Fic - I Know What You Like - John/Sherlock - R
Title: I Know What You Like
Author: lotherington
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: Sherlock has questions. John has answers.
Rating: R
Contains: Spoilers for S2 Ep1, BDSM, D/s themes
Word Count: ~780
Notes: This is my first attempt at playing about with S2 canon and was meant to be a drabble. However, it ran away from me, as these things often do.
‘I knew what he liked,’ she said.
‘I know what she likes,’ she said.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I know what he likes.’
And then she disappeared.
***
Sherlock has questions. He sits at the breakfast table and stares into the tea that Mrs Hudson makes him, pushes his toast and honey around his plate. He frowns and sighs and gets up from the table in a flurry of dressing gown and newspaper and discontent.
‘It’s no use,’ he snaps, and stomps up the stairs.
***
Sherlock doesn’t know it (not quite, not yet) but John has answers.
He holds answers in the snap of his wrist, the unyielding line of his back, in the steely note his voice takes on occasionally. Answers in his strong, able hands, in the joints and rough tips of his fingers. He holds answers tight between his lips, behind his teeth, in that place at the back of his throat where his breath catches.
And John won’t say them aloud. Not until Sherlock asks.
***
‘Ooh, seeing a lady friend tonight, Doctor Watson?’ Mrs Hudson says, smiling indulgently at John, squeezing both of his biceps from behind as checks his appearance in the mirror above the fireplace.
‘Yeah,’ he replies, sounding distracted, undoing and beginning to re-knot his tie.
She chuckles and goes back into the kitchen, taking an empty mug with her.
‘Taking her for dinner, are you?’ Sherlock murmurs from his chair, swishing his violin bow back and forth.
John stops and looks down at Sherlock. Sherlock stills too. Stares back.
‘I might,’ John says, just as quiet as Sherlock. ‘I might, yeah.’
Sherlock throws his bow down and springs up, grabs the two ends of John’s tie. He adjusts the length of each end of the tie, folds one over the other.
‘Ever taken a man for dinner?’ Sherlock meets John’s eyes, his stare challenging, daring.
‘No,’ John says, calm gaze fixed on Sherlock’s face.
‘Ever going to?’
John bends forward, moves that little bit closer. He brings his fingers up to encircle Sherlock’s wrist and tightens his grip. ‘He’d have to be something very special indeed,’ he breathes across Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock’s next exhalation is ragged and wanting.
‘Finish what you started,’ John says, standing straight again, nodding down at where Sherlock’s fingers are still curled around the silk of his tie.
Sherlock ties the knot swiftly and pauses for a breath before lifting his eyes to meet John’s. There’s no challenge there now, no daring John to giggle and shake his head and roll his eyes and walk away and leave.
‘I’ll be back in a few hours,’ John says. ‘I want you showered, on your bed and ready to begin as soon as I walk through that door, do you understand?’
Sherlock nods.
‘Do you understand?’
He nods again, more frantically.
‘Do you understand, Sherlock?’
‘Yes, John,’ Sherlock says, closing his eyes, swallowing, then taking a deep breath in.
‘Good.’ He presses the pad of his thumb to Sherlock’s bottom lip before stepping back, turning away, grabbing his coat. ‘See you, Mrs Hudson!’ he calls, and he doesn’t look back at Sherlock, who is standing and swaying slightly in the middle of the living room, eyes still closed.
***
Sherlock’s breathing is loud and harsh-sounding in the stillness of his bedroom, afterwards. John is stretched out on the bed, next to him, trousers still on as he runs the very tips of his fingers up and down Sherlock’s spine.
‘Better?’ John asks, leaning in and pressing a warm kiss to Sherlock’s shoulderblade. His hand moves up to scratch Sherlock’s scalp. ‘How’s that funny old head?’
Clearing his throat, Sherlock turns his head on the pillow, opening his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Better, John.’ He drops his gaze. ‘Thank you.’
Smiling, John kisses Sherlock’s forehead, rubs his thumb along the curve of Sherlock’s ear. ‘You’re welcome.’
Neither of them say a word, each content to listen to the other breathe. There are red marks all over Sherlock’s skin: teeth marks and handprints and raised lines from John’s nails. Sherlock hisses as John rubs his palm over some of the more livid ones, following with his tongue.
‘John,’ he says, very quietly. ‘Still full of surprises.’
John laughs and presses his lips to the back of Sherlock’s neck. ‘You haven’t seen me throw a whip yet.’
Sherlock groans, long and low, his mouth stretching into a grin.
‘I know what you like,’ John says against Sherlock’s lips, eyes half-lidded.
‘Yes, John Watson,’ Sherlock sighs, still smiling. ‘Yes, you do.’
