Tricks of the mind chapter 4
Hello, I bring you chapter four of Tricks of the Mind, please read, pick out the errors but otherwise enjoy and leave a review :)
Title: Tricks of the Mind, chapter 4
Summary of what has happened: John, after a series of disturbing events, is coming to terms with his sexuality; however, Sherlock seems to be eager to destroy his newly regained balance.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, more or less one-sided as for now
POV: John's as for now
Genre: Romance/Humor with occasional darker parts (come on we're all human), here's more on the lighter side
Rating: M for all the fic, but this chapter's T because there are only implied things and some swear words.
Word count: 1400-ish for this chapter, around 4,5k overall as for now
SPOILERS for episode 3 season 1, so if you haven't seen it yet, you might want to read this chapter when you have :)
Previous chapters:
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
BTW the little critter in my avatar is a baby degu, my three girls are a bit older and a lot bigger, but that one is JUST SO CUTE OMG IT IS AS LONG AS TWO FINGERS ARE WIDE OMG. Cuteness overload. Excuse me, on to the fic :)
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Luckily, Sherlock didn't pursue the topic any more that day, even though he still wasn't asleep when John came back home at around midnight. John could tell even before entering the flat, as a violin concerto was seeping through the open windows. At least it was an already existing musical piece and not some on-the-spot cacophony that Sherlock was so fond of inventing in moments of boredom.
It wasn't actually that bad. When John entered the flat, Sherlock didn't pay even a tiny bit of attention to him, focusing instead on his instrument. John took advantage of it and sneaked into his room.
The dream didn't reoccur that night, and the night after that, and for a few following days, and as the alarm clock woke John up every morning, he was pretty sure that the dream was only a whimsy of his mind, which obviously lacked sexual stimulation; he postponed the visit to his therapist, blaming his uneasiness following the dream for the strange exchange of text messages and his attribution of wrongful intentions.
Because his sexuality was unquestionable. This was his new motto.
Things were getting better with Sarah, who, even if she wasn't John's girlfriend yet, she was definitely his girlfriend-to-be, whatever Sherlock thought about it. The events from a few days ago, when Sarah was almost pierced with a gigantic bolt, were now a laughing matter between them, as both of them had the ideal personalities to just be happy that everyone was safe and sound after all and not to reminisce on hurtful past events.
They talked a lot. About things. They even went out twice more, this time without Sherlock, and it was brilliant, even though John didn't want to spoil the moment by suggesting that they move on onto the next step in their relationship.
Sherlock found a case to keep himself busy and John was grateful for that too as it meant less interaction between them. But as John regained his mental balance once again, it was apparently meant to be ruined.
When he came back one day after a particularly long day at work, he didn't hear violin music. He didn't hear laptop keys clicking. He heard gunshots.
At first his heart froze at the memories from the battle front.
Then it froze once again, thinking that something happened to Sherlock.
Or Mrs. Hudson.
But when he ran up the stairs, he discovered that the only thing that had happened to Sherlock was that he had obviously lost his fucking mind.
The detective was sprawled on one of the armchairs, shooting at the wall. With. Fucking. Bullets.
“What the HELL are you doing?!”
John wanted to take that fucking gun and shove it up Sherlock's ass. Down his throat. For scaring him.
“Bored”, was the only answer. John was so furious that he almost missed it.
“What?”, he asked, ready to put the plan into effect.
“Bored!”, Sherlock repeated, springing up from the armchair and before John could say anything, he started shooting at the wall again, behaving like a spoiled five-year-old. That's why they want to have gun control in the US - so that such kids wouldn't play with them.
John rushed into the room when it seemed that Sherlock was done with the shooting and intercepted the gun, locking it at once.
“Don't know what's got into criminal classes”, Sherlock muttered, throwing himself onto the couch dramatically. “Good job I'm not one of them.”
John hid the gun, feeling his anger subside. At least no one was hurt. “So you take it out on the wall?”, he asked, not really expecting a reply.
“The wall had it coming”, was the reply that came.
As the situation was stable and the kid wasn't playing with dangerous objects anymore, John took off his coat and asked Sherlock about the Russian case which turned out to have been Belarusian and apparently wasn't worth Sherlock's time.
The kitchen almost provoked John again to give vent to his raising anger, as the table was full of Sherlock's lab equipment so that there wasn't even a square inch of space to eat on, and in the fridge...
“Oh, fuck.”
John felt like crying.
“There's a head. A severed head.”
---
“And he apparently wasn't even bothered by the fact that there was a fucking head in the fridge just next to the food, and you know what he did next? He ranted on how fucking idiotic my blog is, which of course I write about him and his achievements, not even caring for a split second about what I may think and feel and need, and then we had a talk about what really is important in life, because he doesn't even care whether the Earth goes round the Sun or not, and then he basically called me an idiot in comparison to his fucking genius, because of course he fucking is one, so that's why I'm here”, John stopped to take a breath. “Can you imagine he tried to stop me?!”
Sarah was looking at John with glazed-over eyes. “Yeah, and then?”, she asked.
