Sherlock Holmes (BBC) - An Unfortunate Incident
Title: An Unfortunate Incident
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: John/Sherlock
Disclaimer: Not mine at all, in any way, shape, or form.
Summary: An experiment goes very badly awry.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Implied dub-con, and the fallout thereof.
Word Count: 1480
Author's Notes: For the hc_bingo square 'sex pollen'. Light on the comfort, but most of the hurt is off-screen, too.
“What is that?” John wrinkled his nose at the black rock Sherlock seemed to be fascinated by on the kitchen table.
“It's a meteor.” Sherlock answered without looking up, poking at the rock with the end of a biro.
“A meteor? Why is there a meteor on the kitchen table?”
“You're the one who wanted me to know more about the solar system.” He poked at it again, more firmly.
“I'm sorry, are you actually listening to something I've said? Should I be fainting from shock?”
“If you do decide to faint, I suggest you sit down first. I won't be able to catch you before you hit the floor. Could do all kinds of damage.” He gave the meteor a final, hard prod and a piece fell off, spraying dust in a big cloud that made John sneeze.
“Was it supposed to do that?” John mumbled through the hand covering his nose and mouth.
Sherlock looked up. “I don't know. You're the expert on the solar system.”
“I'm not...I just...you...” John sighed. “If I die of some weird Martian disease, I'm going to haunt you.”
“It is extremely unlikely that this came from Mars, John.” Sherlock went back to investigating his mysterious rock. John decided he'd be better off going out for breakfast, and did just that.
~oOo~
Twenty minutes later, John climbed the first set of stairs awkwardly and flew into the sitting room, flushed bright red and panting. “What did you do?” He asked from between gritted teeth.
“Ah, I had wondered if it was isolated to me or endemic to the flat. Good to have more data.” Sherlock looked up. John was incredibly put out by the look of passive interest on his flatmate's face, considering the discomfort he was in.
The doctor began on a carefully constructed lecture about the medical irregularity and the intense embarrassment and discomfort of an erection that occurs in public and won't go away, and was just beginning to demand an explanation when he noticed what Sherlock was doing.
“Oh God...do you mind not doing that in front of me? Ever?”
Sherlock raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You're doing it in front of me.” He pointed out reasonably. John snatched his hand away from his groin.
“And so I ask again - what have you done? And will you stop that?”
“You haven't,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “And I didn't do anything. If I was testing something on you, I would have used myself as the control. Really, you of all people should know how medical experiments are performed.” The last word was drawn out into a groan, and then Sherlock went still and panted quietly. John rolled his eyes.
“Oh, done now, are you?”
Sherlock sighed heavily. “I'm afraid not. Whatever's happened to us is nothing if not persistent. You ought to go enjoy your heretofore unheard of refractory period.”
John wrinkled his nose. “No. Not with you...knowing.”
“I always know, John. You aren't exactly discreet.”
“I...you...what? Why would you ever listen in on...on that?”
Sherlock shrugged. “I join in sometimes.” His eyes widened almost comically, “I didn't intend to tell you that.”
“No, I didn't think you did.” John swallowed thickly.
“Loss of inhibitions seems to go with it. If I had to guess - not that I ever guess - given the time-frame for the symptoms; especially the fact that we seem to have been affected at the same time, I'd say this is all your fault.”
John blinked. “I'm sorry, what?”
“This is all your fault. You had me convinced that there was a flaw in my knowledge. It seemed important to you that I knew about space.”
“I...” John decided not to think about that, “and this makes it my fault, does it?”
“Of course. I wouldn't have broken a meteor in the kitchen if I hadn't been trying to please you.”
“Oh.” John looked away. “You didn't mean to tell me any of that, did you?”
“Not really, no.” Sherlock paused in a way that might almost have been unsure, “you aren't going to use this to interrogate me, are you?”
“God no!” John looked at him incredulously, “there are some things I just don't want to know about you. Besides, I trust you not to do it if I don't.” John paused. “I'm going to stop talking now.”
Sherlock raised an elegant eyebrow. “Not any more than you're going to stop doing that.” He nodded to John's crotch.
“Why must you always know everything?”
“Clearly, I don't actually know everything. Just a lot of things. Really, John, I can't see why you don't. By rights, you should know more than I do, since you've had longer to learn. I can't understand people who don't learn.” Sherlock paused. “Sorry, I'm obviously frustrated.”
“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Does it involve you on your back with your knees up?”
John swallowed thickly. “It definitely could.”
~oOo~
The next morning had always been destined to be an awkward affair, but John hadn't realised quite how awkward until he tried moving. The trip from Sherlock's room to the bathroom and then to the kitchen table (suspiciously tidy, come to think) was probably all he was going to accomplish today. He groaned quietly as he sat down, and dropped his head onto the table with a dull thud.
