn't mind that, though. This way is more fun.

"John, you're a doctor. Examine me. It will help, won't it? So go ahead. Or don't, whatever you prefer, but I'm glad you find me interesting. It's better than outright disgust, which is what I'd expected."

[doctorsoldier]

Examine him? For what? Heart disease? Liver disease? Early onset dementia? John's a doctor, he's not a technician. Androids are meant to resemble humans, never quite like Sherlock and Mycroft, evidently, do. It makes John wonder how many more are out there. If they can blend in, if they really are not seeking any different treatment

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock slips silently out of his shirt and turns so that John can see what he's examining. Now that the truth of the matter is known there's nothing he feels he needs to hide. Any touching is permissible and any questions will be answered. He owes John that much.

There's a selfishness in it too, of course. He finds he likes this. He can only encourage further curiosity. His pride in himself wants the questions. He wants to be asked about everythingMostly, though, he wants to be touched. To be reassured that he's not repulsive, mostly, though he finds that he likes it for its own sake, too. Enough so that he closes his eyes to shut off visual input and, for some indiscernible reason, sighs softly. He wonders if that's a programmed response, if he's meant to enjoy being touched under the appropriate circumstances, or whether he's developed that on his own. He doesn't know. The data are insufficient

[doctorsoldier]

John hums for a moment and finds the catch for the flap over the port. He asks if he can lift it and when he gets Sherlock's reassurance, does so as carefully as possible. Though androids do not usually have the pain receptors of humans, and for good reason as it would likely interfere with their jobs, he isn't sure how Sherlock is built. He wants to ask... But what sort of question is that for the first? Nothing actually seems appropriate. And the first question will lead to others. They'll come more easily each time. But it's the start... The start that he really can't figure out

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock's eyes open, and he turns his to look over his shoulder, smiling faintly. Right, fine, if they're going to be doing that much talking then he's going to have to turn around again. "I have no serial number. I bear no marks of ownership. There is a chemical tag in my skin but that isn't registered either. Only Mycroft would recognise it if he saw it

[doctorsoldier]

That just made him laugh. And laugh. He's still giggling about it just the same, fingers resting over the back of Sherlock's wrist as if they belong there. It's a bit intimate, the gesture alone, the eye contact even more so. John's never shied away from it though. He's  never felt all that self conscious about t because he really does long to be under Sherlock's intense and knowing gaze.

Maybe it's less strange now. Sherlock could be female. Or male. The implication is less worrying and. Ore worrying at the same time. If gender doesn't matter for an android, has it ever mattered?  John is not a psychologist. He isn't the sort to really want to analyze himself either.

He's got too many demons.

John wets his lips, not exactly looking triumphant, but certainly satisfied. The answers are good. He feels contentment.

It's all a little less frightening.

"All of my stuff is here, Sherlock. Of course--  of course in staying.  And for the record. I like you too."

[couldbdangerous]

"And there is something on which we are in agreement. I quite like me as well. You see, we may as well be married," Sherlock teases, smiling. The smile fades quickly, though

[doctorsoldier]

"My reputation? Washed up old army doctor who probably is shagging his strange flatmate. I hear the talks. Trust me, Sherlock, I've got pretty much no reputation I need to worry about." John makes it for himself. He worries about himself and has his own, somewhat silent pride. His smile has stopped being awkward and completely brightens his dark blue eyes. Sherlock is precious to him. Even now.

No. More so.

"I'll protect you. I won't let them hurt you."

Ah, spoken like a soldier and, in a way, a great deal like a doctor. His fingers tighten on Sherlock's wrist.

Nothing's changed. Or, he's gotten over it.

Very loyal. Very quickly. Mycroft's picked a winner here. John nods twice and gets out of bed, not because he wants to leave the embrace of fingers, but because the bedroom door is open. And protecting Sherlock ought to include from Mrs. Hudson as well.

[couldbdangerous]

Sherlock is, if he's quite honest, rather surprised, but surprise is a pointless emotion and worth abandoning as quickly as possible. Practicality is better. Not adding that John might not be able to protect him, because that should be obvious, and it's currently irrelevant.

"You know, if you close that door, she's going to assume the worst about you. Might jump the gun and rent your bedroom out from under you; you'd best watch out," he says instead, flopping back onto the pillows.

"Unless that's what you're after. 'I have to stay, Sherlock,'" he says, imitating John's accent and intonation, "'I don't have a room of my own anymore, remember?' Which-- yes, clever, but you needn't go to such lengths, I promise

[doctorsoldier]

What people think doesn't matter. Well, no, obviously it does but John's right at the saturation point where he's stopped truly caring. There's a song a bit like this situation, about a woman and her friend whom everyone thinks are already together even if they themselves don't seem to see it. He decides that it is so much better not to think of it. And besides, Sherlock has a concern.

"I believe that you believe it. If you actually do-- well look at secondary school boys. They don't seem like they'd think and feel but they do. What do I know? You're the same as always. Just... I just want you to be the same as always too."

Don't change for him, Sherlock. Don't change at all and everything will be just fine.

[couldbdangerous]

"Ah, and now I know you're not just saying that to avoid offending me. Comparing me to secondary school boys would be the wrong way to go about it," Sherlock teases before wriggling over to the other side of the bed. He pats the side he'd just occupied invitingly, finding it a bit odd that John should be standing and not him. If they were to talk, John may as well be comfortable while doing it.

"Though I might note that logically if we are to assume that I am capable of believing something, then I must necessarily be capable of self-reflection, thought, and feeling, as belief entails all three," he adds, and that's mostly a tease too, even if it's true. And then, reassuringly: "I haven't changed. I've always been like this, as long as you've known me, even if I've obscured the technicalities until now. That's all it is; just how I function. It's an intrinsic part of who I am, true, but hardly the whole of it. I don't spend the entirety of my existence dwelling upon what I am any more than you do."

Oh, more of it, most likely, but

[doctorsoldier]

Luckily, 'are you upset about Irene' can have vastly different interpretations. And John is certainly not going to express one that has to do with being jealous. He slumps down next to Sherlock again, posture relaxed, fingers loosely laced together. "She did manage to get in, passed me, with your coat. So yes, actually, still a bit worried. She's still a blackmailer. And we don't know if she has proof about you and yes I did hear your deduction that she wasn't interested in blackmail but let's err on the side of caution, how's that?"

He can always play it off by saying that this was his home too. Security matters are something of a sticking point with him. Being shot at and all. Several times. That would be an excellent way to get around it all actually!

Sherlock's gaze and it's direction are noted as John lifts his eyebrows at him and smiles. It is meant to be reassuring. Even though he knows that Sherlock didn't need or want to be reassured.

Sort of put a damper on things really and he purses his lips in response.