John suddenly felt like a deflated balloon. “That's it. That's the whole story”, he replied. He reached for the glass standing on the coffee table and took a sip. Sarah had reopened half a bottle of some Merlot that she hadn't finished during a girls' night with her best friends. So they were sipping the cold red wine that had the unique heavy, tart taste to it, perfectly corresponding to John's bitter mood right then.
“I don't know if you've noticed”, Sarah said, leaning back on the sofa, “but you're really worked up over all this.”
“He said so already! Of course I'm worked up, I live with that jerk, don't wanna get shot again!”
“I think there's more to it than just that”, Sarah said, looking away and taking a sip from her own glass.
“What do you mean?”, John looked at Sarah, perplexed, but he could read nothing in her weary expression. She was silent for a moment and then replied:
“If it was only that you don't wanna get shot, you would just strangle him right there and then. Or at least restrain him. You can do that, right?”
“But he's a bloody genius, I would be dead if I strangled him!”
“That's not what I'm talking about. I mean that you care about him and your relationship with him.”
“We don't have any bloody relationship!”
“I didn't mean that in romantic sense, necessarily”, Sarah looked him in the eye. John swallowed. The tart aftertaste was still there. “Just take what I said into consideration, okay? Because if you don't do anything about it, it will only get worse. And now I have to excuse myself, but I'm terribly tired and wanna go to sleep”, Sarah stood up and took the empty wine bottle and her glass to the kitchen. John finished his wine and followed her.
Sarah's kitchen was a bit of a mess, but it was at least homely, so much different from what John got used to while living with Sherlock.
Their hands touched when they were putting their glasses in the sink. John felt a jolt in his stomach at the touch. He grasped Sarah's hand gently and when she turned to face him, he gently cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. She pressed her warm body against his at first, but when the kiss started to get passionate, she pushed at his chest with her hands.
John felt strange.
“Is someone trying to make me rethink my decision to make you sleep on the couch?”, she asked with a playful smile. John grinned at her and made a second attempt at a kiss. “There's no way, doctor”, Sarah put her hand on John's mouth. “Don't. Seriously. Think about what I told you.”
Then she left John in the kitchen. He looked through the window, still with the strange feeling in his gut. Did he say anything wrong? He bet that Sarah would tell him if he did. Maybe she was just tired, as she had said.
John went over to the couch and slumped onto it. There was a pillow and a blanket left for him, so he made himself comfortable.
Before he fell asleep, he had the random thought that somehow the kiss with Sarah felt as if he were cheating on Sherlock. But then he drifted off and forgot about the thought.
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Yup that's all for today, I remind you to give me concrit :)
Title: Tricks of the Mind, chapter 4
Summary of what has happened: John, after a series of disturbing events, is coming to terms with his sexuality; however, Sherlock seems to be eager to destroy his newly regained balance.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, more or less one-sided as for now
POV: John's as for now
Genre: Romance/Humor with occasional darker parts (come on we're all human), here's more on the lighter side
Rating: M for all the fic, but this chapter's T because there are only implied things and some swear words.
Word count: 1400-ish for this chapter, around 4,5k overall as for now
SPOILERS for episode 3 season 1, so if you haven't seen it yet, you might want to read this chapter when you have :)
Previous chapters:
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
BTW the little critter in my avatar is a baby degu, my three girls are a bit older and a lot bigger, but that one is JUST SO CUTE OMG IT IS AS LONG AS TWO FINGERS ARE WIDE OMG. Cuteness overload. Excuse me, on to the fic :)
----------------------
Luckily, Sherlock didn't pursue the topic any more that day, even though he still wasn't asleep when John came back home at around midnight. John could tell even before entering the flat, as a violin concerto was seeping through the open windows. At least it was an already existing musical piece and not some on-the-spot cacophony that Sherlock was so fond of inventing in moments of boredom.
It wasn't actually that bad. When John entered the flat, Sherlock didn't pay even a tiny bit of attention to him, focusing instead on his instrument. John took advantage of it and sneaked into his room.
The dream didn't reoccur that night, and the night after that, and for a few following days, and as the alarm clock woke John up every morning, he was pretty sure that the dream was only a whimsy of his mind, which obviously lacked sexual stimulation; he postponed the visit to his therapist, blaming his uneasiness following the dream for the strange exchange of text messages and his attribution of wrongful intentions.
Because his sexuality was unquestionable. This was his new motto.
Things were getting better with Sarah, who, even if she wasn't John's girlfriend yet, she was definitely his girlfriend-to-be, whatever Sherlock thought about it. The events from a few days ago, when Sarah was almost pierced with a gigantic bolt, were now a laughing matter between them, as both of them had the ideal personalities to just be happy that everyone was safe and sound after all and not to reminisce on hurtful past events.
They talked a lot. About things. They even went out twice more, this time without Sherlock, and it was brilliant, even though John didn't want to spoil the moment by suggesting that they move on onto the next step in their relationship.
Sherlock found a case to keep himself busy and John was grateful for that too as it meant less interaction between them. But as John regained his mental balance once again, it was apparently meant to be ruined.
