Sherlock is bored or something, maybe in the hospital unable to go anywhere, and demands that John entertain him. John decides to tell him about his stories back in his army days. It starts uplifting enough with him meeting new buddies and his determination in training that made him feel he could go through anything. But things become unpleasant when he talks about the actual battles and the many losses he's seen.
A typical desire to read more warJohn in his bamfness and the hardship he went through with the 'war is hell' message with Sherlock's reactions as he learns more about John and feels an increase of respect and admiration towards him.
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 1B/?bronwynferchdaiDecember 27 2010, 08:11:38 UTC
"You've not even the attention span for crap telly at the moment," John pointed out. "You can't be that bored."
Sherlock blinked mournfully up at the boring (hateful, dull, mind-numbingly industrial ceiling. "There are three hundred and ninety two tiles in the ceiling. Thirty seven of them have water damaged in repeating layers dating back sixteen years, though the first could have been as long as twenty-four years ago based on the relative discoloration, stippling pattern and aging of the stain. The younger of the two sisters on rota tonight is currently having an affair with her husband's best friend's sister and will file for divorce soon if the husband doesn't leave her first. Also for the best friend's sister. The elder of the two is happily married for the second time with three mostly grown children from her first marriage and none from the second. She also raises Weimaraners for showing and breeding. She keeps cats in the house. The sink in the lav has been leaking steadily for nearly ten hours and is likely to keep
( ... )
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 2A/?bronwynferchdaiDecember 27 2010, 09:00:46 UTC
"So, you know I was in the Army, that's a given seeing as how you announced it the moment we met. I came to it a bit late in the game, really. I mean, most of the lads join up as soon as they're able, don't they? Looking to get away from bad homes, bad jobs or just wanting something more. I didn't join until after uni," John began
( ... )
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 2B/?bronwynferchdaiDecember 27 2010, 09:01:29 UTC
"And then I got there and it was brilliant. Oh, it was ruddy awful, don't get me wrong. There is no one more sadistic than an army officer at four in the morning, but I loved it. I was in medical school - doing quite well for myself there, too - and I was good at being a soldier. People respected me. I made friends. Real, honest-to-God friends. Met Bill Murray there, you'd've seen him on the blog, good man. I fit and it was brilliant. I didn't think I'd ever want to leave."
John fell silent for a moment and then Sherlock heard a sharp cracking noise accompanied by a jerk of John's hand in his. Popping his neck then. John was relaxing into the rhythm of the tale. Sherlock felt his own heartbeat slow.
"You remind me of Bill sometimes, you know?" John continued. Sherlock felt his face contort in distaste. He did remember Bill Murray from John's blog. The man was dull as paste. John chuckled. "Not like that, you git. Mostly the mad running. Bill was a prankster. Hardly a week went by when he didn't put something
( ... )
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 2B/?gamegirl22December 27 2010, 19:48:32 UTC
I love this. It's refreshing to take a break from reading porn and read something with a story background and character development (then again, I read too much porn). I wonder if John will fake any of the things he tells.
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 3A/?bronwynferchdaiDecember 27 2010, 22:29:35 UTC
John sat quietly for a long moment before carefully disentangling his fingers. Sherlock made an distressed noise before he could stop himself. He groped blindly along the bed. He heard the chair creak as John stood.
"John?" Sherlock asked, eyes popping open. John leaned over him to draw the blanket a bit higher.
"Here now, calm down you cranky sod," John murmured. He fussed with the cannula briefly. "I'm just going to get a cuppa from the machine. Back in a mo." He paused to study Sherlock's face. "I promise. Just down the hall and back." Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes again.
He heard John cross the room and fumble briefly with the door knob. Favoring his shoulder again, then. It couldn't be comfortable in that molded plastic monstrosity John had been sitting in. And his shoulder always ached more in the damp. Determined to fix this, fix something, to not be so bloody useless, Sherlock drew his feet up and scooted slowly toward the left side of the bed. His arms shook under the pressure and the effort left him
( ... )
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 4A/?bronwynferchdaiDecember 28 2010, 02:00:28 UTC
"So there I was. Top of the world, thank you. Everything coming up roses an all that," John started talking again in that strange, dreamy murmur he seemed inclined to use when storytelling
( ... )
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 4B/?bronwynferchdaiDecember 28 2010, 02:02:33 UTC
The heat from John's hand oozed slowly down Sherlock's spine, leaving tingling warmth behind. Gradually his muscles went limp, arm draped bonelessly around John's leg, head lolling against his hip. John's voice quieted, as though trying not to wake him.
"For eighteen months, everything was amazing. Oh there was blood and heat and swearing and screaming. But still. I had friends and a purpose. I was useful and good at it too. Bill and me both. And still, I guess, I thought we were above it all somehow. The more fool I, really
( ... )
Re: Fill: Arabian Nights 4B/?gamegirl22December 28 2010, 02:33:17 UTC
I hope the update will be soon, it's just so good. Moments of Sherlock getting all cuddly is cute. But yeah, it's getting depressing story wise and it's probably going to get worse from there. Poor John.
A typical desire to read more warJohn in his bamfness and the hardship he went through with the 'war is hell' message with Sherlock's reactions as he learns more about John and feels an increase of respect and admiration towards him.
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Sherlock blinked mournfully up at the boring (hateful, dull, mind-numbingly industrial ceiling. "There are three hundred and ninety two tiles in the ceiling. Thirty seven of them have water damaged in repeating layers dating back sixteen years, though the first could have been as long as twenty-four years ago based on the relative discoloration, stippling pattern and aging of the stain. The younger of the two sisters on rota tonight is currently having an affair with her husband's best friend's sister and will file for divorce soon if the husband doesn't leave her first. Also for the best friend's sister. The elder of the two is happily married for the second time with three mostly grown children from her first marriage and none from the second. She also raises Weimaraners for showing and breeding. She keeps cats in the house. The sink in the lav has been leaking steadily for nearly ten hours and is likely to keep ( ... )
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John fell silent for a moment and then Sherlock heard a sharp cracking noise accompanied by a jerk of John's hand in his. Popping his neck then. John was relaxing into the rhythm of the tale. Sherlock felt his own heartbeat slow.
"You remind me of Bill sometimes, you know?" John continued. Sherlock felt his face contort in distaste. He did remember Bill Murray from John's blog. The man was dull as paste. John chuckled. "Not like that, you git. Mostly the mad running. Bill was a prankster. Hardly a week went by when he didn't put something ( ... )
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"John?" Sherlock asked, eyes popping open. John leaned over him to draw the blanket a bit higher.
"Here now, calm down you cranky sod," John murmured. He fussed with the cannula briefly. "I'm just going to get a cuppa from the machine. Back in a mo." He paused to study Sherlock's face. "I promise. Just down the hall and back." Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes again.
He heard John cross the room and fumble briefly with the door knob. Favoring his shoulder again, then. It couldn't be comfortable in that molded plastic monstrosity John had been sitting in. And his shoulder always ached more in the damp. Determined to fix this, fix something, to not be so bloody useless, Sherlock drew his feet up and scooted slowly toward the left side of the bed. His arms shook under the pressure and the effort left him ( ... )
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"For eighteen months, everything was amazing. Oh there was blood and heat and swearing and screaming. But still. I had friends and a purpose. I was useful and good at it too. Bill and me both. And still, I guess, I thought we were above it all somehow. The more fool I, really ( ... )
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