Rolling in the Deep (7/?)
Rolling in the Deep
Title: Rolling in the DeepSeries: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part III of IV)
Author:
melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they aren't. Nor am I creative enough to have written the song that gave this instalment its title. That belongs to Adele, and whomever else had IP rights along side her.
Author's Notes: Hey everyone. It's a really short one this week, sorry for that. It looked a LOT longer in my notebook before I got rid of all the cross outs and edits. I've scheduled in a treat for next week to make up for it. Promise.
Warnings: None for this section
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Introduction - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
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“Okay, so you’ve got everything in the bag. Are you sure you’re good to do this?” Greg juggled holding Ben and passing the massive baby bag filled to bursting with supplies to John.
“Yes, Greg.” John sent him an amused smile. “We can handle one day of babysitting.”
“Are you sure? Because Mrs Potts isn’t that sick or I can take a day, or Mycroft can, or something.”
Waking up to find Mrs Potts not already fussing in the kitchen should really have been the first warning, but it wasn’t until he had run, showered, eaten and attended to Ben that it really occurred to Greg something might be wrong. Mycroft, it appeared, suffered from a similar blind spot and hadn’t noticed his housekeeper’s absence until Greg pointed it out to him. That was when the low fever and runny nose had been uncovered, leaving the two of them hunting up alternative baby minders last minute.
“We will be fine.” John reassured him. “He will be fine.”
“Are you sure you and Sherlock-”
- Swooped down, plucked Ben from Greg’s arms in an efficient raven like jab, and was headed back into the flat before Greg realised he had appeared, Ben already snuggling contentedly into Sherlock’s “Mummy-like” scent without protest. Greg on the other hand, did protest.
“Relax.” John smiled. ”Go to the Yard. We’ll call if anything comes up.”
“Promise?” Greg shifted his weight nervously.
“Promise. Now go!” John laughed.
Reluctantly Greg did as he was told, making his way slowly down the stairs with as little wincing as possible. Despite the preparation, he still felt a bit raw after the previous night’s activities, to say the least.
“Greg,” John called after him.
Greg spun around on the bottom step, panicked the two of them had changed their minds about minding Ben. John balanced nervously on the top step, before uncertainly making his way down, licking his lip.
“Okay,” he started nervously, “tell me to butt out, but I just wanted to point out that while it’s great you and Mycroft have managed to work around that still healing from the baby thing, you might want to work on walking without a limp if you’re going to bottom. That’s all!” He held his up his hands. “Just going to the Yard, maybe, you know, yeah…”
He was mortified. The physical pleasure from last night hadn’t lasted long and felt dirty, polluting. The tight knot lodged in the left side of his chest, pressed up against his heart, had twisted and burnt, acidic, enhancing the feeling of wrong, and now John, John, had noticed, sending shame ricocheting through him. The idea that John had noticed…
“You’re embarrassed.” John shook his head. “You don’t need to be.”
It’s perverted, Greg wanted to say. Wrong.
“Really, Greg, you’re consenting adults. I’m just warning you that you’re being a little obvious, that’s all.” John tried to look encouraging. “First time and all, I’m guessing. You’ll adjust, just until then…”
“How do you know?” Greg blurted out.
It was supposed to be accusatory, defensive, but came out panicked and desperate.
“You’re not the only couple who changes things up.” John waggled his eyebrows, trying to get Greg to smile.
It just left him wide eyed and guppy like.
John sighed. “Just, be a little more closed book and less neon sign, yeah?”
Greg nodded and fled.
All too soon he was back, hovering outside the door and wondering how great a chance he had that John had stepped out to get something and wouldn’t be home. Almost nil he thought reluctantly, and the tense ball in his chest bit in again.
The door flew open and John blinked in shock as his mind caught up with the fact there was someone in his way.
“Greg.” His face broke into a smile. “You got out early. I was just heading out for milk. Come on in. They’re upstairs.”
Cursing viciously in his head, Greg followed slowly behind, not really caring that his footsteps were heavy enough to disturb Mrs Hudson’s evening program. If he’d just stayed at work ten minutes longer…
Sherlock was sprawled on the carpet, legs kicking in the air as he waggled his fingers over a delighted Ben’s head. Ben just kept laughing and squealing and waving his own hands and legs whenever the elegant fingers were close enough to tickle his stomach.
“Ah, Lestrade,” Sherlock spoke as they walked in, almost covered by Ben’s lilting squeal. “He seems particularly fond of dancing phalanges and Tchaikovsky. Simplistic tastes are to be expected at his age I suppose.”
“I like Tchaikovsky.” John sounded wounded.
