Fic: Sex and Paranoia 3/3 Sherlock (BBC) [NC-17]
Title: Sex and Paranoia
Author: A Lanart
Character(s): Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OFC.
Pairing: Watson/OFC,
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: NC-17 this part
Spoilers/Warnings: No Spoilers. Voyeurism.
Summary: Sherlock makes a request. John is not happy.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD, though this incarnation is the responsibility of a certain Mr Moffat and Mr Gattis (thanks guys!) and the BBC.
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made; this is just for fun!
The OFC is mine.
Title from the song by A Wedding Anniversary (can be found here if you're interested).
A/N: Idea from this prompt at Make me a Monday week 72, the relevant bit for my muses being includes John's outrage at being a test subject once again, a self-possessed OFC who can focus on John without being distracted by the weirdo measuring her responses. Not an exact fill, but the OFC is there. Cally was first introduced in Undisclosed Desires and this fic takes place at the same time as UD, just before the last scene.
I've not written het for a while but this prompt just grabbed me and so you've ended up with 8k words of porny het in less than a week.
Read at AO3
LJ Part 1
LJ Part 2
~*~
Sex and Paranoia - part 3
*
John was beginning to wonder what Sherlock had done with himself as he was sure they'd been left alone for a hell of a lot longer than 10 minutes, when the bedroom door creaked open to reveal his flatmate surprisingly bearing tea. Cally didn't turn a hair.
"Ooh, thanks," she said as she wriggled herself into a more upright position that still left both her and John mostly covered up. John thought it was all rather surreal; if someone had suggested that he'd be comfortably drinking tea with Sherlock while he was naked in Sherlock's bed with a gorgeous woman after a *really* good shag he would have laughed in their face and assumed they'd been indulging in hallucinogens. He concentrated on his tea and the warmth of Cally's bare skin pressing against his own and when the tea was finished she set their mugs aside and wormed her way back into his arms in such a way he had no option but to hold her, not that he dreamed of complaining.
"So Sherlock, drawn any conclusions from your experiment, yet?" Cally teased, John thought she was being a lot braver than he would be. The slow and easy smile that spread across Sherlock's face was almost a shock.
"It would seem that your initial supposition was entirely correct, Cally; John does indeed have a 'thing' for corsetry. A useful conclusion, and something to bear in mind for the future." John groaned and Cally giggled, producing some interesting vibrations where she leant against his chest that reminded him he was human, male, attracted to women and most importantly still naked in bed with one.
"I'm glad you found it useful," he grumbled, which made Cally giggle again. She squirmed in his arms until she was leaning her head back on his shoulder as she smiled up at him.
"Well, we didn't exactly stick to the defined parameters of the experiment."
"I suppose not," John agreed.
"And anyway, now I don't feel like I want to rip your skin off and climb inside, I'd like to take my time and enjoy you properly." There wasn't really a lot John could say to that without sounding like a complete twat so he settled on a strangled sounding "oh" rather than saying nothing. Next thing, he wasn't able to say more even if he'd wanted to as she stretched up just a little bit more and kissed him, hard.
As a means of grabbing his attention, it certainly worked; Sherlock and the rest of the room faded into the background as he responded the only way he knew how, with complete and utter commitment. Her mouth slid from his and he would have protested the loss had she not begun peppering his jaw with kisses that contained enough teeth to ensure he remained fully focused on her.
"I want to touch you, kiss you, taste you," she murmured between kisses, "absolutely… everywhere." John shivered as her breath ghosted across his skin and he smiled into her hair, hoping that everywhere would take a hell of a long time.
It did.
Later, he was lying on his stomach as she mapped the whole of his back with her hands and her mouth, aided and abetted by the scratch of something that he *knew* was another condom packet, even if he couldn't see it from where his face was buried in one of Sherlock's pillows to stifle his appreciative moans, and, barring one spot near the point of his right scapula where he was inexplicably ticklish, her efforts had turned him into a quivering wreck. Then she switched her focus to his spine and the smoulder of desire had turned into a conflagration as she proceeded to set him on fire and demonstrate that his entire spine from atlas and axis to coccyx was just one huge erogenous zone. She blazed a trail that continued to burn after her touch had passed and left him shaking and almost painfully hard where she had him pressed into the bed. He gasped in almost-relief when she removed her mouth from his spine and rested her chin on the curve of his arse, where each exhalation stirred the fine hairs in the small of his back.
