FIC: Once a Soldier, Always a Soldier 2/3
Title: Once a Soldier, Always a Soldier 2/3
Pairing: BAMF!John/Sherlock
Rating: PG-13 - R ultimately
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: Awkward attempt at sex
Summary: John decides to take things into his own hands. Spoilers up through episode 1x03
Prequel
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
John heard the door slam and Sherlock skipping steps as he ran up the stairs. He watched as Sherlock undid his scarf, tossed it on a chair, quickly followed by his coat.
“How did your chat with Moriarty go today?” John asked, seeing by Sherlock’s expression it hadn’t been the kind of chat he wanted.
“Boring. Our intelligent conversations have turned to him threatening me, threatening you, threatening anyone in our lives. As I said, boring. I’ll give him a week, then go see him again.”
John set his newspaper aside. “Why do you have to talk to him at all? He did try to kill us both, me in particular if you’ll remember.”
He shuddered at the memory of the bomb strapped to his chest.
Sherlock waved him off. “Because he’s brilliant. A psychopath, but absolutely brilliant.”
John grabbed his newspaper, opening it to hide his expression. He hated the way Sherlock talked about Moriarty, hated how giddy Sherlock seemed when he’d come back from visiting Moriarty in his padded cell.
He wasn’t jealous, he was just...alright, he was bloody damn jealous. But as intelligent as he was, Sherlock seemed completely oblivious to that fact.
“Idiot,” he muttered.
“What was that, John?” Sherlock asked, flopping onto his back on the sofa.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” he lied, “just talking to myself.”
A long silence stretched between them as John pretended to read the paper, and Sherlock lay on the sofa, his fingers steepled together under his chin.
“John?”
“Sherlock.”
“There’s something I don’t understand.”
John turned in his chair to look at Sherlock. He really didn’t want to talk about Moriarty, but if that’s what Sherlock wanted, he’d listen.
“What’s that?”
“When you had that bomb strapped to your chest, you took the chance of being killed to save me. Why? It’s not something that would have even occurred to me.” Sherlock sat up, staring at John.
That was unexpected.
“I’d think that would be obvious,” John said, a small smile on his face. “High functioning or not, it’s not something that would occur to a sociopath I’d imagine.”
“Yet that doesn’t answer my question, John. Why would you risk yourself for a man you’d only known for a month?”
John shrugged. “Instinct I guess. I would have done the same for any other soldier in the field.”
“You’re lying. Not about the soldiering bit, that part is true, but that’s not why you did it.”
“Alright, then you tell me, Sherlock,” John said in exasperation.
Sherlock stood, beginning to pace the room. “When I accused you of sleeping with Mycroft, you said it was the wrong Holmes. You really should mutter softer, John, I hear everything. As far as I know, you only know two Holmes, which obviously leaves me as the Holmes you wish to be sleeping with. But, that could be merely sexual attraction, not an emotional connection, and as I told you, I’m married to my work, so you know that relationships are out of the question. Yet, you still risk your life for me. Why?”
John’s face had gone red from embarrassment, but it quickly turned to irritation.
“You really are an idiot, aren’t you Sherlock?” He rose from his chair, his leg suddenly aching as he stood. “I’m going to bed. You figure it out.”
As John walked up to his room and slammed the door, it was with a slight limp.
An hour later, Sherlock barged into his room without so much as knock.
“What are you -”
“So it’s an emotional bond,” Sherlock said, interrupting him, “but with a sexual component as well.”
John scrubbed his face with his hands and counted to ten before looking at Sherlock.
“Congratulations Sherlock, you’ve solved the case. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Do be quiet, I’m thinking,” Sherlock said, walking around the room.
“Seems to me you have it all figured out,” John said, sitting up on his elbows.
“Wrong!” Sherlock said, spinning around to face John. “There is still a question in need of answering and I’ve yet to come to a conclusion yet.”
John snuggled back down into his bed. “You let me know when you figure it out,” he said tiredly.
Instead, Sherlock flopped down on John’s bed, stretching out beside him. “The question I’m pondering John, is whether or not I might take on a mistress.”
John nearly choked. “What?” He turned to face Sherlock. “You’re debating whether or not I can be your mistress to your job?”
John grabbed a pillow and put it over his face. One way or another, Sherlock was going to be the death of him.