Author: lotherington
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: Sherlock has questions. John has answers.
Rating: R
Contains: Spoilers for S2 Ep1, BDSM, D/s themes
Word Count: ~780
Notes: This is my first attempt at playing about with S2 canon and was meant to be a drabble. However, it ran away from me, as these things often do.
‘I knew what he liked,’ she said.
‘I know what she likes,’ she said.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I know what he likes.’
And then she disappeared.
***
Sherlock has questions. He sits at the breakfast table and stares into the tea that Mrs Hudson makes him, pushes his toast and honey around his plate. He frowns and sighs and gets up from the table in a flurry of dressing gown and newspaper and discontent.
‘It’s no use,’ he snaps, and stomps up the stairs.
***
Sherlock doesn’t know it (not quite, not yet) but John has answers.
He holds answers in the snap of his wrist, the unyielding line of his back, in the steely note his voice takes on occasionally. Answers in his strong, able hands, in the joints and rough tips of his fingers. He holds answers tight between his lips, behind his teeth, in that place at the back of his throat where his breath catches.
And John won’t say them aloud. Not until Sherlock asks.
***
‘Ooh, seeing a lady friend tonight, Doctor Watson?’ Mrs Hudson says, smiling indulgently at John, squeezing both of his biceps from behind as checks his appearance in the mirror above the fireplace.
‘Yeah,’ he replies, sounding distracted, undoing and beginning to re-knot his tie.
She chuckles and goes back into the kitchen, taking an empty mug with her.
‘Taking her for dinner, are you?’ Sherlock murmurs from his chair, swishing his violin bow back and forth.
John stops and looks down at Sherlock. Sherlock stills too. Stares back.
‘I might,’ John says, just as quiet as Sherlock. ‘I might, yeah.’
Sherlock throws his bow down and springs up, grabs the two ends of John’s tie. He adjusts the length of each end of the tie, folds one over the other.
‘Ever taken a man for dinner?’ Sherlock meets John’s eyes, his stare challenging, daring.
‘No,’ John says, calm gaze fixed on Sherlock’s face.
‘Ever going to?’
John bends forward, moves that little bit closer. He brings his fingers up to encircle Sherlock’s wrist and tightens his grip. ‘He’d have to be something very special indeed,’ he breathes across Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock’s next exhalation is ragged and wanting.
‘Finish what you started,’ John says, standing straight again, nodding down at where Sherlock’s fingers are still curled around the silk of his tie.
Sherlock ties the knot swiftly and pauses for a breath before lifting his eyes to meet John’s. There’s no challenge there now, no daring John to giggle and shake his head and roll his eyes and walk away and leave.
‘I’ll be back in a few hours,’ John says. ‘I want you showered, on your bed and ready to begin as soon as I walk through that door, do you understand?’
Sherlock nods.
‘Do you understand?’
He nods again, more frantically.
‘Do you understand, Sherlock?’
‘Yes, John,’ Sherlock says, closing his eyes, swallowing, then taking a deep breath in.
‘Good.’ He presses the pad of his thumb to Sherlock’s bottom lip before stepping back, turning away, grabbing his coat. ‘See you, Mrs Hudson!’ he calls, and he doesn’t look back at Sherlock, who is standing and swaying slightly in the middle of the living room, eyes still closed.
***
Sherlock’s breathing is loud and harsh-sounding in the stillness of his bedroom, afterwards. John is stretched out on the bed, next to him, trousers still on as he runs the very tips of his fingers up and down Sherlock’s spine.
‘Better?’ John asks, leaning in and pressing a warm kiss to Sherlock’s shoulderblade. His hand moves up to scratch Sherlock’s scalp. ‘How’s that funny old head?’
Clearing his throat, Sherlock turns his head on the pillow, opening his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Better, John.’ He drops his gaze. ‘Thank you.’
Smiling, John kisses Sherlock’s forehead, rubs his thumb along the curve of Sherlock’s ear. ‘You’re welcome.’
Neither of them say a word, each content to listen to the other breathe. There are red marks all over Sherlock’s skin: teeth marks and handprints and raised lines from John’s nails. Sherlock hisses as John rubs his palm over some of the more livid ones, following with his tongue.
‘John,’ he says, very quietly. ‘Still full of surprises.’
John laughs and presses his lips to the back of Sherlock’s neck. ‘You haven’t seen me throw a whip yet.’
Sherlock groans, long and low, his mouth stretching into a grin.
‘I know what you like,’ John says against Sherlock’s lips, eyes half-lidded.
‘Yes, John Watson,’ Sherlock sighs, still smiling. ‘Yes, you do.’