“I'm told morning-afters are awkward.” Sherlock said from somewhere across the table and above John's head. John laughed in a manner that was at least a distant cousin of hysterical.
“You think?”
“No, I don't think they are, actually. But I am reliably informed that I'm in the minority.” John heard him sip something. It was probably coffee. “Why are they awkward?”
“In this case? Because under the influence of some sort of Martian dust, we spent about twelve hours having sex yesterday, and I don't know about you, but everything between my waist and my knees is sore. Additionally, we were under the influence of some unknown chemical. I think that qualifies as dubiously consensual, don't you?”
“Highly unlikely to have been from anywhere near Mars.”
John groaned again. “It seems to have worn off. For me at least.”
“You didn't do anything I didn't consent to. I remember it all quite clearly.”
“You were drugged, Sherlock.”
“Yes, but it was largely my own fault. Partly yours, but I was the one playing with space debris in the kitchen without any sort of protection.”
And that, John thought, was another point worth mentioning. “Am I likely to have caught anything from you? Just like to know ahead of a possibly unpleasant death, is all.”
“No. I'll take it from that question that I am likewise safe.”
John grunted in reply.
“Human hands leave a very interesting bruise pattern over the hipbones. Did you know?” Sherlock sipped his coffee.
“How are you so bloody calm about this? What the hell is wrong with you?” John tried shouting, but it appeared that he wasn't physically capable at the moment.
“No permanent physical damage has been done. If I were inclined to have a sexual identity crisis, I would simply blame it on an unknown substance. I am calm, because I am fine.”
John decided not to think about the 'sexual identity crisis' bit. He didn't need to have one of those right now. While he was thinking about not thinking about worrying over whether or not he was actually gay, he missed the fact that Sherlock had moved. He was shocked and surprised, then, when a cup of tea was deposited in front of him. He eyed it suspiciously.
“You need to replace some fluids, and the honey will do your throat good. I'm not trying to poison you for taking advantage of me.”
John looked up guiltily, wondering how Sherlock could possibly have known he'd even entertained the thought.
“You feel guilty about it, so naturally you would think about suitable punishments. Your guilt is, of course, misplaced, but then that's nothing new for you, is it? In this case, though, I'd like you to believe me when I say that you didn't do anything wrong. There has to be an underlying intention for an action to have meaning, and you were not acting on any impulse you would normally have. You are not, and never will be, a rapist, John,” Sherlock smiled kindly for a half-second, so quickly that John wasn't certain he'd seen it at all, “I think that's enough psychoanalysis for one day, don't you? Drink your tea.”
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: John/Sherlock
Disclaimer: Not mine at all, in any way, shape, or form.
Summary: An experiment goes very badly awry.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Implied dub-con, and the fallout thereof.
Word Count: 1480
Author's Notes: For the hc_bingo square 'sex pollen'. Light on the comfort, but most of the hurt is off-screen, too.
“What is that?” John wrinkled his nose at the black rock Sherlock seemed to be fascinated by on the kitchen table.
“It's a meteor.” Sherlock answered without looking up, poking at the rock with the end of a biro.
“A meteor? Why is there a meteor on the kitchen table?”
“You're the one who wanted me to know more about the solar system.” He poked at it again, more firmly.
“I'm sorry, are you actually listening to something I've said? Should I be fainting from shock?”
“If you do decide to faint, I suggest you sit down first. I won't be able to catch you before you hit the floor. Could do all kinds of damage.” He gave the meteor a final, hard prod and a piece fell off, spraying dust in a big cloud that made John sneeze.
“Was it supposed to do that?” John mumbled through the hand covering his nose and mouth.
Sherlock looked up. “I don't know. You're the expert on the solar system.”
“I'm not...I just...you...” John sighed. “If I die of some weird Martian disease, I'm going to haunt you.”
“It is extremely unlikely that this came from Mars, John.” Sherlock went back to investigating his mysterious rock. John decided he'd be better off going out for breakfast, and did just that.
~oOo~
Twenty minutes later, John climbed the first set of stairs awkwardly and flew into the sitting room, flushed bright red and panting. “What did you do?” He asked from between gritted teeth.
“Ah, I had wondered if it was isolated to me or endemic to the flat. Good to have more data.” Sherlock looked up. John was incredibly put out by the look of passive interest on his flatmate's face, considering the discomfort he was in.
The doctor began on a carefully constructed lecture about the medical irregularity and the intense embarrassment and discomfort of an erection that occurs in public and won't go away, and was just beginning to demand an explanation when he noticed what Sherlock was doing.
“Oh God...do you mind not doing that in front of me? Ever?”
Sherlock raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You're doing it in front of me.” He pointed out reasonably. John snatched his hand away from his groin.
“And so I ask again - what have you done? And will you stop that?”
“You haven't,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “And I didn't do anything. If I was testing something on you, I would have used myself as the control. Really, you of all people should know how medical experiments are performed.” The last word was drawn out into a groan, and then Sherlock went still and panted quietly. John rolled his eyes.