“Yes, but he at least has a chance of growing out of it. Your Sperm Donor is here, Ben.” Sherlock finally looked up at the two of them standing in the doorway.
He paused, head on one side contemplating Lestrade, until Ben squealed in protest and he resumed raising and lowering his mobile fingers, eliciting a squeal of distinct happiness.
“Now, Ben, pay attention,” he started, “your donor-”
“Uncle, Sherlock, we talked about this.” John reproached him.
“I’m his uncle. Lestrade is responsible for half his genetic makeup.” Sherlock waved John’s reproving sigh aside. “Stressed and limping slightly, but not from work. Now in your Uncle John they are always connected to emotions, do stop scowling John, but in Lestrade it’s usually related to work.
“Usually, but not in this case as there are no stressful cases at work nor has he had an injury, you can tell from his suit. Therefore, it’s likely something else. From the slight stubble rash along his neck, it’s most likely from being penetrated by your mother; don’t get a limp like that any other way.”
“Sherlock,” John hissed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and completely missing the point, moved his hands to cover Ben’s ears.
“Now from the combination of the blood rushing to his face, the fact he looks like he’s constipated, and the fact he is attempting to stand as far away from your Uncle as possible without making it obvious, we can deduce that your father is embarrassed this has been discovered.
“Why? It’s not like I’ve never tied John up before, as I’m sure he let you know this morning in an attempted reciprocation for the awkward-”
“Sherlock!” John broke in.
“Well you did.” Sherlock retorted stubbornly. “I’m surprised it’s taken them this long, Lestrade being a Sub and all.”
“Yes, but…” John scrubbed his hands over his face in exasperation.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Sherlock insisted. “Mycroft was never going to only receive. He’s a Dom. Besides, it’s very limiting and he does fancy himself creative.”
“Sherlock, maybe Greg’s embarrassed because he didn’t want to talk to you about it. Most people don’t share their sex lives with ever- don’t snort Sherlock. They don’t, and I don’t care how many psychosocial studies you’ve performed, Facebook is not proof otherwise. I am so sorry, Greg.”
Greg was mortified. Partly at the fact it was being discussed; mostly at the fact that they both knew that he, an Alpha, had done that. His brain kept stumbling around it, wrong, wrong, wrong, and the knot kept burning and burning along with his face.
Sherlock didn’t look like he agreed with John’s assessment. He looked like he was going to vocally disagree and rip open all Greg’s thoughts about how perverted and wrong it was into the light in the most painful way possible, so Greg waved a hand and attempted to look calm rather than desperate to hide.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. All family yeah?” He winced, which John missed, sending Sherlock an ‘I told you so’ look, and Sherlock saw and went to open his mouth.
“Oh, so he tied you up, yeah?” He hurried to say, before Sherlock could say.
It was unthinkable. John was an Alpha and a Dom. Over the course of the day, Greg had reluctantly concluded that a case could be argued for what had occurred because he was a Sub after all, even if it were wrong, but there could be no such explanation for John, Dom and Alpha. He had to be misunderstanding.
It did distract Sherlock, whose eyes slid to John with a sinfully pleased smile.
“Oh, definitely.” John’s voice held no guile, no dissembling.
“There is nothing,” he continued walking forward, eyes locked on Sherlock and his voice deepening, “like knowing that even if you are bound, even if you can’t move, they are the ones performing, that you are in complete total and utter control.”
He reached Sherlock and Ben, drawing Sherlock to an upright kneeling position with no more than a twitch of a hand that then buried itself in his curls.
“The power,” John continued as Sherlock closed his eyes and nuzzled into John’s palm, “that you hold over another human being being so absolute that even without any way of enforcing it, no immediate discipline, you know that they will do exactly as ordered, be as completely consumed as if you held them…”
Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open, gazing hazily up at John’s face. Subspace, Greg realised. Sherlock was hovering under the surface from nothing more than John’s dedicated attention.
“Get Ben’s bag for Greg.” John rumbled, voice dropped roughly. “Then go through.”
Without a word of acknowledgement Sherlock rose effortlessly to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen, returning to drop the baby bag Greg had left that morning at John’s feet. Bag delivered he headed back down the corridor, already stripping off his shirt as he went, letting it lazily fall to the floor when it would.
John knelt and picked up Ben, shouldering the baby bag at the same time.
“Here you go.” He handed Ben over, voice raw as he kissed Ben’s waving hands goodbye. “He ate an hour ago and napped from noon til three.”
“Thanks. I’m just gonna…” Greg shouldered the bag and backed out.
“Great plan. Bye.” John practically shut the door in Greg’s face.