The brief respite didn't last, just long enough for her to catch her breath and for him to realise that he could feel how wet she was where she had his legs trapped beneath her. Before his sluggish brain could act on the information she raised her head, leaned into him and with her breasts pressed against his arse and upper thighs, sank her teeth into the base of his spine.
It was almost too much.
John didn't think, he *reacted* and while his higher thought processes were definitely impaired, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his reaction time. In seconds he had Cally on her back, arms pinned above her head, trapped beneath him as he panted into her neck for a moment, trying to bring his screaming body under some sort of control. The fact that her chest was heaving against his didn't really help matters.
"Should have… done that earlier," she gasped. He couldn't help but give a breathless giggle, and was still smiling when he leaned in for a kiss.
"Time to get my own back," he whispered against her lips. It was all the warning he gave.
His mouth was busy travelling a kissing, biting path along her clavicles when his brain helpfully reminded him that he wasn't going to be able to keep her hands restrained for much longer; his shoulder had begun to protest about the stretch of his arm above her head, scar tissue not being as flexible as native skin. Awareness of the faint tremor in his hand had started to pierce through the haze of lust that surrounded him and he growled in frustration against her skin, he knew it wouldn't take her long to break away from him. In the next instant, his hands weren't the only ones keeping hers captive. He flashed a grateful smile at Sherlock while barely raising his head and without really looking at him - John knew if he let Sherlock's presence impinge on his conscious mind it would be disruptive to say the least - and took full advantage of the fact that he had both hands free while Cally was still confined.
"Sherlock, that's cheating!" She hissed. John didn't think she sounded too bothered, anything but in fact, which was all to the good.
"I'm merely levelling the playing field," Sherlock replied, dispassionate as always.
John revelled in his freedom to touch and caress her skin unhindered, he lost himself in the scent and the feel of her. Even naked, she was still silk over steel; the softness of breasts and belly contrasted with the hard muscle of her legs and arse, and wet, oh so wet. He buried his face between her willingly parted legs and *tasted* her, slick and so fucking hot. Then there were hands in his hair, *her* hands, they tugged, pulled, *dragged* him back up to where she wanted him. She kissed him, hot and dirty, almost more teeth than tongue, then pushed him away. His half formed protest died on his lips when her hands busied themselves with rolling a condom onto him; nothing else needed to be said. He bent to capture her mouth as he entered her with one hard and fast thrust, his hands cradling her arse, her legs wrapped around him, drawing him in, pulling him deeper. He stuttered to a halt, hardly daring to breathe for a moment because he was that close to losing it, wanting to immerse himself in sensation before sheer need took over. She shifted beneath him, hips pressing upwards, forcing him deeper, grinding herself against him as her legs tightened around him. He found there was nothing left he could do *but* move; he was lost. Hands clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he plunged into her, it was all sweet friction and unbelievable heat, breathless moans and guttural sighs, the pure and wicked pleasure of insistent lips against damp skin; a symphony of passion. He had no idea how he managed not to immediately fall apart when she shuddered through her climax, tightening around him unbelievably, but he didn't. He was still buried deep inside her, moving in sharp, deep thrusts when she laid a still trembling hand gently over the scar on his shoulder.
She whispered against his skin, a soft puff of breath. "John."
It was enough to send him crashing over the edge.
The pounding of his heart seemed to be all he could hear and feel for the longest time though in reality it was probably only minutes. He was pleased that he'd maintained the presence of mind - albeit unconsciously - not to just collapse and leave Cally supporting his entire weight but they were in a bit of a tangled mess; a gorgeously sweaty, breathless and pleasantly achy tangled mess.
"I hope you weren't planning on leaving too soon," John mumbled. "I can hardly move."
"No. Not doing the moving thing either; not just yet anyway."
"Good." He settled into the comfortable lassitude that surrounded them, too wrung out to worry about anything much, including Sherlock, and it only registered that Sherlock was still in the room when he pulled the quilt over them.
"You were becoming chilled," Sherlock said. It was true, though John hadn't initially noticed the rise of gooseflesh on his arm.
"Thanks," he said. He drifted for a bit longer, until he really couldn't ignore the various little discomforts any more. He brushed a hand over Cally's hair and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.
"Moving?" She asked.
