On The Beach
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters: John Watson, Greg Lestrade
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,000
A/N: Written for Challenge 11 of picfor1000 based on this picture
John Watson stood on the beach looking out to sea. He watched the sun starting to rise and wondered whether it had been such a good idea to leave London. He and Greg had both been keen when they’d discussed having a few days away, but now he wasn’t sure that the reality was living up to their expectations.
He picked up a pebble and threw it out to sea, trying to get it to skim over the waves, but instead it plummeted downwards. It seemed like a good metaphor for their relationship. Back in London there was always plenty to keep them afloat: a cup of coffee grabbed in a five minute respite at a crime scene; a pint or two in celebration, or commiseration, when a case was solved or it was clear that further progress would require what Sherlock referred to as the ‘unnecessary’ aspects of police work, with days spent painstakingly proving the various links. And always there was the sense that they must enjoy every second together because at any moment Sherlock would be dancing round demanding attention.
But now there was nothing to stop them sinking. They had come down the evening before and had two full days before heading back to London early on the Thursday morning. Two full days without distractions, with no pressure to make the most of every moment, because they had hours and hours ahead of them. John’s fingers clutched at the phone in his pocket, but he resisted the urge to pull it out to see if by some chance there was a message from Sherlock.
Instead he looked towards the horizon, trying to decide whether he could see a fishing boat returning with its catch. They had passed a bay on their way to their hotel the previous evening where they had caught a glimpse of a number of boats tied up and had agreed that it would be worth a visit. So engrossed had John been in watching the boat that he had failed to hear the quiet footsteps until they were only a couple of feet behind him. He started to turn round, but was halted as a pair of strong arms encircled his waist and a chin nestled on his shoulder.
“I must have been dead to the world,” the familiar voice said. “I didn’t notice you getting up.”
“You’ve had a stressful few days; I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“What brought you out here?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Not regretting this, are you?”
“No, of course not, it’s just...”
Greg watched as the rising sun turned the tops of the waves a golden colour. “You’re worried that the only thing we have in common is Sherlock and since he’s not here...”
“No, well, a bit, yes.”
“And that compared to the magnificence that is Sherlock Holmes you have little to offer anyone?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Would you believe I feel the same? I couldn’t believe it when you said you’d like to spend some time away with me and then when I woke up and you’d gone I was convinced you’d changed your mind and gone straight back to London. It was only when I saw you on the beach that I thought there was still some hope.”
John turned slightly and kissed Greg’s forehead. “I think there’s plenty of hope. And you’re right; I was afraid that you’d think spending time with me was ordinary and that it needed Sherlock to provide the excitement.”
Greg pulled him round and kissed his lips, humming contentedly as John kissed him back. “Excitement has its place, but if being ordinary means I can stroll along a beach, listening to the seagulls and feeling the sea breeze on my face, without having to rush off at a moment’s notice, then I will happily settle for it.”
They pulled apart and Greg put his arm around John’s shoulders. “How do you fancy walking to that jetty and back? We could even hold hands as we go, there’s no-one watching us.”
John sat down suddenly and starting taking his shoes and socks off. “I’ve an even better idea. Let’s paddle down there.”
“The sea will be freezing,” Greg replied, but he too sat on the sand and began to unlace his trainers.
“First one to come back out is a sissy,” John called as he ran into the water.
There was a certain amount of hopping about as they both decided that it was indeed cold, but since neither was going to let the other have the satisfaction of being the victor, they made it as far as the jetty.
Once they had splashed their way back onto the sand Greg said, “I suggest we head back to the hotel so that you can change your trousers.” John looked ruefully down at the large wet area where he’d been caught by an unexpected wave. “And then we can have some breakfast and maybe drive down to the bay where we saw the fishing boats. I think I spotted a pub that looked like it would do a decent lunch as well.”
As they wandered back up the beach holding hands, John returned to his earlier reflections. Life with Sherlock was rather like jumping over the waves as a child; great fun whilst he was doing it, but there was always the point at which he tired of the game, or he mistimed a jump (he unconsciously felt his wet trouser leg) and he would want to stop for a while. Being with Greg was more like walking along the shoreline, pausing to look in rock pools and taking time to enjoy himself. Both were fun in their own way, but he knew which way made it easier to hold hands. He squeezed Greg’s hand and felt an answering squeeze. He was definitely going to enjoy having the time to explore the area, get to know Greg better and maybe even find a few rock pools to investigate.
