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A Predictable Epiphany
folder
S through Z › Sherlock (BBC)
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,303
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Sherlock (BBC)
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,303
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Sherlock or it's characters, and no money was made for writing this.
An Unscripted Rendezvous
Title: An Unscripted Rendezvous
Author: LimpBiskit
Series: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: R
Warnings: Pre-Slash, Temptation and Something else Sherlock didn't know.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
He never quite understood how it was that John could manage the impossible, but there it was.
This time it was a quaint little bistro that he had yet to visit, or truthfully even notice, and he couldn't help but feel oddly out of sorts in the almost sickly-sweet atmosphere of the place.
The tables were finely-made confections of wrought iron and pearly white paint, resembling nothing so much as usable Celtic knots atop intertwined vines of metal, the chairs surprisingly comfortable despite their similar fashioning.
He glanced away from the detailing edge he'd been studying, (ivy, of course it would be ivy-pattern to suit the place, clashed horridly with the waiter's plaid apron) and silently took in his real goal:
Doctor John Watson, in the midst of ordering tea and two different types of scones, obviously in hopes of tempting his companion with the illusion of variety. Although Sherlock preferred to keep his meals to a well-managed routine of necessity, he was often surprised by the older man's ability to coax him away from his set schedules with hardly any effort, a testament to his worthiness of the detective's scrutiny.
Pushing down his quirk of annoyance at the thought of being so handily outmaneuvered, he smirked when he realised that it was happening again, as the blond had quite clearly ordered for the both of them and immediately sent the waiter on his way, wary of the brunette's propensity to change such orders if given the opportunity.
Settling back in his chair, he sighed at the disgusting lack of anything resembling a case, hence this convenient but pointless excursion. Hearing the other clear his throat, he raised an eyebrow in askance, refusing to be the first to speak.
Apparently the man had nothing of great import to say, but his eyes spoke entire volumes on the subject of his companion's inability to make normal small talk. After a long moment, he snorted softly. "Well, go on.. I bet you've figured out at least three of these people's life stories by now."
Allowing himself a small huff of amusement, the detective shrugged. "At least.. But nothing outstanding enough to explain. Was there a reason that you chose this particular establishment, other than the thought that I might be more likely to indulge if there were few people and sweets to be had?"
John laughed, genuinely pleased. "No, not really.. And sometimes a bloke wants to be able to eat his comfort foods without an audience." As if to punctuate the statement, their waiter returned with said comfort foods well in hand, his smile bland and unassuming as he poured their tea with practiced movements. Setting the assorted plates and cups within easy reach, he nodded silently, withdrawing as quickly as he'd arrived.
Sherlock hummed at the presented foodstuffs, noting that the other had wisely avoided anything approaching saccharine-sweetness in favor of more understated tastes, a plate each of drawn cream and raspberry scones lain between them at angles to their respective teacups. He only just managed to contain a smile when the older man appraised the two as seriously as he would a patient brought into his office, finally choosing a raspberry and taking a bite.
His meaningful look at the remaining ones was ignored, though Sherlock did reach for his cup without a murmur of protest.
Watching the doctor take a second bite, he was suddenly aware of just how tidy he was, his grip perfectly maintained on the delicate surface of the treat without crushing. He wondered briefly if it were perhaps due to his long-developed use of hands in his work, the ability to seek out points of tenderness and damage without causing additional pain. The thought was obliterated by an abrupt sound from the other, his expression faintly alarmed when a largish bit of his scone dropped away from the rest, the whipped filling dribbling sluggishly over his index and middle fingers before landing on the saucer beneath.
Smirking, Sherlock reached for the napkin dispenser, a casual remark about messy eating prepared and waiting.
A negative hum stilled him mid-way, the blond's head shaking to emphasize the sound as he swallowed. "Don't bother, it wasn't so much, really." With that said, he sat his slightly worse for wear scone on the saucer, lifting his hand to his mouth with clear intent.
Before the younger man could fully take in exactly what was happening, he found himself galvanized by the sight of his all-unawares flatmate licking carefully along the length of his index finger, the offending smear of berry-red giving way to the colorless sheen of saliva as his lips closed around the digit almost thoughtfully. His breath caught painfully in his throat as the process was repeated on the second, any hope of mental composure knocked flat when the blond flicked his gaze upward.
Something in his expression must have given a hint at the unusual incoherence of his thoughts, the man's brow furrowed slightly as he lowered his hand. "All right there, Sherlock..? I know it's not the best solution, but my hands were clean, and I don't want to waste napkins if I don't have to."
Thanking every Deity in existence that the older man so often misinterpreted his meaning, the detective forced a shrug. "As long as you aren't bothered, I hardly think it matters.. Perhaps the moisture will leave less.. Residue."