When he came back one day after a particularly long day at work, he didn't hear violin music. He didn't hear laptop keys clicking. He heard gunshots.
At first his heart froze at the memories from the battle front.
Then it froze once again, thinking that something happened to Sherlock.
Or Mrs. Hudson.
But when he ran up the stairs, he discovered that the only thing that had happened to Sherlock was that he had obviously lost his fucking mind.
The detective was sprawled on one of the armchairs, shooting at the wall. With. Fucking. Bullets.
“What the HELL are you doing?!”
John wanted to take that fucking gun and shove it up Sherlock's ass. Down his throat. For scaring him.
“Bored”, was the only answer. John was so furious that he almost missed it.
“What?”, he asked, ready to put the plan into effect.
“Bored!”, Sherlock repeated, springing up from the armchair and before John could say anything, he started shooting at the wall again, behaving like a spoiled five-year-old. That's why they want to have gun control in the US - so that such kids wouldn't play with them.
John rushed into the room when it seemed that Sherlock was done with the shooting and intercepted the gun, locking it at once.
“Don't know what's got into criminal classes”, Sherlock muttered, throwing himself onto the couch dramatically. “Good job I'm not one of them.”
John hid the gun, feeling his anger subside. At least no one was hurt. “So you take it out on the wall?”, he asked, not really expecting a reply.
“The wall had it coming”, was the reply that came.
As the situation was stable and the kid wasn't playing with dangerous objects anymore, John took off his coat and asked Sherlock about the Russian case which turned out to have been Belarusian and apparently wasn't worth Sherlock's time.
The kitchen almost provoked John again to give vent to his raising anger, as the table was full of Sherlock's lab equipment so that there wasn't even a square inch of space to eat on, and in the fridge...
“Oh, fuck.”
John felt like crying.
“There's a head. A severed head.”
---
“And he apparently wasn't even bothered by the fact that there was a fucking head in the fridge just next to the food, and you know what he did next? He ranted on how fucking idiotic my blog is, which of course I write about him and his achievements, not even caring for a split second about what I may think and feel and need, and then we had a talk about what really is important in life, because he doesn't even care whether the Earth goes round the Sun or not, and then he basically called me an idiot in comparison to his fucking genius, because of course he fucking is one, so that's why I'm here”, John stopped to take a breath. “Can you imagine he tried to stop me?!”
Sarah was looking at John with glazed-over eyes. “Yeah, and then?”, she asked.
John suddenly felt like a deflated balloon. “That's it. That's the whole story”, he replied. He reached for the glass standing on the coffee table and took a sip. Sarah had reopened half a bottle of some Merlot that she hadn't finished during a girls' night with her best friends. So they were sipping the cold red wine that had the unique heavy, tart taste to it, perfectly corresponding to John's bitter mood right then.
“I don't know if you've noticed”, Sarah said, leaning back on the sofa, “but you're really worked up over all this.”
“He said so already! Of course I'm worked up, I live with that jerk, don't wanna get shot again!”
“I think there's more to it than just that”, Sarah said, looking away and taking a sip from her own glass.
“What do you mean?”, John looked at Sarah, perplexed, but he could read nothing in her weary expression. She was silent for a moment and then replied:
“If it was only that you don't wanna get shot, you would just strangle him right there and then. Or at least restrain him. You can do that, right?”
“But he's a bloody genius, I would be dead if I strangled him!”
“That's not what I'm talking about. I mean that you care about him and your relationship with him.”
“We don't have any bloody relationship!”
“I didn't mean that in romantic sense, necessarily”, Sarah looked him in the eye. John swallowed. The tart aftertaste was still there. “Just take what I said into consideration, okay? Because if you don't do anything about it, it will only get worse. And now I have to excuse myself, but I'm terribly tired and wanna go to sleep”, Sarah stood up and took the empty wine bottle and her glass to the kitchen. John finished his wine and followed her.
Sarah's kitchen was a bit of a mess, but it was at least homely, so much different from what John got used to while living with Sherlock.
Their hands touched when they were putting their glasses in the sink. John felt a jolt in his stomach at the touch. He grasped Sarah's hand gently and when she turned to face him, he gently cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. She pressed her warm body against his at first, but when the kiss started to get passionate, she pushed at his chest with her hands.
John felt strange.
“Is someone trying to make me rethink my decision to make you sleep on the couch?”, she asked with a playful smile. John grinned at her and made a second attempt at a kiss. “There's no way, doctor”, Sarah put her hand on John's mouth. “Don't. Seriously. Think about what I told you.”
Then she left John in the kitchen. He looked through the window, still with the strange feeling in his gut. Did he say anything wrong? He bet that Sarah would tell him if he did. Maybe she was just tired, as she had said.
John went over to the couch and slumped onto it. There was a pillow and a blanket left for him, so he made himself comfortable.
Before he fell asleep, he had the random thought that somehow the kiss with Sarah felt as if he were cheating on Sherlock. But then he drifted off and forgot about the thought.
-----------------------------
Yup that's all for today, I remind you to give me concrit :)