"Have to; sorry." He *was* sorry; 'experiment' or not, to say he'd passed an enjoyable evening would be an understatement of the highest order and though he didn't particularly want to move, he needed to get his shoulder in a hot shower. The rest of him would also benefit from the same. He was glad that the recalcitrant plumbing was currently behaving itself and the main bathroom upstairs had hot water as well as Sherlock's tiny en-suite; two working bathrooms made things a lot easier.
By the time John made his way back down to the main living area, Cally was back in her hoodie and skirt, curled up on the sofa with a mug of tea in hand. The corset was bundled up into a roll on the coffee table, her doc martens sitting next to it. There was another mug of tea on the small table by his chair, John grabbed the tea, but chose to sit next to Cally on the sofa rather than in the chair; she gave him a quick smile as he sat down. Sherlock was slouched in his own chair, deep in thought.
"Told you it would be good to do it in a bed for a change," she said.
John had to chuckle at that; in his opinion 'good' was the least it had been.
"You weren't wrong," he agreed. He finished his tea, enjoying the comfortable silence and the way she was leaning against him. He noticed her eyelids were drooping and gave her a nudge.
"I should go," she said.
"I'll order that taxi for you."
Sherlock still hadn't surfaced from wherever it was his mind had taken him by the time the taxi arrived but Cally didn't appear perturbed.
"We probably gave him a lot to process, just tell him thanks from me."
John waved her off from the front door after pressing a curiously chaste kiss to her cheek; she squeezed his arm in return. He headed back up the stairs and into the kitchen, intending to strip Sherlock's bed and put the sheets in the machine, until he realised the machine was already running.
"Cally did it," Sherlock announced, "and under her own volition too." John felt a bit guilty, but at least it saved him from having to change the bed and he would have *had* to change it if she hadn't. Letting Sherlock attempt to sleep in the wreck he and Cally had made of the bed had never been an option.
John headed back into the living area, this time taking a seat in his chair which meant Sherlock was sitting opposite him. John stretched out, letting the familiar shape of the chair cradle him, aware that Sherlock was watching his every move.
"I hope you gathered enough data to keep you happy, as I don't think that will be happening again," John commented. He didn't mention that he wouldn't say no if Cally wanted to take him back to her place.
"I think so. While your enthusiasm is to be commended, it would have been…"
"Sherlock, being unenthusiastic during sex is not really an option. Well, not for me anyway."
Sherlock nodded, but John wasn't convinced it made sense to him at a basic level.
"How is your shoulder?"
"Fine," John said and he would ordinarily have left it at that, but he did kind of owe Sherlock. "Thanks to someone ensuring I didn't overstrain it."
Sherlock shrugged. "The experiment would likely have concluded in an unsatisfactory manner if I had not intervened."
John snorted; unsatisfactory was not the word he would have used, but it he supposed it was descriptive enough. He knew he should probably take himself off to bed because falling asleep in the chair would not do his shoulder a bit of good, even it was fine, but he was too comfortable and too tired to move, plus he was still a touch blissed out.
Sherlock cleared his throat.
"I have a few ideas that would have enhanced your performance."
"It *wasn't* a 'performance' Sherlock."
"Which I can list for you…"
"Don't bother."
"So when the experiment is repeated…"
"Not going to happen."
"You can bear them in mind. Of course with a man the parameters would need to be…"
"Sherlock! Definitely not going to happen!" John scrambled out of his chair and headed towards the stairs before he succumbed to an increasing temptation to punch Sherlock in the face.
"Pity."
"I… er what?" John spun round from his position near the door, his wish to punch Sherlock rapidly defused by the almost vulnerable expression on Sherlock's face.
"I found observing you… being intimate… quite illuminating."
"I..illuminating?"
"It's a part of you that I'm never likely to see for myself, but it's still a part of you."
"Oh."
It explained a lot, John realised. In fact it explained *everything* and his irritation with Sherlock withered away in the stark light of the truth; Sherlock was trying to understand what made John tick, even those aspects that were completely foreign to him, but because he was Sherlock it was done in his own distinctive fashion.
John leaned against the door frame and sighed; he wasn't sure he would *ever* understand Sherlock but living with his mad brilliance was certainly never boring. Right now though, his brain was filled with mush and he was far too tired to even attempt to make any sense out of him.
"Go to bed, John," Sherlock said gently. John went; it was the sanest idea Sherlock had had all night which made it the most opportune moment for retreat. John hoped his dreams would be good ones and fell asleep to the soothing notes of Sherlock's violin.
