221B week, Day 1: In the Air
I have quite a lot of 221B fics lurking on my hard drive, so thought I'd post one every day this week (RL allowing):
BBC Sherlock
Rating 12 (implicit slash)
Unfortunately, 'Simon Holloway' was the sort of man who flew economy class to Thailand. But he was also a suitable target for the prostitution scam that had already resulted in the death of three tourists. Which was why Sherlock's long limbs were currently cramped into the inadequate seats of a Boeing 747 7443.
Beside him 'Joseph Walters' was doing better. John had somehow got himself comfortable for the flight (11 hours, 35 minutes) and was now curled up asleep in the window seat. Advantage of being five foot seven, Sherlock thought. But then John could make himself comfortable almost anywhere. Stick him on a desert island for two months with a penknife and a box of teabags and he wouldn't mind.
The third tourist had been Californian. He'd had a choice of FBI operatives to accompany him, but it had been no choice. No public displays of affection once they were there: Simon Holloway was going to Thailand for the girls, not the boys. But now Sherlock couldn't resist his hand sneaking under John's red blanket, for a quick squeeze of a muscular thigh.
"Sherlock?" John said, rapidly alert. And then a more drawn-out, reproachful "Sherlock", but with a sleepy, cheeky grin.
"Don't worry," he replied, as his hand slid under the blanket again. "I'll behave when we get to Bangkok."
BBC Sherlock
Rating 12 (implicit slash)
Unfortunately, 'Simon Holloway' was the sort of man who flew economy class to Thailand. But he was also a suitable target for the prostitution scam that had already resulted in the death of three tourists. Which was why Sherlock's long limbs were currently cramped into the inadequate seats of a Boeing 747 7443.
Beside him 'Joseph Walters' was doing better. John had somehow got himself comfortable for the flight (11 hours, 35 minutes) and was now curled up asleep in the window seat. Advantage of being five foot seven, Sherlock thought. But then John could make himself comfortable almost anywhere. Stick him on a desert island for two months with a penknife and a box of teabags and he wouldn't mind.
The third tourist had been Californian. He'd had a choice of FBI operatives to accompany him, but it had been no choice. No public displays of affection once they were there: Simon Holloway was going to Thailand for the girls, not the boys. But now Sherlock couldn't resist his hand sneaking under John's red blanket, for a quick squeeze of a muscular thigh.
"Sherlock?" John said, rapidly alert. And then a more drawn-out, reproachful "Sherlock", but with a sleepy, cheeky grin.
"Don't worry," he replied, as his hand slid under the blanket again. "I'll behave when we get to Bangkok."