“It’s a perfectly reasonable question, and I must say it makes it easier having your bedroom just upstairs. I won’t have to put any effort into going to someones flat, or making apologies when I have to leave them to take a case, since you come with me more often then not. It seems a sensible thing to do, really.”
Sherlock began to unbutton his shirt and in the silence, John removed the pillow, only to gape at his friend. “What are you doing?!”
“Weren’t you listening? Honestly John, even your small mind could follow that line of reasoning,” Sherlock replied dryly.
“Yes, but why are you taking your clothes off?!”
“It’s rather hard to have sexual relations with clothing on,” Sherlock pointed out. “I think we should start with mutual masturbation, no reason to jump straight into penetration and the like. Maybe a bit of oral sex between here and penetration sounds the wisest course.”
“Good god, you’re charting out our potential sex life like you would a crime scene. A follows B follows C.”
“Is that a problem?” Sherlock asked, frowning.
In answer, John shoved him out of bed. “Come back when you can do this with a bit more humanity and less robotic reasoning.”
With that, John turned his back on Sherlock, pulling his covers up to this neck, trying to ignore the erection that had arisen, despite all of Sherlock’s technical babble.
John listened, waiting for Sherlock to leave, but there was only silence. Finally he rolled to the side of the bed to look at Sherlock, sprawled on the floor with this thinking face on, fingers under his chin.
“Sherlock?”
“I approached it all wrong, didn’t I?”
John fell back on the bed, resisting the urge to say, No shit, Sherlock.
“A bit. Look, why don’t you just come up here and stop talking. That might help.”
It was almost disturbing how quickly Sherlock could move from one place to another. It was if the normal laws of physics didn’t apply to him, as he appeared quite suddenly on the bed beside John.
“I was thinking that perhaps we could go about things a different --”
John didn’t want to listen to Sherlock’s way, in fact, he’d heard enough talking altogether, so he kissed the man just to shut him up.
It was different from kissing Sarah, the stubble coming to mind right away, but John found it liked it better that way. He liked the masculine scent of Sherlock, the way his dry lips were beginning to soften under John’s gentle probings. He ran his tongue along Sherlock’s lips, smiling at the low moan it elicited.
Sherlock pulled back, and John saw his adams apple bob up and down before he licked his lips as if tasting a fine wine. John wondered if he passed the taste test or not. He got his answer when Sherlock practically climbed on top of John to kiss him again.
“Yes, your way is much better,” Sherlock murmured, kissing along John’s neck as if he’d discovered something exciting that had to be explored.
Meanwhile, John was trying to pull Sherlock’s jumper over his head. “Your way would have taken hours. Lift your arms you great gangly prat,” John ordered irritably, finally tugging it off.
“Knee, John,” Sherlock cried as John’s knee went to a very undesirable location.
“Well if you weren’t acting like such a bloody octopus that wouldn’t have happened!”
“I’ve only ever done this in theory, John.”
John froze. “Only done what in theory?”
“A physical relationship. I’ve been through it in my mind, considered the pros and cons of such a thing and determined my work was more important than sexual exploration.”
“All that to say that you’re a virgin?”
“In the literal sense, yes.”
“There’s a sense where it’s not literal?” John asked, blinking stupidly up at Sherlock.
“As I said, I’ve been through all the steps in my mind, I’ve read extensively on the subject and considered it to be nothing more than a distraction to be avoided.”
“So why are you in my bed?”
“Do you ever listen? I’ve decided to take on a Mistress, and that’s you, so perhaps we could get about it, so I could get back to work.”
And there it was, the robotic response that John didn’t want to hear.
“Here’s an idea; you go back to work now, and we’ll try this again at a later date to be determined by my own sodding sanity, or what’s left of it.”
Sherlock frowned, not understanding why John was making such an issue out of things. It was just sex after all.
Shrugging, he reached for his jumper, pulling it on over his head, his riot of curls sticking up in all directions.
“You’re certain?” Sherlock asked, and John detected a note of...hope, in his voice.
“Positive. We’ll try again later in a bit more natural way, yeah?”
“Right. Right, okay. Yes, more natural. I’ll just go back to what I was doing then, shall I?” Sherlock asked, still unsure of what had just happened, only know it was his fault somehow.
“Goodnight John.”
“Goodnight Sherlock.”
John waited for the door to softly close before rolling onto his side to stare at the wall. He’d just had what he’d wanted in his bed and kicked him out. Who’s the idiot now?