Author: A Lanart
Character(s): Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OFC.
Pairing: Watson/OFC,
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: NC-17 this part
Spoilers/Warnings: No Spoilers. Voyeurism.
Summary: Sherlock makes a request. John is not happy.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD, though this incarnation is the responsibility of a certain Mr Moffat and Mr Gattis (thanks guys!) and the BBC.
No copyright infringement intended, no profit made; this is just for fun!
The OFC is mine.
Title from the song by A Wedding Anniversary (can be found here if you're interested).
A/N: Idea from this prompt at Make me a Monday week 72, the relevant bit for my muses being includes John's outrage at being a test subject once again, a self-possessed OFC who can focus on John without being distracted by the weirdo measuring her responses. Not an exact fill, but the OFC is there. Cally was first introduced in Undisclosed Desires and this fic takes place at the same time as UD, just before the last scene.
I've not written het for a while but this prompt just grabbed me and so you've ended up with 8k words of porny het in less than a week.
Read at AO3
LJ Part 1
LJ Part 2
~*~
Sex and Paranoia - part 3
*
John was beginning to wonder what Sherlock had done with himself as he was sure they'd been left alone for a hell of a lot longer than 10 minutes, when the bedroom door creaked open to reveal his flatmate surprisingly bearing tea. Cally didn't turn a hair.
"Ooh, thanks," she said as she wriggled herself into a more upright position that still left both her and John mostly covered up. John thought it was all rather surreal; if someone had suggested that he'd be comfortably drinking tea with Sherlock while he was naked in Sherlock's bed with a gorgeous woman after a *really* good shag he would have laughed in their face and assumed they'd been indulging in hallucinogens. He concentrated on his tea and the warmth of Cally's bare skin pressing against his own and when the tea was finished she set their mugs aside and wormed her way back into his arms in such a way he had no option but to hold her, not that he dreamed of complaining.
"So Sherlock, drawn any conclusions from your experiment, yet?" Cally teased, John thought she was being a lot braver than he would be. The slow and easy smile that spread across Sherlock's face was almost a shock.
"It would seem that your initial supposition was entirely correct, Cally; John does indeed have a 'thing' for corsetry. A useful conclusion, and something to bear in mind for the future." John groaned and Cally giggled, producing some interesting vibrations where she leant against his chest that reminded him he was human, male, attracted to women and most importantly still naked in bed with one.
"I'm glad you found it useful," he grumbled, which made Cally giggle again. She squirmed in his arms until she was leaning her head back on his shoulder as she smiled up at him.
"Well, we didn't exactly stick to the defined parameters of the experiment."
"I suppose not," John agreed.
"And anyway, now I don't feel like I want to rip your skin off and climb inside, I'd like to take my time and enjoy you properly." There wasn't really a lot John could say to that without sounding like a complete twat so he settled on a strangled sounding "oh" rather than saying nothing. Next thing, he wasn't able to say more even if he'd wanted to as she stretched up just a little bit more and kissed him, hard.
As a means of grabbing his attention, it certainly worked; Sherlock and the rest of the room faded into the background as he responded the only way he knew how, with complete and utter commitment. Her mouth slid from his and he would have protested the loss had she not begun peppering his jaw with kisses that contained enough teeth to ensure he remained fully focused on her.
"I want to touch you, kiss you, taste you," she murmured between kisses, "absolutely… everywhere." John shivered as her breath ghosted across his skin and he smiled into her hair, hoping that everywhere would take a hell of a long time.
It did.
Later, he was lying on his stomach as she mapped the whole of his back with her hands and her mouth, aided and abetted by the scratch of something that he *knew* was another condom packet, even if he couldn't see it from where his face was buried in one of Sherlock's pillows to stifle his appreciative moans, and, barring one spot near the point of his right scapula where he was inexplicably ticklish, her efforts had turned him into a quivering wreck. Then she switched her focus to his spine and the smoulder of desire had turned into a conflagration as she proceeded to set him on fire and demonstrate that his entire spine from atlas and axis to coccyx was just one huge erogenous zone. She blazed a trail that continued to burn after her touch had passed and left him shaking and almost painfully hard where she had him pressed into the bed. He gasped in almost-relief when she removed her mouth from his spine and rested her chin on the curve of his arse, where each exhalation stirred the fine hairs in the small of his back.
