Sherlock Holmes (BBC) - Learning Curve
Title: Learning Curve
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: PG
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wouldn't know what to do with 'em.
Summary: John is brilliant, sometimes. Sherlock appreciates it.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 940
Author's Notes: Some people on chat wanted cupboard porn and wall-slamming. There is implied porn.
“I need to speak to John for a moment. Alone.” Sherlock announced to Lestrade and the various other people milling about the crime scene, before taking hold of his friend by the arm and dragging him away, out into the hall.
The look on Sherlock's face was not at all reassuring to John. He seemed almost wild, which could hardly be a good sign. He had thought he was being helpful by pointing out the mathematical error on the black board - and if not actually helpful, at least observant, which Sherlock was always going on at him about. It wasn't until Sherlock opened a supply cupboard, shoved him in bodily and then followed him in and slammed it shut that he really started to worry though. Fully expecting a lecture on why Sherlock was the police consultant, and he was an out-of-work doctor following him around (usually not entirely his own choice, he was ready to add), John braced himself.
This was a mistake, because if he hadn't tensed up, being slammed against a wall by a man who was a head taller than him would have hurt a lot less. The kiss was nice, though. Well, not nice, exactly. Nice was probably the wrong word. Hard, biting, wonderfully clumsy, those were all good words. It it was definitely on the good end of the spectrum, all things considered. John was left panting for breath and staring several seconds later at a hungry-looking Sherlock.
“You've solved it.” Sherlock said, but there was a quality to his voice that made the words more like 'you are incredibly beautiful' or possibly 'I would dearly like to take you against this wall'. John hadn't made his mind up on which he'd prefer yet, and continued to stare in shock.
“Pardon?”
“The case. You've solved it.” Sherlock repeated, and this time it was more like 'you are the single most attractive thing on the planet', and all John could really manage in response was a dark blush. Sherlock scrutinised him for another few seconds, before leaning down to kiss him again, pressing his whole body along John's. John felt no pressing need to stop him, nor could he really kiss back, and so he decided that the best course of action was to wait out whatever had gotten into his flatmate and ask for an explanation when it wasn't going to cost him such glorious contact. Of course, nothing is ever that easy for John Watson. Sherlock pulled back.
“You aren't reacting,” he looked at him searchingly, “why are you not reacting? I'm pretty certain I've got this mostly right.”
John gaped for a few seconds, swallowed, and rasped out “it's fine.” Sherlock continued to look at him with what might well have been concern. John decided to try again, and cleared his throat. “Not that I mind taking the credit, but I have no idea what you're on about.”
“I know. But you said the right thing at the right moment. You always do that. It helps. And...” Sherlock looked away, and John might almost have called him embarrassed.
“And...?”
“You are glorious when you say clever things.” He paused, and then looked back up. “I've done the wrong thing, haven't I? I've never wanted to do that before.”
“It's fine. Good, even. It's all good.” John replied, and the second the words had left his mouth he knew they'd been too quick.
“You're lying to me.”
In any other person, John would have called Sherlock's expression 'hurt'.
“I'm not lying, precisely. I'm just...surprised. That's all.” Inwardly, John was kicking himself.
Sherlock cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he turned around, “we'd better get back.”
John Watson had seen a few points in time like this. Points where you know something big is going on, and you realise you have to make a choice, and it's going to be important. Last time, he got shot. And if he didn't do the right thing right now, he suspected it would be the end of something he couldn't pinpoint, but he knew he'd miss.
“I didn't stop you, did I?”
Sherlock stopped walking. “I didn't give you a chance.”
“If I didn't trust you, I would have had plenty of opportunity. You caught me off guard because...well, because I didn't expect it, and I know you wouldn't do anything to me that I wouldn't normally consent to.”
“I kissed you.”
“You didn't do anything to me that I wouldn't normally consent to.” John repeated, speaking slowly to emphasise his meaning. Sherlock turned back around.
“Oh. Oh. I see.” He moved back towards John while he apparently decided what to do with that information. “Nothing you wouldn't consent to in general, or...?”
“From you.” John swallowed thickly.
Sherlock thought for another split second, and then slammed John back against the wall, swooping down to kiss him again with the same clumsy enthusiasm he'd displayed earlier. John groaned softly, and then tried kissing back gently, unwilling to do anything that might make it stop.
Again, nothing is ever quite that simple for John.
“Oh God. You couldn't wait until you got home?” Lestrade's voice rang out from the open cupboard door. John groaned again, but this time in pure mortification. He shut his eyes tightly and tried desperately to sink into the wall.
“No.” Sherlock spoke up confidently. “I couldn't wait. I'll give you the murderer in...” he paused, for a moment, “fifteen minutes should do it. Come back then.”