Pairing: BAMF!John/Sherlock
Rating: PG-13 - R ultimately
Word Count: 1800
Warnings: Awkward attempt at sex
Summary: John decides to take things into his own hands. Spoilers up through episode 1x03
Prequel
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
John heard the door slam and Sherlock skipping steps as he ran up the stairs. He watched as Sherlock undid his scarf, tossed it on a chair, quickly followed by his coat.
“How did your chat with Moriarty go today?” John asked, seeing by Sherlock’s expression it hadn’t been the kind of chat he wanted.
“Boring. Our intelligent conversations have turned to him threatening me, threatening you, threatening anyone in our lives. As I said, boring. I’ll give him a week, then go see him again.”
John set his newspaper aside. “Why do you have to talk to him at all? He did try to kill us both, me in particular if you’ll remember.”
He shuddered at the memory of the bomb strapped to his chest.
Sherlock waved him off. “Because he’s brilliant. A psychopath, but absolutely brilliant.”
John grabbed his newspaper, opening it to hide his expression. He hated the way Sherlock talked about Moriarty, hated how giddy Sherlock seemed when he’d come back from visiting Moriarty in his padded cell.
He wasn’t jealous, he was just...alright, he was bloody damn jealous. But as intelligent as he was, Sherlock seemed completely oblivious to that fact.
“Idiot,” he muttered.
“What was that, John?” Sherlock asked, flopping onto his back on the sofa.
“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” he lied, “just talking to myself.”
A long silence stretched between them as John pretended to read the paper, and Sherlock lay on the sofa, his fingers steepled together under his chin.
“John?”
“Sherlock.”
“There’s something I don’t understand.”
John turned in his chair to look at Sherlock. He really didn’t want to talk about Moriarty, but if that’s what Sherlock wanted, he’d listen.
“What’s that?”
“When you had that bomb strapped to your chest, you took the chance of being killed to save me. Why? It’s not something that would have even occurred to me.” Sherlock sat up, staring at John.
That was unexpected.
“I’d think that would be obvious,” John said, a small smile on his face. “High functioning or not, it’s not something that would occur to a sociopath I’d imagine.”
“Yet that doesn’t answer my question, John. Why would you risk yourself for a man you’d only known for a month?”
John shrugged. “Instinct I guess. I would have done the same for any other soldier in the field.”
“You’re lying. Not about the soldiering bit, that part is true, but that’s not why you did it.”
“Alright, then you tell me, Sherlock,” John said in exasperation.
Sherlock stood, beginning to pace the room. “When I accused you of sleeping with Mycroft, you said it was the wrong Holmes. You really should mutter softer, John, I hear everything. As far as I know, you only know two Holmes, which obviously leaves me as the Holmes you wish to be sleeping with. But, that could be merely sexual attraction, not an emotional connection, and as I told you, I’m married to my work, so you know that relationships are out of the question. Yet, you still risk your life for me. Why?”
John’s face had gone red from embarrassment, but it quickly turned to irritation.
“You really are an idiot, aren’t you Sherlock?” He rose from his chair, his leg suddenly aching as he stood. “I’m going to bed. You figure it out.”
As John walked up to his room and slammed the door, it was with a slight limp.
An hour later, Sherlock barged into his room without so much as knock.
“What are you -”
“So it’s an emotional bond,” Sherlock said, interrupting him, “but with a sexual component as well.”
John scrubbed his face with his hands and counted to ten before looking at Sherlock.
“Congratulations Sherlock, you’ve solved the case. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Do be quiet, I’m thinking,” Sherlock said, walking around the room.
“Seems to me you have it all figured out,” John said, sitting up on his elbows.
“Wrong!” Sherlock said, spinning around to face John. “There is still a question in need of answering and I’ve yet to come to a conclusion yet.”
John snuggled back down into his bed. “You let me know when you figure it out,” he said tiredly.
Instead, Sherlock flopped down on John’s bed, stretching out beside him. “The question I’m pondering John, is whether or not I might take on a mistress.”
John nearly choked. “What?” He turned to face Sherlock. “You’re debating whether or not I can be your mistress to your job?”
John grabbed a pillow and put it over his face. One way or another, Sherlock was going to be the death of him.