The brief respite didn't last, just long enough for her to catch her breath and for him to realise that he could feel how wet she was where she had his legs trapped beneath her. Before his sluggish brain could act on the information she raised her head, leaned into him and with her breasts pressed against his arse and upper thighs, sank her teeth into the base of his spine.
It was almost too much.
John didn't think, he *reacted* and while his higher thought processes were definitely impaired, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his reaction time. In seconds he had Cally on her back, arms pinned above her head, trapped beneath him as he panted into her neck for a moment, trying to bring his screaming body under some sort of control. The fact that her chest was heaving against his didn't really help matters.
"Should have… done that earlier," she gasped. He couldn't help but give a breathless giggle, and was still smiling when he leaned in for a kiss.
"Time to get my own back," he whispered against her lips. It was all the warning he gave.
His mouth was busy travelling a kissing, biting path along her clavicles when his brain helpfully reminded him that he wasn't going to be able to keep her hands restrained for much longer; his shoulder had begun to protest about the stretch of his arm above her head, scar tissue not being as flexible as native skin. Awareness of the faint tremor in his hand had started to pierce through the haze of lust that surrounded him and he growled in frustration against her skin, he knew it wouldn't take her long to break away from him. In the next instant, his hands weren't the only ones keeping hers captive. He flashed a grateful smile at Sherlock while barely raising his head and without really looking at him - John knew if he let Sherlock's presence impinge on his conscious mind it would be disruptive to say the least - and took full advantage of the fact that he had both hands free while Cally was still confined.
"Sherlock, that's cheating!" She hissed. John didn't think she sounded too bothered, anything but in fact, which was all to the good.
"I'm merely levelling the playing field," Sherlock replied, dispassionate as always.
John revelled in his freedom to touch and caress her skin unhindered, he lost himself in the scent and the feel of her. Even naked, she was still silk over steel; the softness of breasts and belly contrasted with the hard muscle of her legs and arse, and wet, oh so wet. He buried his face between her willingly parted legs and *tasted* her, slick and so fucking hot. Then there were hands in his hair, *her* hands, they tugged, pulled, *dragged* him back up to where she wanted him. She kissed him, hot and dirty, almost more teeth than tongue, then pushed him away. His half formed protest died on his lips when her hands busied themselves with rolling a condom onto him; nothing else needed to be said. He bent to capture her mouth as he entered her with one hard and fast thrust, his hands cradling her arse, her legs wrapped around him, drawing him in, pulling him deeper. He stuttered to a halt, hardly daring to breathe for a moment because he was that close to losing it, wanting to immerse himself in sensation before sheer need took over. She shifted beneath him, hips pressing upwards, forcing him deeper, grinding herself against him as her legs tightened around him. He found there was nothing left he could do *but* move; he was lost. Hands clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he plunged into her, it was all sweet friction and unbelievable heat, breathless moans and guttural sighs, the pure and wicked pleasure of insistent lips against damp skin; a symphony of passion. He had no idea how he managed not to immediately fall apart when she shuddered through her climax, tightening around him unbelievably, but he didn't. He was still buried deep inside her, moving in sharp, deep thrusts when she laid a still trembling hand gently over the scar on his shoulder.
She whispered against his skin, a soft puff of breath. "John."
It was enough to send him crashing over the edge.
The pounding of his heart seemed to be all he could hear and feel for the longest time though in reality it was probably only minutes. He was pleased that he'd maintained the presence of mind - albeit unconsciously - not to just collapse and leave Cally supporting his entire weight but they were in a bit of a tangled mess; a gorgeously sweaty, breathless and pleasantly achy tangled mess.
"I hope you weren't planning on leaving too soon," John mumbled. "I can hardly move."
"No. Not doing the moving thing either; not just yet anyway."
"Good." He settled into the comfortable lassitude that surrounded them, too wrung out to worry about anything much, including Sherlock, and it only registered that Sherlock was still in the room when he pulled the quilt over them.
"You were becoming chilled," Sherlock said. It was true, though John hadn't initially noticed the rise of gooseflesh on his arm.
"Thanks," he said. He drifted for a bit longer, until he really couldn't ignore the various little discomforts any more. He brushed a hand over Cally's hair and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.
"Moving?" She asked.