“All right, little man.” Greg hiked Ben further up his hip. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
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Previous - Next
Title: Rolling in the DeepSeries: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part III of IV)
Author:
melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they aren't. Nor am I creative enough to have written the song that gave this instalment its title. That belongs to Adele, and whomever else had IP rights along side her.
Author's Notes: Hey everyone. It's a really short one this week, sorry for that. It looked a LOT longer in my notebook before I got rid of all the cross outs and edits. I've scheduled in a treat for next week to make up for it. Promise.
Warnings: None for this section
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Introduction - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
“Okay, so you’ve got everything in the bag. Are you sure you’re good to do this?” Greg juggled holding Ben and passing the massive baby bag filled to bursting with supplies to John.
“Yes, Greg.” John sent him an amused smile. “We can handle one day of babysitting.”
“Are you sure? Because Mrs Potts isn’t that sick or I can take a day, or Mycroft can, or something.”
Waking up to find Mrs Potts not already fussing in the kitchen should really have been the first warning, but it wasn’t until he had run, showered, eaten and attended to Ben that it really occurred to Greg something might be wrong. Mycroft, it appeared, suffered from a similar blind spot and hadn’t noticed his housekeeper’s absence until Greg pointed it out to him. That was when the low fever and runny nose had been uncovered, leaving the two of them hunting up alternative baby minders last minute.
“We will be fine.” John reassured him. “He will be fine.”
“Are you sure you and Sherlock-”
- Swooped down, plucked Ben from Greg’s arms in an efficient raven like jab, and was headed back into the flat before Greg realised he had appeared, Ben already snuggling contentedly into Sherlock’s “Mummy-like” scent without protest. Greg on the other hand, did protest.
“Relax.” John smiled. ”Go to the Yard. We’ll call if anything comes up.”
“Promise?” Greg shifted his weight nervously.
“Promise. Now go!” John laughed.
Reluctantly Greg did as he was told, making his way slowly down the stairs with as little wincing as possible. Despite the preparation, he still felt a bit raw after the previous night’s activities, to say the least.
“Greg,” John called after him.
Greg spun around on the bottom step, panicked the two of them had changed their minds about minding Ben. John balanced nervously on the top step, before uncertainly making his way down, licking his lip.
“Okay,” he started nervously, “tell me to butt out, but I just wanted to point out that while it’s great you and Mycroft have managed to work around that still healing from the baby thing, you might want to work on walking without a limp if you’re going to bottom. That’s all!” He held his up his hands. “Just going to the Yard, maybe, you know, yeah…”
He was mortified. The physical pleasure from last night hadn’t lasted long and felt dirty, polluting. The tight knot lodged in the left side of his chest, pressed up against his heart, had twisted and burnt, acidic, enhancing the feeling of wrong, and now John, John, had noticed, sending shame ricocheting through him. The idea that John had noticed…
“You’re embarrassed.” John shook his head. “You don’t need to be.”
It’s perverted, Greg wanted to say. Wrong.
“Really, Greg, you’re consenting adults. I’m just warning you that you’re being a little obvious, that’s all.” John tried to look encouraging. “First time and all, I’m guessing. You’ll adjust, just until then…”
“How do you know?” Greg blurted out.
It was supposed to be accusatory, defensive, but came out panicked and desperate.
“You’re not the only couple who changes things up.” John waggled his eyebrows, trying to get Greg to smile.
It just left him wide eyed and guppy like.
John sighed. “Just, be a little more closed book and less neon sign, yeah?”
Greg nodded and fled.
All too soon he was back, hovering outside the door and wondering how great a chance he had that John had stepped out to get something and wouldn’t be home. Almost nil he thought reluctantly, and the tense ball in his chest bit in again.
The door flew open and John blinked in shock as his mind caught up with the fact there was someone in his way.
“Greg.” His face broke into a smile. “You got out early. I was just heading out for milk. Come on in. They’re upstairs.”
Cursing viciously in his head, Greg followed slowly behind, not really caring that his footsteps were heavy enough to disturb Mrs Hudson’s evening program. If he’d just stayed at work ten minutes longer…
Sherlock was sprawled on the carpet, legs kicking in the air as he waggled his fingers over a delighted Ben’s head. Ben just kept laughing and squealing and waving his own hands and legs whenever the elegant fingers were close enough to tickle his stomach.
“Ah, Lestrade,” Sherlock spoke as they walked in, almost covered by Ben’s lilting squeal. “He seems particularly fond of dancing phalanges and Tchaikovsky. Simplistic tastes are to be expected at his age I suppose.”
“I like Tchaikovsky.” John sounded wounded.