“It’s a perfectly reasonable question, and I must say it makes it easier having your bedroom just upstairs. I won’t have to put any effort into going to someones flat, or making apologies when I have to leave them to take a case, since you come with me more often then not. It seems a sensible thing to do, really.”
Sherlock began to unbutton his shirt and in the silence, John removed the pillow, only to gape at his friend. “What are you doing?!”
“Weren’t you listening? Honestly John, even your small mind could follow that line of reasoning,” Sherlock replied dryly.
“Yes, but why are you taking your clothes off?!”
“It’s rather hard to have sexual relations with clothing on,” Sherlock pointed out. “I think we should start with mutual masturbation, no reason to jump straight into penetration and the like. Maybe a bit of oral sex between here and penetration sounds the wisest course.”
“Good god, you’re charting out our potential sex life like you would a crime scene. A follows B follows C.”
“Is that a problem?” Sherlock asked, frowning.
In answer, John shoved him out of bed. “Come back when you can do this with a bit more humanity and less robotic reasoning.”
With that, John turned his back on Sherlock, pulling his covers up to this neck, trying to ignore the erection that had arisen, despite all of Sherlock’s technical babble.
John listened, waiting for Sherlock to leave, but there was only silence. Finally he rolled to the side of the bed to look at Sherlock, sprawled on the floor with this thinking face on, fingers under his chin.
“Sherlock?”
“I approached it all wrong, didn’t I?”
John fell back on the bed, resisting the urge to say, No shit, Sherlock.
“A bit. Look, why don’t you just come up here and stop talking. That might help.”
It was almost disturbing how quickly Sherlock could move from one place to another. It was if the normal laws of physics didn’t apply to him, as he appeared quite suddenly on the bed beside John.
“I was thinking that perhaps we could go about things a different --”
John didn’t want to listen to Sherlock’s way, in fact, he’d heard enough talking altogether, so he kissed the man just to shut him up.
It was different from kissing Sarah, the stubble coming to mind right away, but John found it liked it better that way. He liked the masculine scent of Sherlock, the way his dry lips were beginning to soften under John’s gentle probings. He ran his tongue along Sherlock’s lips, smiling at the low moan it elicited.
Sherlock pulled back, and John saw his adams apple bob up and down before he licked his lips as if tasting a fine wine. John wondered if he passed the taste test or not. He got his answer when Sherlock practically climbed on top of John to kiss him again.
“Yes, your way is much better,” Sherlock murmured, kissing along John’s neck as if he’d discovered something exciting that had to be explored.
Meanwhile, John was trying to pull Sherlock’s jumper over his head. “Your way would have taken hours. Lift your arms you great gangly prat,” John ordered irritably, finally tugging it off.
“Knee, John,” Sherlock cried as John’s knee went to a very undesirable location.
“Well if you weren’t acting like such a bloody octopus that wouldn’t have happened!”
“I’ve only ever done this in theory, John.”
John froze. “Only done what in theory?”
“A physical relationship. I’ve been through it in my mind, considered the pros and cons of such a thing and determined my work was more important than sexual exploration.”
“All that to say that you’re a virgin?”
“In the literal sense, yes.”
“There’s a sense where it’s not literal?” John asked, blinking stupidly up at Sherlock.
“As I said, I’ve been through all the steps in my mind, I’ve read extensively on the subject and considered it to be nothing more than a distraction to be avoided.”
“So why are you in my bed?”
“Do you ever listen? I’ve decided to take on a Mistress, and that’s you, so perhaps we could get about it, so I could get back to work.”
And there it was, the robotic response that John didn’t want to hear.
“Here’s an idea; you go back to work now, and we’ll try this again at a later date to be determined by my own sodding sanity, or what’s left of it.”
Sherlock frowned, not understanding why John was making such an issue out of things. It was just sex after all.
Shrugging, he reached for his jumper, pulling it on over his head, his riot of curls sticking up in all directions.
“You’re certain?” Sherlock asked, and John detected a note of...hope, in his voice.
“Positive. We’ll try again later in a bit more natural way, yeah?”
“Right. Right, okay. Yes, more natural. I’ll just go back to what I was doing then, shall I?” Sherlock asked, still unsure of what had just happened, only know it was his fault somehow.
“Goodnight John.”
“Goodnight Sherlock.”
John waited for the door to softly close before rolling onto his side to stare at the wall. He’d just had what he’d wanted in his bed and kicked him out. Who’s the idiot now?