He faltered infinitesimally as the other resumed his actions with a replying hum, the effect no less striking than previous. Taking a distracted sip of his tea, he struggled manfully to keep his hand steady, finally resorting to the simple expedient of placing the cup atop the table. He internally chided himself for his unexpected weakness, as he had done the same thing himself on occasion. Surely there was no good cause for the act to be so painfully erotic-
And again his thoughts went direct-post to the gutters as the blond sucked at his own skin, eyes downcast in concentration as his cheeks hollowed slightly.
Oh, glorious Bloody Hell.
Dragging his mind into something of a working order, he seized upon the ultimate solution, congratulating himself preemptively as he enacted his brilliant plan.
Faced with the penultimate embodiment of human lust, Sherlock Holmes did what any rational, desperate man would do in his situation.
He upended his cup into his lap.
And then proceeded to screech in a most unflattering manner as the hot liquid seeped thoroughly into the material of his pants, shoving his chair backward with almost enough force to send him sprawling as he swiped ineffectually at his stinging legs.
His companion immediately jumped to his feet, personal grooming forgotten as he rounded the table in full I'm-a-professional mode. Without the slightest trace of amusement, he dropped to his knees, already reaching for the brunette's sodden thighs with one hand as the other groped blindly toward the napkins on the table.
Seeing his one chance at avoiding all sorts of awkwardness rapidly slipping through his fingers, the detective batted at his approaching hands, inwardly torn between frustration and mild amusement at the thought that the man certainly didn't mind the waste of a rather significant amount of napkins when it came to the state of his flatmate's likely scalded delicate bits.
Plucking the items from the blond's grip, he dabbed at himself with quick efficiency, hissing at the thankfully distracting sensation of what promised to be an altogether inconvenient burn. Satisfied with his efforts, he placed the napkins alongside his now-empty cup, pushing to his feet with a low sound of discomfort. Taking his coat from where it lay draped across the back of his chair, he shrugged it on, nodding at the table. "You go on and have that packed up for takeaway, I'll just settle up the bill and meet you at the flat."
Without waiting for a response, he swept through the assorted chairs and tables, heading for the cashier with an almost audible sigh of relief. Tab paid, he made good his escape, already halfway through plotting his next course of action.
It seemed that his continued surveillance would require that he prepare himself for the potentially disastrous effects of his friend's actions, lest he be similarly undone in the future.
He would simply have to run any possible scenarios through on his own, preferably during a time when he was unlikely to be disturbed.
Besides that, a cool soak in the tub sounded absolutely divine when one considered the still-present tingling of his abused skin.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Well, that's three. Hooray. There will be a break in this now, as I have a LOT that must be done oh, YESTERDAY. Thanks for reading, comments are love.
Author: LimpBiskit
Series: Sherlock BBC
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: R
Warnings: Pre-Slash, Temptation and Something else Sherlock didn't know.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
He never quite understood how it was that John could manage the impossible, but there it was.
This time it was a quaint little bistro that he had yet to visit, or truthfully even notice, and he couldn't help but feel oddly out of sorts in the almost sickly-sweet atmosphere of the place.
The tables were finely-made confections of wrought iron and pearly white paint, resembling nothing so much as usable Celtic knots atop intertwined vines of metal, the chairs surprisingly comfortable despite their similar fashioning.
He glanced away from the detailing edge he'd been studying, (ivy, of course it would be ivy-pattern to suit the place, clashed horridly with the waiter's plaid apron) and silently took in his real goal:
Doctor John Watson, in the midst of ordering tea and two different types of scones, obviously in hopes of tempting his companion with the illusion of variety. Although Sherlock preferred to keep his meals to a well-managed routine of necessity, he was often surprised by the older man's ability to coax him away from his set schedules with hardly any effort, a testament to his worthiness of the detective's scrutiny.
Pushing down his quirk of annoyance at the thought of being so handily outmaneuvered, he smirked when he realised that it was happening again, as the blond had quite clearly ordered for the both of them and immediately sent the waiter on his way, wary of the brunette's propensity to change such orders if given the opportunity.
Settling back in his chair, he sighed at the disgusting lack of anything resembling a case, hence this convenient but pointless excursion. Hearing the other clear his throat, he raised an eyebrow in askance, refusing to be the first to speak.
Apparently the man had nothing of great import to say, but his eyes spoke entire volumes on the subject of his companion's inability to make normal small talk. After a long moment, he snorted softly. "Well, go on.. I bet you've figured out at least three of these people's life stories by now."
Allowing himself a small huff of amusement, the detective shrugged. "At least.. But nothing outstanding enough to explain. Was there a reason that you chose this particular establishment, other than the thought that I might be more likely to indulge if there were few people and sweets to be had?"
John laughed, genuinely pleased. "No, not really.. And sometimes a bloke wants to be able to eat his comfort foods without an audience." As if to punctuate the statement, their waiter returned with said comfort foods well in hand, his smile bland and unassuming as he poured their tea with practiced movements. Setting the assorted plates and cups within easy reach, he nodded silently, withdrawing as quickly as he'd arrived.