“Yes, but he at least has a chance of growing out of it. Your Sperm Donor is here, Ben.” Sherlock finally looked up at the two of them standing in the doorway.
He paused, head on one side contemplating Lestrade, until Ben squealed in protest and he resumed raising and lowering his mobile fingers, eliciting a squeal of distinct happiness.
“Now, Ben, pay attention,” he started, “your donor-”
“Uncle, Sherlock, we talked about this.” John reproached him.
“I’m his uncle. Lestrade is responsible for half his genetic makeup.” Sherlock waved John’s reproving sigh aside. “Stressed and limping slightly, but not from work. Now in your Uncle John they are always connected to emotions, do stop scowling John, but in Lestrade it’s usually related to work.
“Usually, but not in this case as there are no stressful cases at work nor has he had an injury, you can tell from his suit. Therefore, it’s likely something else. From the slight stubble rash along his neck, it’s most likely from being penetrated by your mother; don’t get a limp like that any other way.”
“Sherlock,” John hissed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, and completely missing the point, moved his hands to cover Ben’s ears.
“Now from the combination of the blood rushing to his face, the fact he looks like he’s constipated, and the fact he is attempting to stand as far away from your Uncle as possible without making it obvious, we can deduce that your father is embarrassed this has been discovered.
“Why? It’s not like I’ve never tied John up before, as I’m sure he let you know this morning in an attempted reciprocation for the awkward-”
“Sherlock!” John broke in.
“Well you did.” Sherlock retorted stubbornly. “I’m surprised it’s taken them this long, Lestrade being a Sub and all.”
“Yes, but…” John scrubbed his hands over his face in exasperation.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Sherlock insisted. “Mycroft was never going to only receive. He’s a Dom. Besides, it’s very limiting and he does fancy himself creative.”
“Sherlock, maybe Greg’s embarrassed because he didn’t want to talk to you about it. Most people don’t share their sex lives with ever- don’t snort Sherlock. They don’t, and I don’t care how many psychosocial studies you’ve performed, Facebook is not proof otherwise. I am so sorry, Greg.”
Greg was mortified. Partly at the fact it was being discussed; mostly at the fact that they both knew that he, an Alpha, had done that. His brain kept stumbling around it, wrong, wrong, wrong, and the knot kept burning and burning along with his face.
Sherlock didn’t look like he agreed with John’s assessment. He looked like he was going to vocally disagree and rip open all Greg’s thoughts about how perverted and wrong it was into the light in the most painful way possible, so Greg waved a hand and attempted to look calm rather than desperate to hide.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. All family yeah?” He winced, which John missed, sending Sherlock an ‘I told you so’ look, and Sherlock saw and went to open his mouth.
“Oh, so he tied you up, yeah?” He hurried to say, before Sherlock could say.
It was unthinkable. John was an Alpha and a Dom. Over the course of the day, Greg had reluctantly concluded that a case could be argued for what had occurred because he was a Sub after all, even if it were wrong, but there could be no such explanation for John, Dom and Alpha. He had to be misunderstanding.
It did distract Sherlock, whose eyes slid to John with a sinfully pleased smile.
“Oh, definitely.” John’s voice held no guile, no dissembling.
“There is nothing,” he continued walking forward, eyes locked on Sherlock and his voice deepening, “like knowing that even if you are bound, even if you can’t move, they are the ones performing, that you are in complete total and utter control.”
He reached Sherlock and Ben, drawing Sherlock to an upright kneeling position with no more than a twitch of a hand that then buried itself in his curls.
“The power,” John continued as Sherlock closed his eyes and nuzzled into John’s palm, “that you hold over another human being being so absolute that even without any way of enforcing it, no immediate discipline, you know that they will do exactly as ordered, be as completely consumed as if you held them…”
Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open, gazing hazily up at John’s face. Subspace, Greg realised. Sherlock was hovering under the surface from nothing more than John’s dedicated attention.
“Get Ben’s bag for Greg.” John rumbled, voice dropped roughly. “Then go through.”
Without a word of acknowledgement Sherlock rose effortlessly to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen, returning to drop the baby bag Greg had left that morning at John’s feet. Bag delivered he headed back down the corridor, already stripping off his shirt as he went, letting it lazily fall to the floor when it would.
John knelt and picked up Ben, shouldering the baby bag at the same time.
“Here you go.” He handed Ben over, voice raw as he kissed Ben’s waving hands goodbye. “He ate an hour ago and napped from noon til three.”
“Thanks. I’m just gonna…” Greg shouldered the bag and backed out.
“Great plan. Bye.” John practically shut the door in Greg’s face.
“All right, little man.” Greg hiked Ben further up his hip. “Let’s go home, yeah?”
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