Characters: John Watson, Greg Lestrade
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,000
A/N: Written for Challenge 11 of picfor1000 based on this picture
John Watson stood on the beach looking out to sea. He watched the sun starting to rise and wondered whether it had been such a good idea to leave London. He and Greg had both been keen when they’d discussed having a few days away, but now he wasn’t sure that the reality was living up to their expectations.
He picked up a pebble and threw it out to sea, trying to get it to skim over the waves, but instead it plummeted downwards. It seemed like a good metaphor for their relationship. Back in London there was always plenty to keep them afloat: a cup of coffee grabbed in a five minute respite at a crime scene; a pint or two in celebration, or commiseration, when a case was solved or it was clear that further progress would require what Sherlock referred to as the ‘unnecessary’ aspects of police work, with days spent painstakingly proving the various links. And always there was the sense that they must enjoy every second together because at any moment Sherlock would be dancing round demanding attention.
But now there was nothing to stop them sinking. They had come down the evening before and had two full days before heading back to London early on the Thursday morning. Two full days without distractions, with no pressure to make the most of every moment, because they had hours and hours ahead of them. John’s fingers clutched at the phone in his pocket, but he resisted the urge to pull it out to see if by some chance there was a message from Sherlock.
Instead he looked towards the horizon, trying to decide whether he could see a fishing boat returning with its catch. They had passed a bay on their way to their hotel the previous evening where they had caught a glimpse of a number of boats tied up and had agreed that it would be worth a visit. So engrossed had John been in watching the boat that he had failed to hear the quiet footsteps until they were only a couple of feet behind him. He started to turn round, but was halted as a pair of strong arms encircled his waist and a chin nestled on his shoulder.
“I must have been dead to the world,” the familiar voice said. “I didn’t notice you getting up.”
“You’ve had a stressful few days; I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“What brought you out here?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Not regretting this, are you?”
“No, of course not, it’s just...”
Greg watched as the rising sun turned the tops of the waves a golden colour. “You’re worried that the only thing we have in common is Sherlock and since he’s not here...”
“No, well, a bit, yes.”
“And that compared to the magnificence that is Sherlock Holmes you have little to offer anyone?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Would you believe I feel the same? I couldn’t believe it when you said you’d like to spend some time away with me and then when I woke up and you’d gone I was convinced you’d changed your mind and gone straight back to London. It was only when I saw you on the beach that I thought there was still some hope.”
John turned slightly and kissed Greg’s forehead. “I think there’s plenty of hope. And you’re right; I was afraid that you’d think spending time with me was ordinary and that it needed Sherlock to provide the excitement.”
Greg pulled him round and kissed his lips, humming contentedly as John kissed him back. “Excitement has its place, but if being ordinary means I can stroll along a beach, listening to the seagulls and feeling the sea breeze on my face, without having to rush off at a moment’s notice, then I will happily settle for it.”
They pulled apart and Greg put his arm around John’s shoulders. “How do you fancy walking to that jetty and back? We could even hold hands as we go, there’s no-one watching us.”
John sat down suddenly and starting taking his shoes and socks off. “I’ve an even better idea. Let’s paddle down there.”
“The sea will be freezing,” Greg replied, but he too sat on the sand and began to unlace his trainers.
“First one to come back out is a sissy,” John called as he ran into the water.
There was a certain amount of hopping about as they both decided that it was indeed cold, but since neither was going to let the other have the satisfaction of being the victor, they made it as far as the jetty.
Once they had splashed their way back onto the sand Greg said, “I suggest we head back to the hotel so that you can change your trousers.” John looked ruefully down at the large wet area where he’d been caught by an unexpected wave. “And then we can have some breakfast and maybe drive down to the bay where we saw the fishing boats. I think I spotted a pub that looked like it would do a decent lunch as well.”
As they wandered back up the beach holding hands, John returned to his earlier reflections. Life with Sherlock was rather like jumping over the waves as a child; great fun whilst he was doing it, but there was always the point at which he tired of the game, or he mistimed a jump (he unconsciously felt his wet trouser leg) and he would want to stop for a while. Being with Greg was more like walking along the shoreline, pausing to look in rock pools and taking time to enjoy himself. Both were fun in their own way, but he knew which way made it easier to hold hands. He squeezed Greg’s hand and felt an answering squeeze. He was definitely going to enjoy having the time to explore the area, get to know Greg better and maybe even find a few rock pools to investigate.