"Have to; sorry." He *was* sorry; 'experiment' or not, to say he'd passed an enjoyable evening would be an understatement of the highest order and though he didn't particularly want to move, he needed to get his shoulder in a hot shower. The rest of him would also benefit from the same. He was glad that the recalcitrant plumbing was currently behaving itself and the main bathroom upstairs had hot water as well as Sherlock's tiny en-suite; two working bathrooms made things a lot easier.
By the time John made his way back down to the main living area, Cally was back in her hoodie and skirt, curled up on the sofa with a mug of tea in hand. The corset was bundled up into a roll on the coffee table, her doc martens sitting next to it. There was another mug of tea on the small table by his chair, John grabbed the tea, but chose to sit next to Cally on the sofa rather than in the chair; she gave him a quick smile as he sat down. Sherlock was slouched in his own chair, deep in thought.
"Told you it would be good to do it in a bed for a change," she said.
John had to chuckle at that; in his opinion 'good' was the least it had been.
"You weren't wrong," he agreed. He finished his tea, enjoying the comfortable silence and the way she was leaning against him. He noticed her eyelids were drooping and gave her a nudge.
"I should go," she said.
"I'll order that taxi for you."
Sherlock still hadn't surfaced from wherever it was his mind had taken him by the time the taxi arrived but Cally didn't appear perturbed.
"We probably gave him a lot to process, just tell him thanks from me."
John waved her off from the front door after pressing a curiously chaste kiss to her cheek; she squeezed his arm in return. He headed back up the stairs and into the kitchen, intending to strip Sherlock's bed and put the sheets in the machine, until he realised the machine was already running.
"Cally did it," Sherlock announced, "and under her own volition too." John felt a bit guilty, but at least it saved him from having to change the bed and he would have *had* to change it if she hadn't. Letting Sherlock attempt to sleep in the wreck he and Cally had made of the bed had never been an option.
John headed back into the living area, this time taking a seat in his chair which meant Sherlock was sitting opposite him. John stretched out, letting the familiar shape of the chair cradle him, aware that Sherlock was watching his every move.
"I hope you gathered enough data to keep you happy, as I don't think that will be happening again," John commented. He didn't mention that he wouldn't say no if Cally wanted to take him back to her place.
"I think so. While your enthusiasm is to be commended, it would have been…"
"Sherlock, being unenthusiastic during sex is not really an option. Well, not for me anyway."
Sherlock nodded, but John wasn't convinced it made sense to him at a basic level.
"How is your shoulder?"
"Fine," John said and he would ordinarily have left it at that, but he did kind of owe Sherlock. "Thanks to someone ensuring I didn't overstrain it."
Sherlock shrugged. "The experiment would likely have concluded in an unsatisfactory manner if I had not intervened."
John snorted; unsatisfactory was not the word he would have used, but it he supposed it was descriptive enough. He knew he should probably take himself off to bed because falling asleep in the chair would not do his shoulder a bit of good, even it was fine, but he was too comfortable and too tired to move, plus he was still a touch blissed out.
Sherlock cleared his throat.
"I have a few ideas that would have enhanced your performance."
"It *wasn't* a 'performance' Sherlock."
"Which I can list for you…"
"Don't bother."
"So when the experiment is repeated…"
"Not going to happen."
"You can bear them in mind. Of course with a man the parameters would need to be…"
"Sherlock! Definitely not going to happen!" John scrambled out of his chair and headed towards the stairs before he succumbed to an increasing temptation to punch Sherlock in the face.
"Pity."
"I… er what?" John spun round from his position near the door, his wish to punch Sherlock rapidly defused by the almost vulnerable expression on Sherlock's face.
"I found observing you… being intimate… quite illuminating."
"I..illuminating?"
"It's a part of you that I'm never likely to see for myself, but it's still a part of you."
"Oh."
It explained a lot, John realised. In fact it explained *everything* and his irritation with Sherlock withered away in the stark light of the truth; Sherlock was trying to understand what made John tick, even those aspects that were completely foreign to him, but because he was Sherlock it was done in his own distinctive fashion.
John leaned against the door frame and sighed; he wasn't sure he would *ever* understand Sherlock but living with his mad brilliance was certainly never boring. Right now though, his brain was filled with mush and he was far too tired to even attempt to make any sense out of him.
"Go to bed, John," Sherlock said gently. John went; it was the sanest idea Sherlock had had all night which made it the most opportune moment for retreat. John hoped his dreams would be good ones and fell asleep to the soothing notes of Sherlock's violin.