Sherlock hummed at the presented foodstuffs, noting that the other had wisely avoided anything approaching saccharine-sweetness in favor of more understated tastes, a plate each of drawn cream and raspberry scones lain between them at angles to their respective teacups. He only just managed to contain a smile when the older man appraised the two as seriously as he would a patient brought into his office, finally choosing a raspberry and taking a bite.
His meaningful look at the remaining ones was ignored, though Sherlock did reach for his cup without a murmur of protest.
Watching the doctor take a second bite, he was suddenly aware of just how tidy he was, his grip perfectly maintained on the delicate surface of the treat without crushing. He wondered briefly if it were perhaps due to his long-developed use of hands in his work, the ability to seek out points of tenderness and damage without causing additional pain. The thought was obliterated by an abrupt sound from the other, his expression faintly alarmed when a largish bit of his scone dropped away from the rest, the whipped filling dribbling sluggishly over his index and middle fingers before landing on the saucer beneath.
Smirking, Sherlock reached for the napkin dispenser, a casual remark about messy eating prepared and waiting.
A negative hum stilled him mid-way, the blond's head shaking to emphasize the sound as he swallowed. "Don't bother, it wasn't so much, really." With that said, he sat his slightly worse for wear scone on the saucer, lifting his hand to his mouth with clear intent.
Before the younger man could fully take in exactly what was happening, he found himself galvanized by the sight of his all-unawares flatmate licking carefully along the length of his index finger, the offending smear of berry-red giving way to the colorless sheen of saliva as his lips closed around the digit almost thoughtfully. His breath caught painfully in his throat as the process was repeated on the second, any hope of mental composure knocked flat when the blond flicked his gaze upward.
Something in his expression must have given a hint at the unusual incoherence of his thoughts, the man's brow furrowed slightly as he lowered his hand. "All right there, Sherlock..? I know it's not the best solution, but my hands were clean, and I don't want to waste napkins if I don't have to."
Thanking every Deity in existence that the older man so often misinterpreted his meaning, the detective forced a shrug. "As long as you aren't bothered, I hardly think it matters.. Perhaps the moisture will leave less.. Residue."
He faltered infinitesimally as the other resumed his actions with a replying hum, the effect no less striking than previous. Taking a distracted sip of his tea, he struggled manfully to keep his hand steady, finally resorting to the simple expedient of placing the cup atop the table. He internally chided himself for his unexpected weakness, as he had done the same thing himself on occasion. Surely there was no good cause for the act to be so painfully erotic-
And again his thoughts went direct-post to the gutters as the blond sucked at his own skin, eyes downcast in concentration as his cheeks hollowed slightly.
Oh, glorious Bloody Hell.
Dragging his mind into something of a working order, he seized upon the ultimate solution, congratulating himself preemptively as he enacted his brilliant plan.
Faced with the penultimate embodiment of human lust, Sherlock Holmes did what any rational, desperate man would do in his situation.
He upended his cup into his lap.
And then proceeded to screech in a most unflattering manner as the hot liquid seeped thoroughly into the material of his pants, shoving his chair backward with almost enough force to send him sprawling as he swiped ineffectually at his stinging legs.
His companion immediately jumped to his feet, personal grooming forgotten as he rounded the table in full I'm-a-professional mode. Without the slightest trace of amusement, he dropped to his knees, already reaching for the brunette's sodden thighs with one hand as the other groped blindly toward the napkins on the table.
Seeing his one chance at avoiding all sorts of awkwardness rapidly slipping through his fingers, the detective batted at his approaching hands, inwardly torn between frustration and mild amusement at the thought that the man certainly didn't mind the waste of a rather significant amount of napkins when it came to the state of his flatmate's likely scalded delicate bits.
Plucking the items from the blond's grip, he dabbed at himself with quick efficiency, hissing at the thankfully distracting sensation of what promised to be an altogether inconvenient burn. Satisfied with his efforts, he placed the napkins alongside his now-empty cup, pushing to his feet with a low sound of discomfort. Taking his coat from where it lay draped across the back of his chair, he shrugged it on, nodding at the table. "You go on and have that packed up for takeaway, I'll just settle up the bill and meet you at the flat."
Without waiting for a response, he swept through the assorted chairs and tables, heading for the cashier with an almost audible sigh of relief. Tab paid, he made good his escape, already halfway through plotting his next course of action.
It seemed that his continued surveillance would require that he prepare himself for the potentially disastrous effects of his friend's actions, lest he be similarly undone in the future.
He would simply have to run any possible scenarios through on his own, preferably during a time when he was unlikely to be disturbed.
Besides that, a cool soak in the tub sounded absolutely divine when one considered the still-present tingling of his abused skin.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Well, that's three. Hooray. There will be a break in this now, as I have a LOT that must be done oh, YESTERDAY. Thanks for reading, comments are love.