“Oh, done now, are you?”
Sherlock sighed heavily. “I'm afraid not. Whatever's happened to us is nothing if not persistent. You ought to go enjoy your heretofore unheard of refractory period.”
John wrinkled his nose. “No. Not with you...knowing.”
“I always know, John. You aren't exactly discreet.”
“I...you...what? Why would you ever listen in on...on that?”
Sherlock shrugged. “I join in sometimes.” His eyes widened almost comically, “I didn't intend to tell you that.”
“No, I didn't think you did.” John swallowed thickly.
“Loss of inhibitions seems to go with it. If I had to guess - not that I ever guess - given the time-frame for the symptoms; especially the fact that we seem to have been affected at the same time, I'd say this is all your fault.”
John blinked. “I'm sorry, what?”
“This is all your fault. You had me convinced that there was a flaw in my knowledge. It seemed important to you that I knew about space.”
“I...” John decided not to think about that, “and this makes it my fault, does it?”
“Of course. I wouldn't have broken a meteor in the kitchen if I hadn't been trying to please you.”
“Oh.” John looked away. “You didn't mean to tell me any of that, did you?”
“Not really, no.” Sherlock paused in a way that might almost have been unsure, “you aren't going to use this to interrogate me, are you?”
“God no!” John looked at him incredulously, “there are some things I just don't want to know about you. Besides, I trust you not to do it if I don't.” John paused. “I'm going to stop talking now.”
Sherlock raised an elegant eyebrow. “Not any more than you're going to stop doing that.” He nodded to John's crotch.
“Why must you always know everything?”
“Clearly, I don't actually know everything. Just a lot of things. Really, John, I can't see why you don't. By rights, you should know more than I do, since you've had longer to learn. I can't understand people who don't learn.” Sherlock paused. “Sorry, I'm obviously frustrated.”
“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Does it involve you on your back with your knees up?”
John swallowed thickly. “It definitely could.”
~oOo~
The next morning had always been destined to be an awkward affair, but John hadn't realised quite how awkward until he tried moving. The trip from Sherlock's room to the bathroom and then to the kitchen table (suspiciously tidy, come to think) was probably all he was going to accomplish today. He groaned quietly as he sat down, and dropped his head onto the table with a dull thud.
“I'm told morning-afters are awkward.” Sherlock said from somewhere across the table and above John's head. John laughed in a manner that was at least a distant cousin of hysterical.
“You think?”
“No, I don't think they are, actually. But I am reliably informed that I'm in the minority.” John heard him sip something. It was probably coffee. “Why are they awkward?”
“In this case? Because under the influence of some sort of Martian dust, we spent about twelve hours having sex yesterday, and I don't know about you, but everything between my waist and my knees is sore. Additionally, we were under the influence of some unknown chemical. I think that qualifies as dubiously consensual, don't you?”
“Highly unlikely to have been from anywhere near Mars.”
John groaned again. “It seems to have worn off. For me at least.”
“You didn't do anything I didn't consent to. I remember it all quite clearly.”
“You were drugged, Sherlock.”
“Yes, but it was largely my own fault. Partly yours, but I was the one playing with space debris in the kitchen without any sort of protection.”
And that, John thought, was another point worth mentioning. “Am I likely to have caught anything from you? Just like to know ahead of a possibly unpleasant death, is all.”
“No. I'll take it from that question that I am likewise safe.”
John grunted in reply.
“Human hands leave a very interesting bruise pattern over the hipbones. Did you know?” Sherlock sipped his coffee.
“How are you so bloody calm about this? What the hell is wrong with you?” John tried shouting, but it appeared that he wasn't physically capable at the moment.
“No permanent physical damage has been done. If I were inclined to have a sexual identity crisis, I would simply blame it on an unknown substance. I am calm, because I am fine.”
John decided not to think about the 'sexual identity crisis' bit. He didn't need to have one of those right now. While he was thinking about not thinking about worrying over whether or not he was actually gay, he missed the fact that Sherlock had moved. He was shocked and surprised, then, when a cup of tea was deposited in front of him. He eyed it suspiciously.
“You need to replace some fluids, and the honey will do your throat good. I'm not trying to poison you for taking advantage of me.”
John looked up guiltily, wondering how Sherlock could possibly have known he'd even entertained the thought.
“You feel guilty about it, so naturally you would think about suitable punishments. Your guilt is, of course, misplaced, but then that's nothing new for you, is it? In this case, though, I'd like you to believe me when I say that you didn't do anything wrong. There has to be an underlying intention for an action to have meaning, and you were not acting on any impulse you would normally have. You are not, and never will be, a rapist, John,” Sherlock smiled kindly for a half-second, so quickly that John wasn't certain he'd seen it at all, “I think that's enough psychoanalysis for one day, don't you? Drink your tea.”