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: PG
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wouldn't know what to do with 'em.
Summary: John is brilliant, sometimes. Sherlock appreciates it.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 940
Author's Notes: Some people on chat wanted cupboard porn and wall-slamming. There is implied porn.
“I need to speak to John for a moment. Alone.” Sherlock announced to Lestrade and the various other people milling about the crime scene, before taking hold of his friend by the arm and dragging him away, out into the hall.
The look on Sherlock's face was not at all reassuring to John. He seemed almost wild, which could hardly be a good sign. He had thought he was being helpful by pointing out the mathematical error on the black board - and if not actually helpful, at least observant, which Sherlock was always going on at him about. It wasn't until Sherlock opened a supply cupboard, shoved him in bodily and then followed him in and slammed it shut that he really started to worry though. Fully expecting a lecture on why Sherlock was the police consultant, and he was an out-of-work doctor following him around (usually not entirely his own choice, he was ready to add), John braced himself.
This was a mistake, because if he hadn't tensed up, being slammed against a wall by a man who was a head taller than him would have hurt a lot less. The kiss was nice, though. Well, not nice, exactly. Nice was probably the wrong word. Hard, biting, wonderfully clumsy, those were all good words. It it was definitely on the good end of the spectrum, all things considered. John was left panting for breath and staring several seconds later at a hungry-looking Sherlock.
“You've solved it.” Sherlock said, but there was a quality to his voice that made the words more like 'you are incredibly beautiful' or possibly 'I would dearly like to take you against this wall'. John hadn't made his mind up on which he'd prefer yet, and continued to stare in shock.
“Pardon?”
“The case. You've solved it.” Sherlock repeated, and this time it was more like 'you are the single most attractive thing on the planet', and all John could really manage in response was a dark blush. Sherlock scrutinised him for another few seconds, before leaning down to kiss him again, pressing his whole body along John's. John felt no pressing need to stop him, nor could he really kiss back, and so he decided that the best course of action was to wait out whatever had gotten into his flatmate and ask for an explanation when it wasn't going to cost him such glorious contact. Of course, nothing is ever that easy for John Watson. Sherlock pulled back.
“You aren't reacting,” he looked at him searchingly, “why are you not reacting? I'm pretty certain I've got this mostly right.”
John gaped for a few seconds, swallowed, and rasped out “it's fine.” Sherlock continued to look at him with what might well have been concern. John decided to try again, and cleared his throat. “Not that I mind taking the credit, but I have no idea what you're on about.”
“I know. But you said the right thing at the right moment. You always do that. It helps. And...” Sherlock looked away, and John might almost have called him embarrassed.
“And...?”
“You are glorious when you say clever things.” He paused, and then looked back up. “I've done the wrong thing, haven't I? I've never wanted to do that before.”
“It's fine. Good, even. It's all good.” John replied, and the second the words had left his mouth he knew they'd been too quick.
“You're lying to me.”
In any other person, John would have called Sherlock's expression 'hurt'.
“I'm not lying, precisely. I'm just...surprised. That's all.” Inwardly, John was kicking himself.
Sherlock cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he turned around, “we'd better get back.”
John Watson had seen a few points in time like this. Points where you know something big is going on, and you realise you have to make a choice, and it's going to be important. Last time, he got shot. And if he didn't do the right thing right now, he suspected it would be the end of something he couldn't pinpoint, but he knew he'd miss.
“I didn't stop you, did I?”
Sherlock stopped walking. “I didn't give you a chance.”
“If I didn't trust you, I would have had plenty of opportunity. You caught me off guard because...well, because I didn't expect it, and I know you wouldn't do anything to me that I wouldn't normally consent to.”
“I kissed you.”
“You didn't do anything to me that I wouldn't normally consent to.” John repeated, speaking slowly to emphasise his meaning. Sherlock turned back around.
“Oh. Oh. I see.” He moved back towards John while he apparently decided what to do with that information. “Nothing you wouldn't consent to in general, or...?”
“From you.” John swallowed thickly.
Sherlock thought for another split second, and then slammed John back against the wall, swooping down to kiss him again with the same clumsy enthusiasm he'd displayed earlier. John groaned softly, and then tried kissing back gently, unwilling to do anything that might make it stop.
Again, nothing is ever quite that simple for John.
“Oh God. You couldn't wait until you got home?” Lestrade's voice rang out from the open cupboard door. John groaned again, but this time in pure mortification. He shut his eyes tightly and tried desperately to sink into the wall.
“No.” Sherlock spoke up confidently. “I couldn't wait. I'll give you the murderer in...” he paused, for a moment, “fifteen minutes should do it. Come back then.”